Double Play

by Tim Green

  49

  THE GAME CONTINUED, AND THE Yankees struggled against McCullers.

  JY didn’t try and communicate with them again, so Jalen figured they were back to the original plan, and he’d done whatever needed to be done to ensure that the giant police officer didn’t block Jalen’s view of the plate. In the field, JY made a spectacular double play to end the top of the fifth. The New York crowd thundered with approval, and JY tipped his hat to them as he crossed the first base line. He’d have his second chance at the Astros pitcher, and there was no sign of the big policeman anywhere.

  Cat had ordered some food at the top of the inning, and it now arrived.

  Her mom looked at her with surprise. “Really? You’re going to eat all that?”

  Cat rested a plate with two loaded hot dogs on her lap and set the large drink in her cup holder before removing its top.

  “I ordered it in case I get hungry,” Cat said.

  Her mom frowned at the dogs oozing mustard and piled high with relish and chili. “I hope I’ve taught you better than to be wasteful.”

  “It won’t go to waste.” Cat jabbed her thumb in Daniel’s direction. “We’ve got the bottomless pit in case anything’s left.”

  Daniel leaned forward. “I hope you’re not trying to disrespect my healthy appetite.”

  “Would I dis you about anything?” Cat asked.

  Before Daniel could reply, JY emerged from the dugout with his bat, tugging on a glove. He took a few swings in the circle while McCullers threw his warm-up pitches.

  The ump looked at JY. “Here we go.”

  JY gritted his teeth and glanced back at Jalen with a quick look that seemed to say, Let’s do this.

  Then he headed for home plate.

  Jalen shifted his attention toward the pitcher’s mound. McCullers studied JY with a smug grin. JY took a practice swing and paused in front of the box, looking Jalen’s way. Jalen gazed at the pitcher, eager for the identity of the next pitch. His armpits began to sweat and his face grew warm. McCullers was going to lead with his fastball.

  The cop darted out of the dugout and planted himself directly in front of Jalen.

  Jalen’s hand shot up, but too late.

  The pitcher threw his fastball. JY didn’t even swing.

  “Strike!”

  “What?” The word escaped Jalen’s lips.

  To Jalen’s surprise, Cat sat calmly. He leaned close so no one else could hear him. “Cat, what are we going to do?”

  “Just watch the pitcher,” Cat said.

  “But—”

  “Just watch,” she insisted in a whisper. “Tell me when you know the pitch. When I say ‘go,’ we switch seats.”

  Jalen didn’t see how that would work—the officer would simply take one step sideways to move in front of him again. But he did as he was told and focused on McCullers. The pitcher was shaking off a signal from the catcher, but Jalen couldn’t see the catcher, or JY for that matter. The cop was completely blocking his view of home plate.

  Jalen read another fastball coming, and excitement flooded his chest. “Okay.”

  “Ready? Go!” Cat shot up out of her seat and, to Jalen’s total surprise, tossed the plate of food in the air.

  When the dogs landed on the back of the police officer’s neck, he ducked and spun around, pawing at the mess. Cat stepped in front of Jalen. Jalen slipped into Cat’s seat and held four fingers up in front of his chest. JY saw Jalen’s signal and stepped into the box with an eager grin. Jalen knew what JY could do with a fastball when he knew it was coming. The pitch would sail in straight and true, and that was the way it would go out if JY caught it.

  “Agghh!”

  The police officer’s bellow as he pawed at the mess registered in the back of Jalen’s mind, but his eyes were on the pitch. As predicted, it came in straight and red hot.

  JY reared back and swung for the moon.

  50

  THE CRACK OF JY’S BAT electrified the entire stadium.

  With the fans on their feet and the thunder of applause washing over him, JY took off on an easy jog around the bases.

  “I am so sorry.” Cat’s shouted apology to the policeman sounded sincere. “I guess I got too excited.”

  The officer scowled at Cat as he wiped a blob of mustardy chili from the inside of his shirt collar. Rage colored his face, but he said nothing as he skulked off into the dugout and disappeared into the stadium tunnel.

