Super-sized Slugger

by Cal Ripken Jr.

  “That’s called the mustard,” Mr. Hoffman explained. “Some people like it. It’s sort of the crab’s, um, liver and pancreas.”

  Oh, yum, yum, Cody thought. The liver and pancreas!

  He looked down at the half-open crab in front of him and felt his stomach recoil.

  Whatever happened to welcoming your new neighbors with a cookout? he wondered. With, like, hamburgers and hot dogs? Wouldn’t that be a nice thing to do? Who didn’t like all-American food like that?

  Or how about a pizza party? That would be even better! No fuss, no muss for the hosts. Although pizza, Cody had to admit, was probably not the best thing for a thirteen-year-old ballplayer newly determined to lose weight so he wouldn’t be the butt of jokes for the entire population of York Middle School, not to mention one particular member of his Babe Ruth League team.

  Cody went back to listlessly whacking a crab claw, hoping no one would notice he was too grossed out to eat any of the stuff.

  Suddenly he was aware of someone standing behind him.

  “Let me guess,” Jessica began. “Wisconsin Boy is semi–freaking out about now. He’s never even seen steamed crabs, never mind eaten them. And the idea of popping a chunk of that white stuff in his mouth is making him want to hurl. Is that pretty much the story so far?”

  Cody nodded weakly and felt his face growing red. Jessica was a slim, athletic-looking girl with long blond hair and big blue eyes. Gazing into those eyes now reminded Cody that he never knew what to say in the presence of pretty girls.

  He tugged his shirt down over his belly and managed a weak smile. Immediately, alarm bells went off in his head: No, don’t give her the fake smile! The one that makes you look like your grandma just kissed you!

  “If it makes you feel better,” Jessica said, plopping down next to him, “I didn’t like crabs the first time I tried them, either.”

  Actually, Cody thought, that does make me feel better.

  “Of course,” Jessica said, “I was only two years old at the time.”

  She laughed uproariously and punched him playfully on the shoulder. “Time to man up, Wisconsin Boy,” she said. “Here, watch how the pros do it.”

  Expertly, she cracked a shell in half and dug out a thick slice of meat with her knife. “Okay, try this,” she said, holding it out for him. “This is the best part. You’ll think you died and went to heaven.”

  Staring at the glistening white chunk, Cody could imagine dying, but not heaven. Increasingly, it was feeling like the opposite of heaven—that other place with all the flames and wailing and suffering. A wave of nausea came over him.

  But everyone at the table was looking at him now, waiting to see what he’d do. If he didn’t at least try the stuff, he’d look like the world’s biggest wuss. With his luck, it would get around school too: Know that fat kid who looks like he’s pretty much eaten the world’s entire food supply? He wouldn’t even try a teeny piece of crabmeat! What a loser!

  Before he could change his mind, Cody grabbed the meat and popped it in his mouth. He took a couple of quick bites and swallowed. It took a second or two for his brain to process how it tasted.

  Which was…Whoa! Not bad! Not bad at all.

  It didn’t taste fishy, as he’d expected. Instead it was sweet and tangy. And the little bit of seasoning on it was enough to make his lips tingle.

  Cody waited a moment, milking the drama for all it was worth. Finally he smiled and gave the thumbs-up sign as everyone else at the table chuckled.

  Jessica clapped him on the back. “I knew you had it in you!” she said. “Sometimes you need a little faith.”

  Sounds like one of Mom’s country songs, Cody thought. But now he was secretly glad Jessica had embarrassed him into trying the crabs. And for the next hour, he happily whacked away at the creatures with everyone else, devouring the succulent meat with gusto.

  This new town is still weird, he thought. But this is one pastime I could definitely get used to.

  When they had all eaten their fill and helped clean up, Jessica went into the garage. She returned with a ball and two gloves, tossing one to Cody.

  “Let’s hope you’re better at this than at conversation,” she said, laughing and punching him on the shoulder again.

  Cody felt his cheeks get warm again. It dawned on him that he had yet to say a word since arriving at the Hoffmans’.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’m usually not this quiet.”

