The Second Base Club

by Greg Trine

  Dad laughed. “Good question.”

  “And the answer is?”

  “The answer is, I don’t have the answer. Discovering the answers is what makes life worth living. Didn’t I tell you that?”

  “You’re no help.”

  He dabbed at a spot of syrup and popped the last piece of pancake in his mouth. “You’ll figure it out, Elroy. Scrabble?”

  “What about the dishes?”

  “Never do today what you can put off till tomorrow.”

  Sometimes my father was too wise for words. With regard to dishes, that is. His girl advice left something to be desired. I glanced at his whiteboard to see what else was going on in his head. In place of the usual list of goals, he’d drawn a rectangle.

  I picked up the whiteboard and turned it around, in case there was anything on the back. It was blank. “Okay, I give up. What is it?”

  “It is whatever I want it to be.”

  “So the board is blank because your mind is?”

  “That’s about the size of it. But something’s brewing inside; I can feel it.”

  He got out the Scrabble game, and we played until midnight. After beating me twice, he said, “You’re not completely here tonight, are you? Something on your mind?”

  “Someone,” I said.

  “I figured.” He went into pause mode again, his version of the Mom-stare. But it was getting late, I’d already shared all I wanted to, and the nine-second smooch was none of his business.

  “Nine seconds is not much,” Vern said as we rode to school on Monday.

  “It would have gone on longer, but I had an itch.” I thought for a second. “I think I’m giving up counting for Lent.”

  “It’s October.”

  “I’m starting early.”

  All morning long, I thought it through. Were Marisa and I boyfriend and girlfriend now? After all, things had been moving along. We touched knees, legs, chests, lips—in that order. But what exactly did this mean? Were we supposed to hang out at school now? Was I supposed to carry her books? Should we hold hands between classes?

  Once again, it all came down to risk. If I wanted to find out where we stood, I’d have to be direct about it. Do or die, I told myself. Find out once and for all.

  Between classes, I checked myself out in the bathroom mirror. Not too shabby. At least I hoped so. I licked my lips. I puckered. I was ready.

  At first break, I spotted Marisa near her locker and walked over. “Hey, Marisa,” I said. “How was your weekend?”

  She turned to face me. “Fine. How’s it going?”

  Okay, the preliminaries were over. Time to move on. I leaned toward her with a slight pucker, eyelids at half mast.

  She turned away. “Don’t.”

  I stood there, leaning, my mouth slightly open. Don’t? Don’t at school because everyone is looking? Or don’t ever—as in “Hit the Road, Jack”?

  “Something wrong?” I asked.

  “Sorry about Friday.”

  “What’s to be sorry about?”

  She looked away, avoiding my eyes. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I don’t like you in that way.”

  What? She doesn’t like me that way? “So what was all that hugging and kissing about?”

  “All that hugging and kissing? One hug. One kiss.”

  Actually, it was two. We kissed, I commented on my itch, and we kissed again. Definitely two kisses.

  Marisa closed her locker and turned to face me, and something inside started to ache. Neither of us spoke. We weren’t exactly boyfriend and girlfriend, were we? So why did I care? Why did I feel like someone had just reached inside me and ripped out a piece? A vital piece.

  I opened my mouth to say something. Nothing came out but air.

  She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “How can I put this, Elroy?”

  I knew what she was going to say before she said it.

  “I just want to be friends.”

  Friendship was a good thing, right? But it felt like I’d been stabbed with a jagged knife. Or kicked in the head.

  People were walking by, rubbernecking. Was it that obvious? Did I have that Just Dumped look on my face? My stomach began to ache. Like someone had force-fed me a frozen bowling ball and it was growing colder by the second.

  “What about the math tutoring?” I asked, forcing myself to ignore the pain.

  “I guess we should give that a break. Thanks for the help. I mean that.”

