Double Play

by Tim Green

  Jalen grinned. “Okay, Coach. Thanks.”

  “I said ‘if.’ ”

  “I know, Coach.”

  12

  JALEN’S EXCITEMENT WAS SOON PUT to bed.

  The reason the Bronxville Bandits were favored to win became obvious immediately. Their star pitcher, Grady Gertz, was actually better than Chris. He was taller than Chris, if not as big, and could not only throw a curveball and the hottest four-seam fastball Jalen had ever seen from a kid, he also had a changeup that was impossible for the Rockets batters to adjust to after the fastball.

  But if Chris was upset about the dressing-down his dad had given him, he didn’t let it show. On the pitcher’s mound he was all focus, and he avoided Jalen in the dugout, probably to cure himself of the temptation to taunt him.

  The pitching duel raged on between Chris and Grady, and the first four innings ended scoreless, with only three total hits for both teams.

  Jalen cheered hard, even though the disappointment of not playing began to worm its way into his heart. He couldn’t help remembering the excitement of last night, helping JY and the Yankees win a big game, and it made things even harder today. Still, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “That’s it, Chris. Get another one!”

  Just then the Bronxville batter smacked one of Chris’s fastballs out of the park. It was the bottom of the fifth inning, and Jalen, like the rest of his team, fell silent. Chris rubbed the elbow Jalen had smacked, and Jalen glanced at Coach Gamble, who frowned. Chris didn’t stop, though. He gritted his teeth and reloaded.

  The next batter hit a double on the first pitch. The next one had a 1–1 count when he banged it over the fence as well. Three more hits followed, loading the bases before Gertz himself got up and hammered a grand slam home run, making it suddenly a 7–0 blowout.

  Coach Gamble called time-out and walked to the mound, where he and Chris argued about him coming out of the game. Coach Gamble said something sharp and walked away, signaling to the umpire and leaving his son to his own fate. Jalen was relieved that Chris left his elbow alone, and even he had to admire the way Chris hung in there to finish the inning, finally getting his third out on a big fly that would have gone over the fence too but for a spectacular leaping catch by Daniel in left field. With one inning to go, the score stood at 7–0.

  As he stomped through the dugout, Chris stopped in front of Jalen and pointed at his arm. “You did this. Thanks.” He moved on before Jalen could reply.

  Jalen opened his mouth to protest, but the looks he got from his other teammates told him he would find no sympathy.

  The first two batters up were Dirk and Chris. Whatever went wrong with Chris, the same couldn’t be said for Gertz. He sat both the Rockets’ best bats down with just eight pitches. When Chris whiffed on three in a row, he slammed his bat into the dirt and cursed the whole way back to the dugout. Jalen averted his eyes and was unpleasantly surprised when Coach Gamble called his name.

  “DeLuca!”

  “Yeah, Coach?”

  “You’re up.”

  “I—” Jalen bounced to his feet, pointing at his own chest. “Me?”

  “I said if it was a blowout. This isn’t what I was thinking, but I’d have to say it qualifies.” Coach Gamble didn’t look one bit happy, and Jalen wondered for an instant if batting against Gertz at this point in the game was more of a punishment than a reward for being a good cheerleader.

  Either way, he didn’t care. Jalen grabbed his bat off the rack, slipped on his gloves, and plunked a helmet down on his head.

  “Let’s go!” Coach Gamble barked. “I’d like to end the misery sometime this year.”

  Jalen hurried through the dugout.

  When Chris stuck his foot out, Jalen tripped and went down.

  Laughter rang out, but Jalen popped up. Without looking back, he dusted off his face and uniform as he marched toward home plate. When he stepped up to the plate, Gertz looked at him and fought back a smile, the sign of a dominant player not wanting to gloat.

  Jalen tapped the plate with his bat, took a couple of swings, and hunkered down into his stance. Gertz leaned forward, studying Jalen. He narrowed his eyes, then laughed. “Hey, you’re that kid with the Yankees, aren’t you?”

  The pitcher looked over at the dugout toward his coach and pointed at Jalen. “Coach, it’s the Calamari Kid!”

  13

  JALEN FELT HIS CHEEKS FLUSH with embarrassment and a touch of pride.

