You decide against trying to hit the first batter.
You look Bryce in the eyes after throwing your final warmup pitch. Then, you move close to his face so he knows you’re serious.
“They didn’t make me look like a fool last time. I made myself look like a fool. I’m not starting this game out the same way I ended that one,” you say.
“Suit yourself, Kel,” Bryce answers. He’s a big brother figure to the lower-classmen on the team, and even though you know he means well, he’s wrong this time. Bryce backpedals to his position at first base.
You rub the ball in your hand, trying to get some of the slickness off. The feeling of a fresh baseball in your hands at the beginning of the game is one of your favorite things. But, when it’s raining, the extra moisture can make a new ball hard to control.
The rain starts coming down harder as the leadoff hitter, Raul Granelli, steps to the plate. In the time between finishing your warmups and starting your windup for the first pitch, the weather has gone from a drizzle to a downpour.
The ball never makes it out of your hand before the umpire throws up his hands, calling for time. You stop your windup in the middle. The umpire steps in front of home plate.
“I need the managers,” the ump calls out.
While Coach Dawson and the Jets manager talk to the umpire, you toss the ball to your infielders to keep loose. You can feel your uniform getting more and more soaked by the second.
Moments later, Coach Dawson motions for the entire team to come back to the dugout. “Everybody in,” he yells. You’re disappointed because you want to get started, rain or not.
Coach tells you that the umpires are going to analyze the weather forecast. Then, they’ll make a decision between waiting out the rain, or postponing the game until a later date.
As soon as Coach Dawson mentions the idea of the game possibly being postponed, the players start making plans. This would be the first Saturday without a baseball game for you and your teammates in about three months.
It sounds like one group of players is going to head to the Twin Pines mall to play laser tag. Another group is going to get their bikes and head to the dirt mounds at the back of Seaview Park. The soft mud will be perfect for doing jumps and tricks. You’re not the best biker. But, you’ve been waiting for a good time to try out the dirt bike your dad got you for your birthday last month. You’ve been so busy with baseball, you’ve only taken the bike around the neighborhood a few times.
You check your phone while you wait to hear from the umpires. There’s a long email from Ali in your inbox. It’s unusual to get an email from her, since you Skype or chat so often. You consider waiting until after the game to read it, but you can’t resist:
FROM: Crespi, Ali ([email protected])
TO: Moore, Kellen ([email protected])
Dear Kel,
I wanted to wish you luck in the championship game today . . .
I just took a visit to the University of Wisconsin in Madison and loved it. For the entire time we’ve known each other, I’ve been hoping we’d go to the same college, so we could be together.
I dreamed that you would play baseball, and I’d major in science, and we’d get to see each other every day!
In the next few paragraphs, Ali writes about all of the things she loved at Wisconsin, and how she’s going to apply early admissions to make sure she has a great chance of getting in. Then:
Wisconsin doesn’t even have a baseball team. And I would never ask you to compromise your dream for me.
She writes a bit more about what a good guy you are, and how you’re going to make someone really happy one day. Then, you read the words you knew were coming:
It makes me so sad to write this, but I think we need to break up.
Your stomach drops. A million different emotions are attacking your brain at once just when you need to remain focused and ready to pitch. You put your hand in your glove, hoping to somehow bring your mind back to the game.
The umpire comes over to the dugout to talk with Coach Dawson again. The ump shows him something on his phone, and then heads over to the Jets’ dugout.
Coach puts up his hands to quiet the team. “It sounds like the weather people are saying the rain is going to keep coming for a couple of hours. Even when it stops, the field is going to need work. The championship game is being rescheduled for next week. Same time, same place. Enjoy your day, and see you at practice Monday.”
You’re relieved. It would be hard to focus on baseball after getting that email.
You find your mom in the bleachers and tell her what happened, and that you just want to go back home and curl up in front of the TV, or play some video games. But, your mom encourages you to go out with your friends.
“Don’t let a girl mess up your chance to have a fun Saturday!” she says.
You know your mom is right and you head back to the dugout. Tommy, your best friend on the team, is one of the guys heading to the mall for laser tag. Bryce is rounding up a bunch of guys to grab their bikes and head to the park . . .
GO TO PAGE 31. You head to the mall to play laser tag.
GO TO PAGE 43. You run home to get your bike and plan to meet your teammates at the dirt mounds at the back of the park.
You turn onto the bike route and pedal like your life depends on it. Who knows? Maybe it does. You don’t let up for three minutes until you’ve made it so far into the park that you can’t hear the cars driving through the arboretum anymore.
When you turn, you scan the area behind you, looking for the people or the car. You know it’s unlikely that they could’ve followed you, but you’re still paranoid.
You keep looking over your shoulder every few seconds and wonder what they could’ve wanted. You think they might’ve been police officers, but you have no idea why they would want to talk to you. You’ve never so much as known anyone who’s gotten in real trouble, much less gotten in any yourself.
