Man Up

by Kim Oclon

  “That’s pretty awesome,” I smiled at the bag of dull coins. The sound of the balls zipping out of the pitching machines energized me and I felt a ping of anticipation before hearing the bat connect with the ball. Even the stale air made me feel better. I hadn’t been to Grand Slam since last spring when Mike and I spent a rainy Sunday afternoon there, adjusting the speed of the machine without the other one knowing it so that the ball either came in like a parent pitching to a small child or like the ball was shot out of a rifle. We had little success with either speed. Then we switched to adjusting the height of the pitches so the batter wouldn’t know if he would be golfing or playing tennis when the ball came whizzing by. The day definitely didn’t do much to help our form and technique, but it was a lot of fun.

  Mike and I zigzagged around parents, children, and several people who also appeared to be antsy for the upcoming season. I recognized several caps from neighboring high schools, all of which Lincoln defeated last season. We set our bags against a bench and removed the bats from our bags, making the sound effects of swords being taken out of a scabbard.

  “Your tokens, your turn,” I said holding aside the net that led into the batting cage.

  Mike inserted one of the tokens into the slot and stepped into the cage, rushing through a few practice swings as an orange light above the pitching machine warned him the first pitch was coming. He swung and hit a line drive up the middle. “Yes!” Mike congratulated himself. “Not a bit rusty.”

  “The shortstop would have had it,” I said, pretending to be unimpressed.

  “Shut up.” Mike realigned himself with home plate, ready for the next pitch.

  I sat on the bench, waiting for my turn. All of the batting cages were being used, with the exception of two. Softball cages were on the other side and only three of those were occupied. One by two small girls, about ten years old and someone who seemed to be their dad, another by two older girls, maybe in high school, wearing helmets that had a slot for their ponytails to slide through, and the other by a guy taking swings by himself. He had a thin frame and a good batting stance as he slightly waved a purple bat above his head. Navy blue workout pants and a yellow T-shirt hung from his body. On the next pitch, he hit a ball on the ground that probably had enough power to make it through the infield. I shrugged at the sight. Maybe the guy played for some intramural league at a college or something. You don’t see that many guys in the fast pitch cages. Maybe an old guy in the slow, high-arc ones because those guys took their recreational league very seriously, but that was it.

  “Your turn.” Mike stepped out of the cage and flopped on the bench next to me.

  “Cool.” I dug a token out of the baggie.

  “Hey batter, batter. Hey, batter, batter,” Mike yelled.

  I shook my head and quickly completed my pre-pitch ritual of a swing and a final alignment with the front corner of the plate. The orange light above the pitching machine fully illuminated and a ball dropped into the machine. In the nanosecond it took for the ball to reach me, I stepped, pivoted, swung, and squarely connected with the ball. It sailed a few feet above the pitching machine before hitting the net and sliding to the ground.

  “Nice,” Mike said, opening a bag of cheese curls he had just bought from a nearby vending machine.

  While they might not have been homeruns or even base hits, I was pleased that I made solid connection on each of the pitches. On the last one, the image of Tyler’s shocked and hurt face when I pretty much told that Will kid that Tyler wasn’t my boyfriend flickered in my memory. The bat sliced through the air and I heard a dull thwack as a little yellow ball rolled by my feet.

  “Whoa!” Mike stood up, pretending to watch a ball sail high into the air and over a fence. “It’s still going.”

  “Shut up.” I kicked the ball so it could get eaten by the contraption that would carry it back to the pitching machine. I undid the Velcro of my batting gloves and leaned my bat against the bench as Mike geared up for his second round in the cage.

  “That was a pretty sloppy swing.”

  I turned in the voice’s direction with a wrinkled eyebrow and saw the guy from the softball batting cages standing off to my side.

  “It wasn’t very good,” I agreed and turned back to watch Mike take his swings.

  “You totally dropped your hands and had a weird a follow through.”

  “I know.” I narrowed my eyes, seeing the navy blue pants and yellow T-shirt standing a few feet away. Like I needed some random person to tell me my swing sucked, especially when it was obvious what I did wrong. I thought about the boyfriend who seemed to take the side of the biggest asshole in the school.

  The guy took off his helmet and set it on the bench near my bat. I saw something familiar in the short hair and small smile. It was Allie, the girl from the library.

  “Oh, hey.” I wasn’t sorry for my short responses but I did feel bad for not recognizing her.

  “Allie,” she said.

  “I know. I didn’t recognize you with the helmet on.”

  “I didn’t know you played baseball,” she said, sitting down.

  “I didn’t know you played softball.” I nodded at the softball cages. “You scanning, or not scanning my ID in the library didn’t leave much time for us to talk about our favorite sports.”

  “I played at my old school,” Allie hugged one of her knees to her chest. “Second base.”

  “Me too. I play second,” I said. “Softball tryouts are the same time as baseball’s. Are you going out for the team?”

  Allie shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know yet. Probably not.” She retied a shoe that didn’t need to be retied, or maybe she didn’t like the feeling of her shoes being loose.

  “Yes!” Mike yelled from the cage as he made a solid connection. He pumped his arms a few times before getting ready for the next pitch.