  “Quiet?!” Jessica said. “My greyhound talks more than you do!”

  Cody smiled. A comedian, he thought. Just what I need.

  They stood twenty yards apart and started playing catch. As soon as he put on the glove, Cody could feel the nervousness leaving him, replaced by the calm that baseball always delivered. Right away Cody was impressed with Jessica. She threw with an easy, fluid motion, snapping her wrist and following through perfectly, the ball popping into his glove with a loud THWACK!

  “Wow!” Cody said after her first couple of throws.

  Jessica nodded. “I know, I know,” she said. “I don’t throw like a girl, right?”

  “Not like any girl I know,” Cody said. “And better than most guys.”

  “That’s ’cause I’ve played rec-league softball since I was five,” Jessica said. “I’d rather be playing baseball. But they won’t let me. Guess they’re afraid I’ll show up the boys.”

  She grinned and blew a stray hair from her face. Then she fired another missile to Cody, who was already backing up a few steps.

  “So, what do you think of your new school?” Jessica asked.

  Oh, let’s see, Cody thought. I don’t have any friends. I get teased constantly about my weight. I sit with all the losers at lunch. Other than that, everything’s just fine.

  But all he said to Jessica was, “It’s okay, I guess.”

  “Hey, there’s a ringing endorsement!” Jessica said, firing another heater at him. “Maybe that could be our new motto: York Middle: We’re Just Okay!”

  This time Cody had to laugh. He liked Jessica already. The girl was funny and smart and, well, not bad-looking, either. And she could throw a baseball through a brick wall! How could you not like someone like that?

  “It’s really a great school, Wisconsin Boy,” she continued. “You’ll see that, once you get used to it.”

  Cody shrugged.

  “I guess,” he said. “It’s just…not everyone seems thrilled to see a new kid.”

  “Oh?” she said, looking at him quizzically.

  But Cody didn’t feel like getting into the whole business of exactly who wasn’t welcoming him with open arms—especially the big, hairy guy on his baseball team. So he quickly changed the subject.

  “Let’s have a fly-ball contest,” he said. “First to drop one loses.”

  They played catch for another fifteen minutes until Cody’s mom and dad said it was time to go. Then Cody and his family thanked the Hoffmans for a wonderful afternoon and headed home.

  Cody couldn’t wait to go on Facebook and tell his friends back in Wisconsin how he’d spent the past few hours.

  Eating delicious steamed crabs! And playing catch with a pretty girl whose fastball was better than the coach’s son’s!

  Not exactly a bad day for the kid.

  It was a perfect evening for the Orioles’ season opener against the Angels. The warm rays of the sun hinted at all the long, lazy summer days to come.

  Cody checked the lineup card taped to the dugout wall and was happy to see he was batting fifth, a real slugger’s spot. Willie, with his blinding speed, was leading off, followed by Robby, Jordy, and Connor, with Dante batting sixth.

  “Our own Murderers’ Row!” Coach exulted, then explained that the nickname was given to the first six batters of the powerful New York Yankees teams of the late 1920s, a lineup that included the great Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig.

  Cody was so excited about playing baseball again that he’d had trouble falling asleep the night before. After pacing restlessly
around the house, he had oiled his glove twice, bent the brim of his Orioles cap over and over again until it had achieved the perfect angle, and tried on his new uniform three different times.

  Checking himself in the mirror, he was shocked to see how small the uniform was. The jersey was stretched across his belly, revealing every bulge. Plus, he could barely button his pants at the waist, and the pants legs barely reached below his calves. When Coach had handed out uniforms at their last practice, he had taken Cody aside and said he was sorry there wasn’t a larger one.

  Not as sorry as I am, Cody had said to himself, staring forlornly at his lumpy reflection. No one was going to mistake him for one of those lean, smiling kids who model youth baseball uniforms in the Dick’s Sporting Goods commercials. If anything, he looked like he was auditioning for the thirteen-and-under version of The Biggest Loser.