  One of the hot dogs had rebounded back at Daniel, and he had evidently caught it. As the three friends high-fived, Daniel munched on the naked dog like a carrot. He peered over the wall at the dog on the ground and held his up. “At least I saved one of them.”

  Cat lifted a bun from where it had landed on the top of the wall, sloppy with mustard, chili, and relish. She raised her voice above the crowd. “How about a roll?”

  “Sure.” Daniel took it from her, slapped the dog into it, and took a giant bite, before speaking loudly with a full mouth. “Iss chili iss killer.”

  Jalen’s laughter blended into the applause, and he leaned toward Cat so she’d be able to hear him. “That was awesome! Like a circus act.”

  “Yeah, like a juggling clown. I hope the GM saw it. But it won’t work twice in a row, so we’ll have to think of something else for JY’s next at bat.”

  “You think the cop will be back?” Jalen asked.

  “Him or someone,” Cat said. “They’ll do something. That’s how Foxx is, relentless.”

  JY walked past them now, giving two thumbs up and a smile to the three friends before offering Cat’s mom another quick wink as he disappeared into the dugout.

  “He got his money’s worth on that one.” Cat folded her arms and sat down in her seat.

  They settled back into the game. The Yankees collected a few hits off McCullers, but JY’s home run was the only score. JY got up again at the bottom of the eighth inning, and by then, Cat had all four of them—including her mom—ready to signal JY based on who could see him if the big cop tried to block Jalen. When JY marched out to home plate and there was no sign of the giant officer, Jalen looked around nervously.

  “What’s wrong?” Cat asked, speaking low between just the two of them.

  “Just what you said about Foxx,” Jalen whispered as he tried to turn his attention to the pitcher. “I can’t believe he’s doing nothing.”

  “Yeah, well, focus on McCullers.” Cat pointed toward the pitcher’s mound. “Don’t let him get into your head.”

  “Okay,” Jalen said. “I won’t.”

  “Good,” said Cat, slapping his leg. “You got this.”

  Jalen stared at the pitcher. “Umm . . .”

  “Jalen?” Cat had an edge to her voice now. “The ump is calling JY into the box.”

  Jalen’s eyes shifted to home plate, where JY looked calm and cool even though his eyes were glued to Jalen as he stepped up to the plate.

  “He’s gonna throw it.” Cat’s voice was an urgent hiss.

  “I know!” Jalen growled through his teeth. He wanted to signal something, anything, but he knew no signal was better than the wrong one.

  “Strike!” hollered the umpire.

  For a moment Jalen wondered how everything had suddenly gone so wrong.

  But then he knew.

  51

  CAT HAD BEEN RIGHT.

  Foxx had gotten into his head.

  Jalen had been so worried about the policeman and the signals and who would have to make them and whether it would work that it had scrambled his concentration. His genius suddenly felt like a flickering basement lightbulb, leaving him mostly in the dark and uncertain of what he actually saw when he did see anything.

  He sat there, willing himself to know, but the harder he tried, the thicker the fog in his brain seemed to get.

  “Amigo,” Daniel whispered, “what is going on? You gotta help him.”

  “I know what I have to do, Daniel,” Jalen growled as McCullers went into his windup. “But I can’t.
”

  “Strike!” yelled the ump.

  Jalen didn’t stop trying, but all he could do was sit and silently root for JY while Cat wrung her hands and Daniel gritted his teeth.

  The Yankees star fought back from the 0–2 count to a 3–2 full count that kept him swinging to protect the plate and stay alive. He’d glance Jalen’s way before each pitch, but Jalen could only shake his head. JY sent five balls foul off his bat before McCullers got him good with a curve that dropped from JY’s eyes to his knees over the last ten feet.

  “Strike!”

  Jalen didn’t want to see James Yager’s face as he stomped back to the dugout, but he felt he had to. He met Yager’s burning eyes with an apologetic look as he mouthed the word, Sorry.

  JY bit his lower lip and shook his head.

  “I tried!” Jalen blurted out without thinking. All that did was darken JY’s face before he looked away.

  The next two Yankees batters got on—Gregorius with a single and Ellsbury on a walk—before Astros manager A. J. Hinch walked out to the mound to yank McCullers. After a few moments, the two men walked off the diamond as Tony Sipp jogged on.