  She walked away, and I stood there watching until she disappeared around the corner. Then I kept staring, as if she’d somehow magically appear and tell me she was kidding—an early April Fool’s. Only she didn’t come back, and I stood there staring at nothing as the hall emptied around me. I glanced at the locker in front of me and punched it as hard as I could. My knuckles split and began to bleed, but I didn’t feel it.

  I cut the rest of my classes. I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone seeing me cry.

  I didn’t go to school the next day. When the phone rang, I didn’t answer it. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, moaning, some gut-wrenching despairing noise rising from my soul. I found it hard to move. How could I go back to the same school, or, worse, the same math class? I kept the blinds down and slept way more than I needed to.

  That afternoon, Vern showed up.

  “Something wrong with your phone?” he asked when I came to the door.

  He had on an Evel Knievel shirt, and his eyes were a bit watery from the long ride up Casitas Pass. He came inside and looked around. “The sun’s up, big guy. Open a blind. Let some light in.”

  I flopped down on the bed/couch and let out the world’s biggest sigh.

  “So this has something to do with the girl?”

  “She dumped me, Vern.”

  He sat down at the table. “How could she dump you? You weren’t even going out. Come on, Elroy, it was just one kiss.”

  “It was two kisses!” I practically screamed. It was definitely two kisses. Why couldn’t anyone get it right? Kiss . . . comment . . . kiss. Two.

  “Okay, two kisses. Still, she was only a potential girlfriend, not a real one. And you know what that means?”

  “No, Vern,” I said in a bored voice. “Tell me what it means.”

  “It means you’re not dumped.”

  I sat forward on the couch, thinking it over. Vern had a point. How can you be dumped by someone who was just a potential girlfriend? But knowing this didn’t help. I still wasn’t with Marisa.

  “Ever had a stomachache for twenty-four hours, Vern?”

  “Not one caused by a girl.”

  “It sucks.”

  “Can I load you up with some clichés?”

  “Clichés?”

  “Yeah. There’s more fish in the sea. Every cloud has a silver lining. If you fall off the horse, you get back on. And my personal fave”—he drum-rolled on the edge of the table—“if at first you don’t succeed . . .” He gestured at me to finish.

  I wasn’t in the mood.

  “You’re no fun. I’m telling you, clichés work wonders.”

  I ignored him. We sat in silence for some time. Vern grabbed a pencil and started working a crossword puzzle. I picked up my guitar and played the same chord over and over.

  After a while, he tossed aside the crossword puzzle and looked at me. “Get that whipped look off your face, Elroy. I mean it.”

  I frowned. “How’s this?”

  “Better. We should go to the game on Friday, don’t you think?”

  I kept quiet. Going out in public was the last thing I wanted to do.

  “Elroy? Football game on Friday, we’re going, right?”

  I said nothing.

  “Okay, let me rephrase it. You’re going to the football game on Friday. I’m telling you, not asking. You’re going; it’s a fact.” When I didn’t respond, he added, “Don’t make me come over there.”

  “Okay,” I said finally. “Let’s go to the game on Friday.” Frankly, I’d ra
ther move into a cave, but I’d force myself to get out there. If nothing more than to show Marisa that I wasn’t down for the count. It sure felt like I was, but she didn’t have to know that.

  My stomach hurt almost constantly, spiking during fourth-period math. I found a place to sit on the other side of the room, as far as I could get from Marisa without being in another classroom. It didn’t help. I found myself constantly gazing across the room, looking for any hint of interest, as if it had all been a dream, as if she hadn’t completely body-slammed me with the “just friends” line.

  And then something happened to make it worse.

  Vern and I were in our usual spot in the quad when Marisa walked by, hand in hand with Sampson Teague. I couldn’t believe it. Not being with her was one thing. Seeing her with someone else took it to a new level.

  Vern looked at me. “That was fast.”

  “Guess you were right, Vern,” I said.

  “I know I’m right, but in this instance what are you referring to?”

  “She is the type to go after the quarterback.”