  If he needed any more incentive to eat sensibly, which he had already been doing lately, the uniform was a good one. And the one-on-one basketball he played with Jessica in her driveway every evening could only help. She was as good at hoops as she was at softball—big surprise.

  Cody just wanted the teasing about his weight to stop. If losing a few pounds would give him more of an edge on the field, well, that was an added bonus. In fact, he was so pumped for the Orioles’ opener that he had hardly thought about Dante all day in school. Looking around now, he spotted him loosening his arm with Yancy, the two of them laughing about something.

  Dante laughing—maybe that was a good sign, Cody thought. Maybe Dante had finally accepted the fact that he wasn’t playing third base and he was now totally cool with left field. Maybe the big guy was through messing with him. Maybe he’d even turn out to be a great teammate, cheering and encouraging Cody no matter what position he played or how well or poorly he performed.

  Yeah, right. But a guy could always hope.

  The new Murderers’ Row didn’t take long to show off its power, as the Orioles took a 4–0 lead over the Angels in the first inning.

  Willie led off with a walk and stole second before the Angels catcher even got the ball out of his mitt. Robbie flied out to center field—too shallow for Willie to advance. But Jordy drove him home with a double in the gap in left-center and Connor delivered an RBI double of his own down the right-field line to make it 2–0.

  In the on-deck circle, Cody quietly gave a last-minute pep talk to his bat. As he walked to the plate, he heard snickering from the Angels dugout. And the pitcher, a kid he recognized from lunch period, was smirking and exchanging glances with the third baseman, the two making it clear they were seeing something really funny at the plate right now.

  Cody dug into the batter’s box and took a couple of practice swings. The message behind the pitcher’s smile was clear: What’s this fat boy going to do with that fancy bat? He looks like he can barely make it to first base, never mind get a hit. Cody could feel his anger rise. He gripped the bat tightly and waved it in tiny circles, trying to look menacing, the way Prince Fielder did right before he blasted the cover off the ball.

  How great would it be to knock that arrogant smile off the pitcher’s face? Cody thought. But this wasn’t a Hollywood movie. The kid wasn’t going to serve up a batting-practice fastball just to make Cody feel better. He’d have to work for every hit he got, just like always.

  The first two pitches were low and in the dirt. Cody checked his swing on both. Now the kid threw a big, looping curveball that seemed to break from somewhere around the parking lot. It missed the plate by a foot.

  Cody stepped out and took a deep breath. A 3 and 0 count. No way the pitcher wanted to walk him. Give the fat kid a free pass? Please. The rest of the Angels would never let him hear the end of it! No, this next pitch would be right down Main Street, the middle of the plate.

  And when it arrived…

  Careful, don’t be too eager, Cody reminded himself. Don’t lunge at it. Short, compact swing. Just hit the ball somewhere, like Dad always says. And hit it hard. Which is exactly what he did. The next pitch was a belt-high fastball, so tantalizing, Cody could feel his eyes bugging out of his head. But somehow he kept his hands back until the last second and uncoiled from his hips with a quick, level swing, his shoulders, arms, and hands following in a perfect symphony.

  It was one of those swings, ball meeting bat on the sweet spot of the barrel, that feels effortless. Cody knew it was gone the moment he hit it. He paused to watch anyway as the ball soared over the left-field fence, and the Orioles’ dugout exploded with noise and chants of “CO-DY! CO-DY!”

  Running to first with a big smile on his face, he thought: Maybe this wasn’t a Hollywood movie, with a slow-motion sequence of his home run swing and rousing music as he circled the bases. But it felt like the next best thing.

  As he rounded third, Cody was struck by a sudden impulse. He waited until Coach high-fived him and turned his head. Then he reached out quickly and smacked the third baseman on his butt as he ran by.

  “Fat power, bay-bee!” he said in a low voice.

  The third baseman scowled and looked down at the ground. The pitcher wasn’t looking at him, either, Cody noticed, having developed a sudden fascination for the laces in the webbing of his glove.

  The Orioles’ dugout had emptied now, and his teammates were gathered around home plate. As he jumped on the plate, he was engulfed in a knot of whooping players pounding him on the back and smacking him on the helmet.