  “Maybe a new pitcher will help.” Cat said, looking hopefully at Jalen.

  “He’s got a low-nineties four-seam fastball and a decent slider,” Jalen said. “And they’ve got him using a splitter, too.”

  “So you can get a feel for him,” Daniel said. “Before JY gets up again.”

  “If he gets up,” Cat replied.

  “You gotta think positive.” Daniel gave her a scowl.

  Joe Ros struck out, and Cat stuck her tongue out at Daniel.

  “You think that’s helping?” Daniel glowered. Aaron Hicks stepped up to the plate with two outs and two on when Jalen surprised even himself by saying, “Slider.”

  Sure enough, Sipp threw a slider.

  “Yes!” Cat slapped Jalen and Daniel high fives. “You got this.”

  Jalen sat back and exhaled. “I do. I really do . . . . Splitter.”

  It was a splitter. Hicks swung and got a piece of it, a side-winding dribble to the left of the mound. Sipp jumped on it, spun, and fired the ball to third base. His throw was off by a mile, sailing past the third baseman until it rebounded off the wall. The left fielder was on a full sprint to pick up the errant throw, but Gregorius’s arms and legs were a blur. He rounded third and slid into home plate in a cloud of dust just as the throw arrived.

  Fifty thousand necks stretched toward the umpire.

  “Safe!”

  Jalen and his friends jumped for joy. It was a 2–2 game, and the Yankees were at the top of their order.

  Even though Tollerson ended the inning with an out on a pop fly, the Yankees had a fresh breath of life heading into the ninth.

  They took the field with Bode Gutchess on the mound. The veteran with five different pitches gave up a home run to Carlos Correa on a 3–2 count but settled in to make quick work of the next three Astros batters, and the Yankees piled into their dugout with a roar. The entire stadium felt a comeback.

  Sipp sat Tyler Hutt down with a nasty splitter on an 0–2 count before Reuben Hall banged one off the left-field wall for a double. Jalen correctly called each pitch that Sipp threw.

  Then Headley was up, and for some reason Sipp began to unravel. With a 2–0 count, he threw a pitch so wild Hall could have jogged to third on his steal.

  With a 3–0 count, Sipp grabbed his elbow. The Astros manager walked out to the mound and replaced Sipp with Ken Giles, Houston’s young closer.

  “I heard he threw a pitch a hundred and two against Tampa a few weeks ago,” Cat said, her eyes glued to the pitcher on the mound.

  “A hundred and one,” Jalen said, staring himself. “And he’s got a nice slider he mixes in. He’s a good one.”

  After a few practice pitches, Giles nodded to the umpire, and Headley stepped back into the batter’s box.

  “What’s he gonna throw?” Daniel asked.

  Jalen tried to soak up every movement the pitcher made, every look, every twitch. “I don’t know.”

  Giles threw a ninety-eight-mile-an-hour fastball that nicked the low inside corner of the plate. Headley swung, caught just the top of the ball, and two-hopped it to the second baseman, who checked Hall at third before tossing it to first for an easy out.

  With the tying run on third and two outs, it was a pressure cooker when JY stepped up. It was what every big-time baseball player loved, the opportunity to win it all with the grim specter of being the loser hovering in the back of his mind.

  JY took the doughnut off his bat and tossed it outside the on-deck circle. He gave Jalen a questioning look.

  Jalen’s stomach twisted itself into a knot.

  He felt nothing but panic.

  52

  JY HUFFED AND TURNED AWAY.

  He marched to the plate with both hands on his bat and took a practice swing before taking another look at Jalen.

  “Just relax,” Cat said. “You got this.”

  Cat was right. Jalen knew he had to relax, but knowing and doing were two different things. The harder he tried, the fuzzier things got.

  Giles threw a burner. JY swung, and it fouled off his bat up and over the netting into the stands behind the plate. The scoreboard lit up with the pitch’s speed: 100.

  Cat leaned close to Jalen and said, “He only really has a fastball and a slider. What do you think?”

  Jalen’s eyes ached from the strain. “I don’t know, Cat.”