  For the rest of the week, it was the same. Whenever I saw Marisa, I saw Sampson, and vice versa. And when Marisa wasn’t around, Sampson was hanging with the Second Base Club. I wondered if I should tell her about the secret organization and their even more secret agenda. Marisa was just another notch on his locker.

  She needed to know the truth, I decided, but how to do it without sounding like the former jilted potential boyfriend? I slipped a note through the slats in her locker. It was the only way. Typed, in case she’d recognize my handwriting.

  Marisa,

  Don’t trust Sampson Teague. He’s after one thing and one thing only. Ask him about the Second Base Club if you don’t believe me.

  A Friend

  The rest was up to her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I was surprised when I got the call from the Mexican restaurant where I had applied. It had been so long ago. Ernesto looked like an Ernesto, hair as black as tar and eyes almost as dark. The interview was quick: What times are you available? Do you play sports? Applicable work experience?

  It was clear he needed someone; the interview was just a formality. I asked a few questions to sound interested. Finally, Ernesto reached across the desk and shook my hand. “Elroy, welcome aboard.”

  I thanked him and turned to leave.

  “One more thing, Elroy.”

  “Yes?”

  “You’ve met our hostess, right?”

  I nodded. “Cute girl.”

  “She’s my niece. I’m very tight with her father. Just so you know . . . he’s a little crazy. And he’s got a huge baseball bat.”

  I raised my hands with my palms out. “Hey, I’m just looking for a job.”

  “I’m just saying. I’d hate to see you get your knees broken when there are plenty of girls out there with normal fathers.”

  “I already have a girlfriend,” I lied.

  “Then your knees will be safe.”

  “Well? Are you in or out?” asked the Mexican peasant-girl hostess, not necessarily in that order. I’d put her at girl Mexican hostess peasant.

  “I’m in.” I walked past her, then turned around. “Juana Maria, right?”

  “No buttering up your co-workers,” she said and smiled.

  “Do you remember my name?”

  Her face dropped. “Elwood?”

  “I love it when I make such a big impression on someone. It’s Elroy.”

  “I knew there was an ‘El’ in there someplace. Do I get half-credit?”

  “You do. See you later, Juana Maria.”

  “See you, Elwood.”

  “Elroy!”

  Vern and I went to the game on Friday. I made a deal with Ernesto to keep my Fridays open at least until football season was over. He understood. A guy had to have a social life. After all, Highmont Ridge had a championship team. Of course, Vern and I weren’t there to root them on. We were there to socialize, fraternize, flirt.

  At least, Vern was there to flirt. It was all I could do to remain upright. But I knew I needed this. If I was going to get back on that horse, I had to at least join the human race, even when every impulse told me to crawl beneath the nearest rock.

  We arrived at the Highmont stadium just before the start of the varsity game. The captains from both teams were meeting with the referees for the coin toss at center field.

  “Plenty of fish in this sea,” Vern said, scanning the crowd. Highmont football was big enough news to attract people who didn’t attend our school. And some of them were, of course, female. It was a bigger sea, which meant more fish.

  “Let’s find a seat,” I suggested. “We’ll wait until the line dies down before we hit the snack bar.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  It was a rout from the start. Sampson Teague kept the ball on the ground most of the time and passed just enough to keep the defense guessing. If Marisa was there, I didn’t see her. Good. My stomach wasn’t back to normal yet, but it was getting better. I didn’t want to see her. Then again, I did. I can’t explain it.

  “What do you think?” Vern asked midway through the first period.

  “About?”

  “The girl hunt. You’re Mr. Experience. My lips are still virgins.”

  “Really?” I guess I knew Vern didn’t have much experience, but he’d never really come out and said it until now.

  “Really. Now, what’s the plan?”