  “Ms. Larson seemed pretty upset after she talked to you,” Allie said.

  “Yeah?” I redid the Velcro of my batting gloves, ready to go back in the cage even though Mike had only hit four of the fifteen balls.

  “I guess you didn’t look too happy either.”

  “I wasn’t.” I stood, hoping to indicate to Allie that I didn’t want to talk about this.

  “How come?” Allie said it carefully and with a little hesitation.

  I lowered my eyes. “She thought I needed help with something.” Spending all that time with Ms. Larson must have had an effect on Allie. She seemed to have a gift for getting people to say things they didn’t want to.

  “Well, that sucked.” Mike stepped out of the cage. “The last three were all infield flies. Patrick’s fat ass would have ran on them and there’s two outs without even trying.” He slipped his bat into his bag. “I’m going to get something to drink. You want anything?”

  “I’m good,” I said.

  Mike noticed Allie sitting on the bench. “Hey.” He greeted her like he had to, like when my aunt got married a couple years ago and my mom made me say hi to each of my family members. I’d never seen most of them before.

  “Allie. I’m in your government class.”

  “Yeah.” Mike looked from me to Allie and back. I could see the question in Mike’s eyes. “Well, I’ll be right back.”

  I dug through the baggie of tokens even though all I had to do was reach in and grab one. “Why are you talking to me?”

  “Because I recognized you. Because you’re one of the few people I’ve met at school who didn’t call me a dyke or something along those lines within the first three seconds of meeting me.” Allie stood up. “So, thanks for that.”

  I lowered my head in shame on behalf of every person who was ever mean to Allie. I was sorry for my body language during our conversation, standing off to the side, not looking at her, wishing she would go away.

  “I like girls,” Allie said. “Don’t think I’m hitting on you or something. I haven’t hit on a guy since fourth grade when I sent Tony Sorini a ridiculous Valentine.”
r />   “Did it work?” I asked.

  Allie shook her head. “It was short lived. We got two swings next to each other at recess but Marissa Thoms got the one on the other side of him.” She dramatically sighed. “If only I would have gotten the middle swing. Then maybe Marissa and I would have gotten together.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh a little at the thought of a fourth grade Allie possibly leaving Tony for Marissa. “I didn’t think you were hitting on me. It was just a really rough ending to the week and I was trying hard not to remember it.”

  Allie pulled a hooded sweatshirt that was emblazoned with a ferocious looking tiger’s head and the name of a school I had never heard of. “Is the batting cage helping?”

  “A little,” I paused. “Not really.” Nothing was going to help me get rid of what Tyler said and how he looked when we last talked yesterday.

  She pulled on a winter hat that had long flaps that covered her ears. “Whatever it is, you’re not going to stop thinking about it until you deal with it.”

  “You are so wise,” I said sarcastically.

  “Not the most profound piece of advice, I know. But it’s true.” Allie put the bat she was using into one of the slots that lined the wall and hung the helmet on a hook.

  I shrugged, thinking it was strange that here I was, sort of talking to Allie about what was going on. If we were somewhere else, maybe I would have told her everything. She probably would have some profound advice.

  Allie put her hands in the pocket of her sweatshirt and nodded a goodbye. “If you need to get into the library, you know who to come to.”

  “Thanks for that, the other day,” I said, feeling self-conscious. “I really needed to get in.”

  “I could tell. See you later.” She turned and dodged two boys who were trying on extra large helmets and trying to walk around in them without running into anything.

  Allie and Mike crossed paths as he also had to take a small detour around a bench to avoid the kids. He had a cup in his hand that looked like it could hold a liter of liquid. When he took a sip, a neon yellow beverage shot up the straw. Mike took another look behind him as Allie walked out of the batting cage section of Grand Slam and made her way to the doors.

  “I’m your best friend. Were you going to wait until the wedding to fill me in?” Mike grinned.

  I shook my head. “She and I talked in the library a few times. She was just saying hi.”

  Mike grinned like a big brother who wasn’t going to let his little brother off the hook that easily. “Quite a long hello if you ask me. Were you planning your next date?”

  Part of me wanted to believe Mike would be giving me a hard time if it had been any girl who was talking with me. The other part of me didn’t want to believe that Mike was giving me a hard time because of what Allie looked like and what must be common knowledge that she was a lesbian.

  And then I remembered our conversation in the cafeteria. Allie definitely didn’t allow Mike to “not know.”

  “I don’t think I’m her type, man,” I said, which was something I’d said in the past when Mike asked why I wasn’t going to go out with one of Carrie’s friends, even though she thought I was really cute.

  “No shit,” Mike laughed. “She wouldn’t know what to do with a wiener even if you hit her in the face with one.”

  I stepped into the cage and put the token he had been holding for the past five minutes into the slot. Now my hand smelled like money kept in a sock drawer for the past decade. “You sound like Kaminski.” Mike had no idea how much of an insult that was and how much it sucked.

  “Ouch,” he said, taking a step back like I had just shoved him and laughed again.