  The chatter from the Bronxville players subsided.

  “Get him, Grady!” the first baseman shouted.

  Grady wiped the smile off his face and brought his glove to his chest, covering the ball in his other hand. His face lost all expression, and he went into his windup. The ball came at Jalen in a blur. He swung so hard his legs corkscrewed, and he stumbled forward.

  The Bronxville players roared with laughter, and the same delighted sound spilled from the dugout of Jalen’s own team . . . guys he’d cheered on all day.

  Jalen clenched his teeth and reminded himself that both Dirk and Chris had whiffed against Gertz. There’d be no shame in striking out, but looking at Grady, Jalen knew he was going to get a fastball. He took a practice swing and stepped back up to the plate.

  Gertz was all business. He wound up and in it came, a smoking pitch right down the center. Jalen shifted his weight and swung fast, this time only trying to connect instead of crushing it.

  He missed, but not entirely. The nicked ball flew over the backstop, and at least no one was laughing. Gertz frowned.

  “Okay, Grady, end this thing!” shouted the shortstop. “End it right now! You got this guy!”

  Gertz took a deep breath and cracked his neck.

  That was when Jalen knew exactly what Gertz was going to do, and it wasn’t another fastball.

  The Bronxville pitcher was going to throw a changeup. Jalen just knew it.

  Gertz went into his windup, using the same speed, the same motion as he’d used for the fastball. In the instant before the ball was released, doubt flashed in Jalen’s mind, because there was no difference in the delivery of either pitch.

  He knew it, though, in that instant, knew the ball would hang out there like an apple on a low branch, and he pushed aside uncertainty—whether or not anyone might laugh. They’d already laughed, treated him like a joke. What did he care if they did it again? But if he crushed it? What would they say then?

  All that went through his mind in a nanosecond as the pitch came at him.

  Jalen swung for the fences.

  14

  JALEN JOGGED AROUND THE BASES without hearing cheers or the clapping hands of his teammates. There was only the huff of his own breath and the slight whistle of air through the earholes of his helmet. His foot hit the rubber of home plate with a final slap.

  “Caleb, you’re up. Let’s go.” Coach Gamble sounded just as gruff as always. “Nice hit, DeLuca.”

  Jalen fought back a grin and plunked himself down on the bench like nothing had happened. His teammates stopped packing their equipment bags and took their seats. Daniel snuck up behind Jalen and whispered with delight, “Amigo! You crushed it!”

  Caleb went to the plate and promptly struck out.

  “Okay, that’s it,” growled Coach Gamble, heading out of the dugout. “Let’s shake hands.”

  Jalen fell into the back of the line and answered the grinning Bronxville faces with a somber stare. Hitting a home run—he knew—was no excuse for joy when your team got spanked. The Bronxville coaches came last, and after shaking the assistant coach’s hand, Jalen was surprised when the head coach took his hand without letting go. The coach steered Jalen a few steps toward the pitcher’s mound.

  “Hey, you’re Jalen DeLuca, right? The kid with the Yankees?”

  “Yes,” said Jalen, stunned.

  “That was some hit,” the coach said.

  Jalen wanted to tell the coach that it was easy, because he knew it was a changeup and that the ball was going to ju
st hang out there for him to smack, but he stopped himself. “Oh. Thanks.”

  “Yeah.” The coach leaned in. “So, I’m wondering why you didn’t play? I watched you guys in the first game, and you didn’t play then, either. Are you in trouble or something?”

  “No.”

  “Well, your bat looks pretty healthy.” The coach chuckled. “Do you struggle in the field?”

  “No, I’m not bad.” Jalen glanced nervously at his own coaches, but no one on his team, not even Daniel, was paying any attention. “I had a bad practice this week.”

  “Look, take this.” The coach slipped a business card into Jalen’s hand. “We could use a bat like yours. You don’t see many kids putting one out on Grady. And I know it wasn’t just luck. You brought your bat around on his fastball on that second pitch like a pro, nearly got it. Call me if you feel like switching teams. I’m serious. We could use you, and I can promise you this: I wouldn’t have you warming the bench.”

  “Thanks, Coach,” Jalen said, hardly believing his luck.