  The plan. I didn’t know. My heart was still a train wreck. Kind of hard to think of jumping right back in. I knew I needed to, but knowing and doing were two different things. I hadn’t thought it through any further than showing up at the football game and being our charming selves . . . or at least riding on Vern’s charming coattails. But now that we were here and nothing was happening, it was clear that we had to step it up a notch and take some risks. Damn. Risk is what ended things with Marisa.

  “Uh . . . eating sounds good,” I said.

  “That’s the plan?”

  “Yes, but eat with good table manners. You can’t impress girls if you’re a slob.”

  “That’s the plan?” he said again.

  “Follow me.”

  We headed to the snack bar, keeping our eyes peeled for someone cute. Preferably two someones. We ordered hot dogs and went over to the condiments table for mustard and relish.

  “Heartache at three o’clock,” Vern said, nodding to the right.

  I turned and locked eyes with Marisa for a nanosecond before she turned away. More like stomach pain at three o’clock. She was with Stacy, who at least acknowledged Vern with a nod.

  “Should I say something?” I asked Vern.

  “It’s your heart,” he said. “I’m just the sidekick.”

  Marisa came closer, and all I could think about was how hot she looked. She was in jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, and completely beautiful.

  “Your call, Elroy,” Vern said. “I won’t say hi unless you do.”

  But my mouth went totally dry. I moved my lips but nothing came out. Marisa passed us by and quickly disappeared into the crowd.

  I looked down at my hot dog again and saw my hand squeezing the life out of the mustard bottle. My appetite was history.

  “Wow, you really like mustard.”

  “Let’s go,” I told him.

  Just when you think you’re over a stomachache, it comes back with a vengeance. How could a potential girlfriend make a guy feel like that? Vern was right, we really weren’t an item, just two almost friends who kissed for nine seconds. It was like she got a brief taste of me and spat me back out. I was saliva—a big fat Marisa loogey.

  There was nothing to do but watch the game. I was no longer in the mood for even a halfhearted girl-hunt.

  “Remember, you weren’t dumped,” Vern said.

  “Just watch the game.”

  The rest of the game was kind of a blur. Highmont came out victorious. Touchdowns were scored, tackles were made, an
d my eyes saw it all. But my brain didn’t process it. The lights were on . . . then again, they weren’t.

  Vern and I rode home on our bikes after the game. We parted ways at the mall. “Sorry I was such a basket case, Vern.”

  “You just need more time,” he said. “But I expect you to be back to normal on Monday. If you’re not”—he made a fist—“the wrath of Vern.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  I turned up Casitas Pass and headed for the sanctuary of the Airstream. Maybe some alone time with my guitar would put me right again. But somehow I knew it wouldn’t. No amount of alone time could fix this.

  I stopped in the middle of the road and turned my bike around. Maybe I was insane. Maybe I was losing my mind, but I couldn’t help myself. I had to try one more time with Marisa. I couldn’t let go until I did.

  I rode back down Casitas Pass, pumping hard as I passed the avocado trees. After a while, I slowed down. No need to show up at Marisa’s house out of breath and sweaty. This was my last chance; I needed to make a good impression.

  I cruised by the mall, then headed up the hill above the junior college. It had to be close to eleven. What if Marisa was asleep? Maybe I’d made the trip for nothing. I turned onto her street and stopped, not sure if I could go through with it, not sure what I’d say.

  My cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I answered it.

  “Elroy?” It was my mother.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Where are you? Are you all right?”

  “Sorry, I should have called. Vern and I stopped to get something to eat.” It wasn’t a lie. We did get something to eat. And we stopped to do it. It just happened to be at the game.

  “When are you coming home?”

  “I’m on my way.” Okay, that was a lie. “See you soon, Mom. Don’t wait up.”

  “I always wait up. It’s my job.”

  “I guess. See you in a few . . .” minutes if things went bad, hours if things went well.

  I hung up and turned my attention back to the street. Marisa’s house was about six doors down on the right. I pedaled slowly, gathering my nerve. Ten minutes from now, I’d know for sure. One way or another, it would be over or not over.