  CHAPTER 16

  DAVID

  On Monday, I walked past the first flight of stairs so I could see if Tyler was at his locker. Ever since we’d been together a whole weekend never went by without seeing each other, let alone without talking. At some point on Sunday, while I was watching a spring training game with Robert, I realized it made me kind of happy to know that Tyler thought that much of me to call me his boyfriend in front of other people. It was why guys and girls walked the halls holding hands, stopping to kiss each other at classroom doors. You didn’t have to say you were together, everyone automatically knew. I never thought of that. Tyler still wanted to be my boyfriend even though I asked him not to tell anyone about it. Except his parents, but that doesn’t count.

  It was that look Tyler gave me when he said the whole school already knew he was gay that still bothered me. Like he was ready to go back on what he told me the day before school started. We were on his bed, making out. Facing each other all sweaty and red, I had asked him if he was okay with keeping us a secret. If he could do it. And he had said, “Of course. I would do anything for you.”

  The memory made me whip my phone out of my pocket and press Tyler’s photo before I had a chance to convince myself otherwise. This was worth actually saying not just texting. The phone rang twice and went to voicemail and I hung up before getting through Tyler’s greeting. Finally, I just texted him something generic. Call me when you get a chance.

  That was about eighteen hours ago and no call or text back. I hated it when people constantly checked and played with their phones, but I looked at my phone more in the past day and half than I probably did in a week. My dad threatened to throw it in the toilet if I looked at it one more time during dinner.

  When I reached Tyler’s locker, there were sophomores crowded around it and no sign of him, making me believe that Tyler was in full-on avoidance mode. I didn’t have any experience with this.

  If anyone were to ask me what I learned in psychology that day, I would have had to say, “I don’t know. Some stuff.” I had spent the whole period thinking about Art Appreciation and not because I was really interested in this sculpture unit we were doing. Tyler would probably stare straight ahead, pretending that I wasn’t sitting a couple rows behind him.

  I reached the art room before Tyler did with my stomach feeling like it was churning up something it didn’t want to digest. As I slipped into my seat to take out a notebook I didn’t plan on actually using, the bell rang and still no Tyler. I had felt nervous ever since I texted Tyler. Now I felt nervous and a little worried. Tyler would never ditch a class.

  In Spanish class, there was finally some relief. The teacher spent the first ten minutes of class explaining how we were going to expand upon the travelogues we did last week and make a short video in which we “visited” the Spanish city we were assigned. I thought it would be helpful for more than one reason if I just took a trip to Valencia instead.

  Señora Fannin led the class to the library, shushing a few along the way who forgot that there were still other classes going on. Allie looked up from the book she was reading as my Spanish class trooped through the entrance and gave me a small wave with her fingers. I nodded a hello back. I admired in her what I admired in Tyler. Confident and strong. Not seeming to give a shit about anyone. They made it look so easy when I knew it was anything but that.

  I plopped my books down at what had become my favorite computer in the library, the one all the way at the end of the row. I searched Valencia and then watched as my teacher explained the assignment to someone who had been absent the past few days. Glancing at my classmates, it was pretty clear that no one was very focused on the assignment. I sauntered past the magazine rack, stopped at a shelf that contained new books, and straightened a stack of papers that were all over one of the copy machines.

  As I approached the desk at the entrance, Allie hopped off her chair and shoved a bookmark in my face. “Would you like a complimentary piece of cardboard that would be perfect for reminding you of where you stopped in a book. They are courtesy of some author I’ve never heard of who’s coming to visit the book club next week.”

  I smiled. “I’m good. I usually just fold the page down.”

  “Your loss. I don’t hand these out to just anyone.” Allie shrugged and placed the
bookmark back on the stack. “Do you need something?”

  “Uh, yeah,” I hesitated. “But it doesn’t have anything to do with the library or this stupid project I have to do for Spanish.”

  “I wouldn’t be much help in Spanish, anyway. I took three years of Russian at my old school.”

  “Russian? That’s cool.”

  “Yeah,” Allie said. “They offered Spanish, French, Mandarin, and Russian.”

  “Why’d you pick Russian?” I moved the bookmark stack so I could rest my elbows on the counter.

  “I thought the letters looked cool and I liked how it sounds like you’re being mean even though you might be saying something like, ‘You have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.’” She batted her eyes at me.

  If any other guy or girl would have used a line like that, I would have thought they were flirting with me. “I actually wanted to ask you something about your old school.”

  Allie hopped on a tall chair that spun. “Like what?”

  “Was it big? I mean did a lot of people go there?”

  Allie shrugged. “It was bigger than Lincoln, that’s for sure. There were probably about eight hundred people in my class and over three thousand all together.”

  “Wow, that’s pretty big.”

  Allie spun her chair in little half circles, craning her neck towards me if she turned a bit too far. “So, are you doing some sort of geography assignment on the demographics of neighboring schools?”

  “No.” I shuffled the bookmarks like they were playing cards. It was like I was back in front of the bathroom mirror, practicing coming out to my dad. “So…was it better at your old school or is it better here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean…” I wasn’t sure what I meant. “I guess I wanted to know if you like it here.”

  “Now you’re the welcoming committee? I’d say you’re a few months too late,” Allie smiled. “And it’s okay here, I guess. It’s high school.”