  “Coach Allen.” The coach grabbed his hand again and tightened his grip before letting go. He seemed sincere, like a man who could be trusted. “I hope I’ll hear from you, Jalen. I hate to see talent like yours go to waste.”

  Jalen couldn’t keep from smiling as the two teams lined up and received their awards from the tournament officials. Bronxville players got individual trophies, while the Rockton Rockets got silver medals strung on red ribbons. Jalen felt dazed as he walked toward his own dugout, not worried in the least that he’d missed the first few words of Coach Gamble’s rant. When it was over, Jalen couldn’t even say for sure what his coach had said other than a few words like “pathetic” and “disgraceful” and that there was a chance they could avenge themselves, since both teams were playing in an even bigger tournament in Boston next weekend.

  On board the bus, Jalen joined the rest of the team in depositing his medal into the garbage bag Coach Benning held open as they filed by onto the bus. Coach Gamble had declared that second place was trash, and that’s where their medals belonged. Jalen scooted past the head coach’s seat and stayed alert for Chris sticking his foot out into the aisle, but the big beefy pitcher seemed too glum to bother with any bullying. In the back of the bus, Jalen sat down directly across the aisle from Daniel.

  Daniel sighed. “My mom would have loved that medal. Anything like that in my place goes over big.”

  “Yeah, well, look at this.” Jalen leaned over and showed his friend the card. “That coach asked me if I wanted to play for Bronxville.” He kept his voice low, but it trembled with excitement. “He said I wouldn’t sit the bench with them.”

  “That is so cool!” Daniel looked at the card, flipping it over. “He put his cell phone on the back, amigo. It’s like recruiting, right? I heard of that happening. What you gonna do? I mean, can I go too? You can’t leave me here by myself, right?”

  Jalen felt the thrill suddenly drain out of him. He hadn’t thought of Daniel, but of course he couldn’t go without him.

  “Well,” Jalen said. “I’ll call him and ask.”

  15

  DANIEL’S FATHER PICKED THEM UP from the school parking lot. It was just past six o’clock when they bumped over the train tracks and Jalen hopped out of the battered pickup truck in front of the Silver Liner. Jalen hoisted his dad’s cooler from the backseat.

  “So, you gonna call that coach?” Daniel asked.

  “Tomorrow,” Jalen said. “I don’t want to seem desperate. Okay?”

  “Sure.” Daniel grinned.

  “See you in a little bit,” he said, before slamming the car door.

  Jalen stood for a moment outside his father’s restaurant, its lights already ablaze in the evening light. It was miraculous to him, but in the world of James Yager, miracles seemed commonplace. Only a few days ago, the diner had its windows smashed in by firemen and the kitchen was a blackened hole. Now it looked brand-new, as if the shiny silver dining car that made up the front section of the restaurant had just been pulled from the railroad tracks. Inside, every employee his dad had ever hired seemed to be buzzing about, setting up for the first seating, which kicked off at six thirty. There were three seatings after that, at seven thirty, eight thirty, and nine thirty. Guests would be served family-style from a fixed menu so the Silver Liner could turn over the tables fast, serving several hundred diners the now-famous food.

  Jalen found his dad in the sparkling kitchen, busy as a circus juggler. Fragrant steam rose from multiple pots and pans along the giant stovetop. He set the cooler down on an empty shelf.

  “You’re here!” His father wiped his hands on a messy white apron and hugged Jalen, kissing his cheeks. “Look! Look! Is all ready. Everyone giving me things, the drinks, the fish . . . . Everyone knows about Mr. JY, and they wanna be a part of this. It’s gonna be an opening like no one ever before. I got fifty pounds of the calamari. They gonna love it!”

  “Dad, can I help?”

  “No, no, no. I got plenty of people. You go change. Mr. Yager gonna be here for the seven thirty seating. Hey!” His father arched his back and eyed Jalen, sensing his mood. “How was you game? Did you get a hit?”

  Jalen beamed. “I did. A home run off the best pitcher in the tournament.”

  “See? You had the sandwiches, and your team they won the championship, and my boy he’s hitting the home run!” Jalen’s dad nodded toward the cooler and threw his hands in the air.