Finally, you reach the dirt mounds, where your teammates are already riding. You watch them skid into the mud and have a great time. You wish you could feel as carefree as they look. But, between Ali breaking up with you and being followed by the black car, you have a lot on your mind.
You ride over and join them. For a while, riding around with your friends is just what you needed. You watch Bryce run himself up one of the huge mounds. He flies through the air for at least ten feet and lands perfectly. It’s the coolest bike jump you’ve ever seen.
You decide to try to do the same jump. Your teammates all turn around to see if you can match what Bryce did. You start pedaling toward the jump.
Just before you reach the hill, you see the black car pull up out of the corner of your eye. When you land, you’re going to have no choice but to hear what these people have to say. You ride up the dirt embankment and soar into the air, no idea at all what’s coming next . . .
THE END
You hesitate for too long and miss your chance to score. You hold at third. Coach looks disappointed as you come back to stand on the base. “Gotta be on your toes, Kel,” he says.
Coach is right to be annoyed. The championship could’ve been yours right there. A perfect end to your dream season.
Storment lifts his leg and delivers the next pitch. The ball whizzes past Dane for a strike and the Jets jog back to their dugout. The championship game is going to extra innings.
Coach walks next to you as you head back to the dugout, not saying anything at first. Two of your team’s relievers are warming up. They’re both ready to come in.
“What are you thinking?” Coach Dawson finally asks you.
You’re stunned. You didn’t think there was a chance he would let you keep pitching into the 8th. Either of the guys who would relieve you is capable of pitching a good inning here. But in your heart, you want to finish.
“The rules say you can pitch one more inning before I have to take you out. If your arm hurts, you’ve got to tell me. But, if you’re just tired, I’d rath
er have you at half strength, than anyone else at full strength.”
You know you’re tired. You rotate your arm around your shoulder socket, checking how stiff it is, and it feels like it weighs 500 pounds. Every piece of you wants to stay in the game, but you owe it to coach to be honest if you think you’re done . . .
GO TO PAGE 8. You tell Coach Dawson your arm is too tired to pitch the 8th inning.
GO TO PAGE 46. You tell Coach Dawson you feel good, and go out for the 8th.
You know you need to get away from Bryce and Fred. If Bryce was willing to threaten to hurt you, you have no doubt he might really do it before this is all over.
There’s no way you can overpower them both and get away, so you try to keep yourself calm as you take your phone in your hand, trying to decide what to do. You pretend to start dialing Agent Borck’s number . . .
“What’s taking so long?” Bryce asks. The guy you’re looking at is not someone you know anymore. People talked about mood swings being one of the side effects of steroids and you’re sure this is what you’re seeing now. You wonder how you’ve never seen it before. But, then you think back to Bryce trying to convince you to start the game earlier by beaning their leadoff hitter and it makes more sense.
You consider telling Agent Borck the truth on the phone, and telling him you need his help right now. But, you you’re scared of what Bryce might do before the agents have a chance to get there.
As you’re still pretending to dial, Bryce looks away toward Fred for a brief moment. Fred’s standing in front of the hedge. You don’t feel like you have a good option here. It’s really a question of the least bad choice. You decide to take a chance.
You bring your phone into the air and wallop Bryce on the side of the head. It’s not a shot that will do anything more than sting him for a second, but he backs up and grabs his cheek and ear.
You’re able to slip past him and around to the front of the hedge. Fred looks surprised as he sees you grabbing your bike off the ground.
“Leave me alone, Fred,” you say, as your legs start to peddle before you’re even on your bike. “You’re already in enough trouble with all this.”
You peddle as fast as you can down the street with your phone still in your hand. Once you’re most of the way down the block, you slow down enough to look back. Bryce is racing down the street after you. It’s a long way home, and you know there’s a good chance he’ll catch you before you can get there.
There’s also no way you could possibly get your phone out and dial the FBI agents for help while you’re pedaling this fast. You’ll need to lose Bryce before you can do that. But, how? You reach the end of the block and have two choices.
You could turn left and try to reach your house before Bryce catches you. The way to your house is straight, dark, and quiet, though. You’re not going to lose Bryce if you go this way. And, if he does catch you, it’s not likely anyone will be around to help you.
Or, you could turn right and ride back into the park. You’ll be further from home, but with all of the wooded paths, you might be able to lose Bryce, call Martinez and Borck, and then head home later.
GO TO PAGE 22. You turn right and try to lose Bryce in the park.
GO TO PAGE 47. You turn left and head home, trying to keep ahead of Bryce.
You dial the number for Agent Borck. Bryce is standing so close to you that you can smell his breath.
Borck picks up. “Borck here.”
“Uh, hi, Agent Borck,” you say. “It’s—”
“Kellen,” he says. “What’s going on?”
You hesitate for a few seconds. Bryce glares at you.
“What’s up, son?” Borck asks.
“I remembered something,” you say. “There’s one guy who bragged about taking some pills to help him lift more weight.”
“Which kid?” Borck asks. “I know you probably don’t want to name names, but we really need you to help us here, Kellen . . . ”
“It’s Pierre,” you say.