  But there was one conspicuous absence from this happy throng, Cody noticed. Dante remained in the on-deck circle, leaning on his bat and looking off into the distance, ignoring the impromptu celebration.

  The rest of the game seemed to fly by as Robbie threw a three-hitter and the Orioles continued to pound all three Angels pitchers who took the mound. Even Dante got in on the action, driving in a run in the fifth inning with a sharp single up the middle. Nobody cheered harder for Dante than Cody—he practically flew out of the dugout to let the big guy know how happy he was about his RBI. Maybe that would get him on Dante’s good side.

  The final score was Orioles 9, Angels 2. As the two teams lined up to slap hands, Cody was relieved not to hear any snickering. The Angels pitcher, in fact, actually mumbled, “Good hitting.” And the Angels coach made it a point to stop and shake his hand and say, “You got a real quick bat there, son.”

  Looking up in the stands, Cody saw his mom waving and giving the thumbs-up sign.

  “Great game, boys!” she shouted. Then she blew a kiss at Cody and said, “Meet you at the car.”

  But Cody was in no hurry to leave. This was too much fun. He took his time changing out of his spikes and gathering up his bat and glove and packing his equipment bag. Then he walked up to the parking lot with Jordy and Connor, the three of them talking excitedly about their first win until the two boys ran off to catch their rides.

  It was almost dark now. Up ahead, Cody saw the taillights of his mom’s car, parked off to one side. She’d be sitting inside with the dome light on, reading a book or doing a crossword puzzle, the way she always did when she had a few minutes to spare.

  He took off his cap and broke into a trot. The cool evening breeze felt good as it rippled through his hair.

  Suddenly he felt a push from behind and he found himself tumbling headfirst into the gravel. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadowy figure run off between two cars.

  “I warned you, fat boy!” a voice hissed. “And you didn’t listen.”

  Cody found his dad’s office disappointing. Steve Parker was assigned to the Northern District detective unit and worked in a low-slung, modern building off a busy highway. To Cody, it looked pretty much like his dad’s old office back in Milwaukee: row after row of drab cubicles, each with a chair and computer, case files stacked on top of desks, phone books and notepads tossed everywhere, and a coffeepot off to one side.

  It reminded him of the insurance agency where his uncle Tim worked in Connecticut. Weren’t police stations supposed to be exciting p
laces? Places where tough-looking men and no-nonsense women shouted into phones and interrogated bad guys and gulped down steaming coffee from Styrofoam cups before jumping into their cars and dashing off with lights flashing to another crime scene? Or was that just on TV and in the movies?

  When his dad had picked him up from practice and said he needed to swing by the office to get his mail, Cody had been excited to see the place. But the only thing even remotely exciting about it, he thought, was the bright red M&M’s dispenser in the corner that someone had brought in, probably to amuse any young kids who visited and got bored. Which wouldn’t take long, judging by the look of things.

  “Seems there’s been some trouble at your school,” his dad said, sitting at his desk and studying his laptop. “Couple of instances of petty theft at York Middle. County cops are handling it.”

  Cody nodded distractedly. He was getting hungry and hoped his dad would hurry up so they could get home to eat.

  “You’re awfully quiet tonight,” his dad said. “Everything okay?”

  Cody looked out the window at the rush hour traffic snaking up Cold Spring Lane, a sea of white-yellow headlights and red brake lights as far as he could see. How to explain the charming Dante Rizzo, who seemed like the angriest kid he’d ever come across? And did he even want to get into this with his dad, who was already feeling guilty about moving his family to Baltimore and worried that his son was having a tough time adjusting?

  “Everything’s fine,” Cody said. “I’m a little tired, that’s all.”

  His dad grunted and went back to his mail.

  The night before in the parking lot, after Cody had stumbled to his mom’s car with scrapes on his face and hands, he told her that he’d tripped over a curb in the darkness.

  Seeing the look of alarm on her face, he’d added, “You know how clumsy I am.”

  But after making sure he wasn’t badly hurt, Kate Parker had looked at him skeptically.