  “Well, we lost in the championship,” Jalen said.

  “So, runners-up. Second place, she’s a good thing. Like a silver medal for the Silver Liner. Is also good luck. Everything she’s happening good. You go. Get a shower an’ come right back so you can be the one to greet Mr. James Yager.”

  Jalen hadn’t seen his dad this happy in quite some time, and he turned that over in his mind as he crunched down the gravel drive that looped around a wetland area before coming to their house by the tracks.

  Inside, he showered quickly. He did want to be the one to greet JY. There would likely be some TV cameras there, and he’d love nothing more than to upset Chris and Dirk by appearing on the flat-screens inside their homes. That notion caused him to whistle to himself as he dressed. He pulled the nicest short-sleeved collar shirt he owned over his head, and the whistle faded. His eyes had fallen on the picture of his mother, and he realized that with all the tension and excitement of the day, he hadn’t thought about her once.

  He picked up the framed photo and sat down on the edge of his bed, studying her face, wondering. Where was she? Who was she? Would she want to see him? Was she even alive? He returned the picture to its spot and set off for the diner. Along the way he thought about finding her. Cat was talking about him getting paid by JY to predict pitches. He could use that money to pay a detective, but he felt the best chance was for her to hear about him, the wonder kid, the baseball genius. Then she’d call, wanting to meet him.

  He was excited just to be seen in the background with JY, the lucky rabbit’s foot, the Calamari Kid. But what if he was the story? What if people knew he wasn’t just some trinket JY liked to keep close, but a baseball genius? What kind of story would that make? He’d be on SportsCenter for sure. And why wouldn’t they want him on Good Morning America or the Today show? And magazines like Sports Illustrated or ESPN? Maybe even People or the New York Times. CNN would surely do a story, and so might the big network news shows.

  In his mind, all those possibilities led to one thing: his mom might see him, hear his name, and then just reach out. She would realize that he was a good kid, polite, humble, smart—no, not just smart, a genius, at least when it came to baseball. Possibly she’d regret having left Jalen, missing all those childhood years, but she might want to be part of all the exciting things to come.

  He rounded the bend and saw the TV trucks, two of them with lights set up and cameras ready, in front of the steps to the diner. The parking lot was full, but more cars continued to arrive and were now filling
up the train station’s spaces. Jalen saw—and heard—JY’s Ferrari coming, and he hurried toward the diner. The Ferrari crawled into the lot, and Jalen moved the orange cone holding a spot so JY could park right in front. Jalen hustled as a handful of reporters and a group of fans converged on the car.

  JY got out and looked around, ignoring everyone until he spotted Jalen in the back. JY beamed at him and parted the crowd. “Hey! It’s the Calamari Kid!”

  JY clasped Jalen’s hand and pulled him into a manly hug before turning back to the cameras. Holding Jalen’s hand high in the air, he declared, “Here he is, my lucky charm!”

  The reporters began to shout over one another. Fans waved photos, caps, and gloves for JY to sign.

  “How much money are they offering?”

  “Sign my glove!”

  “How many games do you plan on batting a thousand?”

  “Can you sign my card?”

  “Do you have any hard feelings toward Jeffrey Foxx for even suggesting the end of your career was at hand?”

  JY held up his hands and said, “No autographs tonight, please. If I do one, I’ll have to do a hundred, and we’re here to celebrate Fabio’s Silver Liner reopening. I’m happy to do some selfies inside after we eat, but I want to get in there because that stuffed calamari is waiting for me, and we go on the road to Cleveland tomorrow. The team and my agent are negotiating as we speak. All good there, no hard feelings. And batting a thousand? I expect to bat a thousand every game from here on out. Ha-ha! At least that’s my goal. Now come on inside!”

  JY put an arm around Jalen and swept him up the steps and into the diner. The dining car was jammed with people standing with drinks or sitting at the counter while they waited for a table of their own or ordered appetizers and gawked at the patrons in the larger dining room off to the side of the old railcar. Greta—his father’s main waitress—had dressed for the occasion and was serving as a hostess. She batted her ridiculously long fake eyelashes at JY as she guided them through the six-thirty diners to a section roped off in the back corner. Cat and her mom were already there, sitting at a big round table.