“Who?” Borck answers.
“Pierre. He’s one of our bench guys,” you say.
Bryce has stepped away from you now. He’s not smiling, but he doesn’t look like he’s going to rip your head off anymore . . . or break your pitching arm.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Borck says. “That guy’s tiny. You’ve got to give me something better than that.”
“It’s the truth,” you say, trying to sound unconvincing.
“Are you by yourself right now?” Borck asks.
You can tell Bryce can’t hear the other end of the conversation. You consider lying again. You’ve gone this far. “No,” you say.
“Is someone telling you to say this?” Borck asks.
“Yes,” you answer, looking away from Bryce, afraid he’ll be able to tell what you’re doing.
Borck tells you to get yourself home safely and that he’ll speak with you later.
Bryce seems convinced and lets you go.
Later, Borck and Martinez visit you at home. Now, you tell them everything. You tell them about the locker room conversation. You tell them about today. And you offer to help in any way you can.
Borck tells you that they knew something was wrong as soon as you called because they’d only suspected the guys on the team who worked out at Sunshine Fitness, Bryce and Fred.
The agents also remind you that you made a good decision by coming clean. Lying to federal agents, and withholding information, could have been considered obstruction of justice.
“You would’ve been in almost as much trouble as your team-mates,” Martinez said.
Although Bryce and Fred are in trouble, the FBI won’t prosecute them. They really need the players so they can get to the trainers who supply the drugs, and the distributors who sell to the trainers.
But, Bryce and Fred have broken enough California high school baseball rules that it’s likely your team will forfeit the state championship when this news comes out.
You woke up thinking you might be a champion by the time you went to bed tonight. Instead, you’re involved with an investigation. And, you may not get a shot to avenge the loss to Crescent City. At least you know that what you accomplished this season was done fairly, even if some of your teammates didn’t play by the same rules.
And as much as it hurts, the great thing about baseball is that next season is only a few months away . . .
THE END
You tell the agents that you’ll help them.
Early this morning, you were preparing to play in the biggest baseball game of your life. The day isn’t even half over yet, but now you’re sitting in the back of a car belonging to the FBI, preparing to be part of a drug bust.
The agents made everything sound unplanned when you spoke, but they have a bag in their car with workout clothes in your size. Even the sneaker size is right! They’ve been planning to approach you for a while.
You expect them to tape a wire to you, like you’ve seen in the movies. But they just hand you a smartphone and tell you not to touch it.
“This phone is going to let us hear everything we need. You just need to be within 10 feet of the phone for us to hear you,” Borck says.
The agents tell you exactly what they want you to say, and practice a few times to make sure you’ve got your story straight.
It’s unbelievable to you that this is moving so quickly. Before you know it, you’re dressed in gym clothes. Agent Borck is driving toward Sunshine Fitness, and your heart is thumping in your chest.
When they stop a block away, you don’t want to actually get out of the car. “You’re doing a good thing, Kellen,” Martinez says.
You walk down the street and pull open the door to Sunshine Fitness. You nervously tap your pocket to make sure the phone you were given is still there.
The woman at the front desk greets you and asks if you’re interested in a membership. When she sees your name at the top of your application, she recognizes it. “You’re that pitcher,” sh
e says with a smile. “We train a couple of your teammates here.”
You smile back at her.
“Are you interested in personal training?” she asks, just like the agents said she would. “Because I can bring you back to the trainers right now. They might even be able to get you started today.”
A few minutes later, the front desk attendant introduces you to a man named Wallace. He’s short, but has wide shoulders under his track jacket. He looks like a fire hydrant— short, solid, and unmovable. He gives you a firm handshake and leads you into his office, closing the door.
“We help all sorts of athletes reach their potential,” he tells you. “What are you looking for?”
You follow the script Agents Borck and Martinez told you to use. “I’m hoping to recover faster after I pitch, and possibly add a little velocity.”
Wallace smiles at you. “Recovery is my specialty,” he says. “Imagine if I could make your arm feel stronger the day after you pitch than the day before.”
“That would be great,” you answer. “You could do that?”
“I’ve seen you pitch,” he says. “You’ve got a chance to go all the way.”
“Thank you,” you say. Your heart is pounding. He’s not even trying to hide what he does, but he hasn’t actually said the words “drugs” or “steroids” or “PEDs.”
“Now,” he says. “Down to business. Here’s the way it works. You’ll come in three times a week. We’ll meet right here in my office. I’ll get you the stuff you need to make it as far as you can. Then, we’ll do a series of lifts and exercises that will help you build in all the places you need to as a pitcher. We’ll keep track of everything in a notebook, and if you ever earn a paycheck from playing ball, you’ll pay me back with interest.”
“Okay,” you say. You can’t believe how easy it is to get performance enhancers.
“We have a deal?” Wallace asks, extending his hand.
You nod and shake his hand. As nervous as you are, you are getting a similar adrenaline rush to being on the mound.
The Iceman's Meltdown Page 5