  JY glanced over at them, but Jalen could only shake his head. Giles threw the slider too low for a strike, and JY thankfully let it pass.

  “Come on, Jalen. You can do this.” Cat sounded upbeat and lighthearted, but Jalen knew she was faking.

  The next pitch had more heat, high and outside. JY let it by, but the ump called it a strike. JY complained, maybe to buy Jalen more time.

  “It’s gotta be a fastball or a slider, right?” Cat gripped Jalen’s arm.

  “Yeah, that’s all he’s got.”

  “Then guess,” Cat said. “It’s fifty-fifty. That’s better than nothing.”

  “No, it’s not, Cat.” Jalen recalled JY’s instructions earlier never to guess. “Let me concentrate.”

  “You’ve got to.” She shook his arm. “It’ll give him the best chance. Jalen, the game is on the line here.”

  “Cat, stop.” Jalen ached to know the pitch. Cat wasn’t helping.

  “Signal fastball,” Cat said. “That’s probably what it is. Do it, Jalen, or I will.”

  “You?” Jalen’s mouth fell open, and he couldn’t help looking at her. There were two outs. The score was 3–2 with the tying run on third. JY only needed a hit to drive it in. Another home run would win it right then.

  Cat turned to JY, holding four fingers up in front of her.

  JY nodded and quickly turned his attention to the pitcher.

  “Cat, no,” Jalen said.

  It was too late.

  53

  GILES WOUND UP AND THREW.

  JY swung for the wall.

  The ball—a nasty slider—snapped into the catcher’s mitt, ending the game.

  JY’s jaw dropped in disbelief. He blinked at the ump like a man waking from a dream. Then his face warped into rage. He marched directly toward Jalen. No one else seemed to notice or care. The game was over, and many of the fans had work the next day so they were on their feet, shuffling for the exits.

  Although JY didn’t shout, the tone of his voice was enough to melt glass. “Are you serious? You guessed, didn’t you?”

  Jalen had so much to say that he ended up saying nothing, unless a garbled choking sound counted for anything.

  “Just what I told you never to do,” said JY through gritted teeth. “I thought it was gonna be his slider. I was ready for his slider until you said fastball.”

  JY turned to Cat’s mom and his face softened. “Could you take these guys home? Don’t wait for me. I’m not going to be good company tonight, and besid
es . . .”

  JY turned his attention back to Jalen, looking more sad now than angry. “I’ve got to figure out where I go from here. I think this lucky calamari thing is about played out.”

  He disappeared into the dugout.

  Jalen felt the world crashing in all around him.

  54

  JALEN LOOKED OUT THE BACKSEAT window at the darkness speeding past.

  Cat’s mom’s Range Rover hit a bump in the road.

  He tried to stay quiet, but occasionally he couldn’t help a muffled sniff. Tears spilled from his eyes at random moments when the jabs of pain were particularly sharp. Those came mostly when he thought of his mom. She was out there, somewhere, but now he might never know her, never get to make her proud enough to call him her son.

  Even if JY paid him for tonight, he had to think that the Yankees player might cut the fee after getting the information on only one of his four at bats. Maybe he wouldn’t advance the Bronxville travel team fees for him and Daniel—or he’d stop payment for the detective. Jalen had no way of getting his hands on that kind of money until he was a pro ballplayer himself. He didn’t want to wait that long. He’d been so close . . . .

  Daniel nudged him and whispered, “Hey, amigo, it’s gonna be okay. JY will get over it. Cat will figure something out and we’ll pick up right where we left off.”

  Jalen couldn’t bring himself to answer. If he started talking, he knew what would come out. He’d blast Cat for what she’d done. Breaking JY’s trust by calling the wrong signal made the whole thing beyond fixing.

  Daniel held his fist in the air, waiting for Jalen to bump it. Jalen turned back to the window, but that brought him no comfort. He knew how loyal Daniel was, and when he turned back, he wasn’t surprised to see his friend’s fist still hanging there in the air, lit by the feeble glow from the Range Rover’s instrument panel.

  He gave Daniel’s fist a bump, then turned back to the dark outside.

  When they pulled up to the Silver Liner, Cat’s mom asked, “Here, or could I take you to your house, Jalen?”