Team Players

by Mike Lupica

  He was still a boy. Cassie grinned as she thought, Not his fault. She knew enough about boys to know that they didn’t know girls as well as they thought they did. Even though she wasn’t exactly an expert on them herself these days.

  She needed to talk to Gus Morales’s twin sister on this night, because sometimes—no, a lot of times—it felt to Cassie as if Angela were her twin too. Angela cared about sports. She was a terrific softball player, which was something that made Cassie miss her even more right now, because there was a part of her that thought that if Angela were around, she would be the one to talk some sense into Kathleen and Greta and Allie and the rest of the ones doing the shunning.

  Maybe she would even be helping out with Sarah.

  “Buenas tardes!” Angela said when her face appeared on Cassie’s laptop screen.

  “Oh, great,” Cassie said, “here we go from Spanish to English and back.”

  “It’s my heritage,” Angela said, grinning, making Cassie feel better already. “Would you deny me my heritage?”

  “Yes!”

  “Would you be more comfortable with ‘Buenos noches’?” Angela said. “Except that it’s after midnight here, which means morning, which means technically I probably should have said, ‘Buenos dias.’ ”

  Cassie didn’t say anything.

  “What do you think?” Angela said.

  “I think,” Cassie said, “that if I don’t engage, you’ll stop eventually.”

  “Okay, I will, at least for now,” Angela said. “So what’s up?”

  Cassie told her everything that had happened since the last time they’d Skyped. She told her about the way the Red Sox had lost their first game, about the ball in the outfield, which Angela said Gus had already told her about. Cassie told her about Kathleen and the other girls and the team meeting and winning the next game and, finally, about Sarah blowing her off the way she had at practice tonight.

  “So she didn’t act like a friend.”

  “Hardly,” Cassie said.

  “But wait a second,” Angela said. “Aren’t you the one who’s always complaining about having too many friends? And now you’re complaining because Sarah won’t act like one more? Make up your mind, Bennett.”

  “I’m not looking to be besties with her,” Cassie said. “But I still thought tonight was sort of rude, even if I kind of understood where she was coming from.”

  “And where might that be, kind of?”

  “Well, I do try to control things a little bit.”

  “You’re joking!” Angela said. “How did I miss that?”

  Cassie said, “What’s the opposite of ‘Buenos’ in Spanish, Barcelona Face?”

  “That’s kind of dark, girl.”

  “What’s dark,” Cassie said, “is that now I’m not sure how to even act with her. Do I stop talking to her, the way the other girls have stopped talking to me? And how am I supposed to be a team leader if nobody is talking to anybody!”

  “You know you’re shouting, right?” Angela said.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t have to be, not with me,” Angela said.

  “I know.”

  She really did feel as close to Angela as she ever had, even though they were still thousands of miles apart. It just made Cassie miss her even more.

  “I know you always want to be right,” Angela said. “I know how often you think you’re right. But you have to realize that what you want for Sarah might not be what she wants. And what you think is best for her might not be best. Or, guess what? Maybe she doesn’t know a lot of the same things you don’t know.”

  “So I should stop trying?”

  “Not what I’m saying. Maybe just stop trying so hard. Just be her teammate, and not her hero.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be her hero.”

  “You sure?” Angela said.

  Cassie wasn’t sure. Maybe Angela was right about all of this. Maybe Sarah had been right too.

  “No, I’m not sure.”

  “An unsure Cassie Bennett!” Angela said.

  Now she was the one shouting.

  “How’s that feel?” Angela said.

  “I don’t know that I want to make a habit of it.”

  “Listen,” Angela said. “I’ve done a little reading up on Asperger’s myself, just to keep up my end of the conversation. Which you could think about doing with your Spanish skills.”

  “Shut up.”

  “And the one word that keeps cropping up for me is ‘idiosyncratic,’ ” Angela said. “You know what that means, right?”

  “Probably in English and Spanish, both.”

  “Point is,” Angela said, “people with Asperger’s are like the rest of us. And you know what that means? They’re all different the way we are!”

  “Jack basically told me the same thing.”

  “Boy’s a genius.”

  “So what are you telling me?”

  “Why don’t you let Sarah feel like she’s the one in charge once in a while?” Angela said. “She’s probably spent her whole life having people try to make her into something they think she should be.”

  Angela paused, and then said, “Maybe she can take care of herself better than you think she can.”

  Cassie smiled across the world at her friend. “Thank you,” she said.

  “You know I love you, right? You know our sisterhood is to the end, right?”

  “To the end.”

  “So I can tell you something else: you’re not always the easiest person in the world to get along with either.”

  Cassie was still smiling.

  “Buenos noches,” she said.

  And signed off.

  NINETEEN

  The Red Sox won their next two games with ease. Cassie pitched one of them, against Rawson. When it was time for her dad to remove her from the game, with the team having just scored three more runs to stretch its lead to 7–2, he let Sarah pitch the seventh inning instead of Allie.

  Allie didn’t act surprised, or question his decision. Chris Bennett had already told the team he might do some different things with pitching over the next couple of weeks.

  “You’ve probably heard this one before,” he’d said. “But you can never have enough pitching.”

  Cassie had looked around when he’d said it, wondering how many girls on the team appreciated that he was having some fun with one of the oldest baseball clichés in the book. No one seemed to, so Cassie had just said, “I’ll bet they came up with that one the same day they came up with a walk being as good as a hit.”

  Her dad smiled at her. She smiled back. It was as if they were letting each other know that at least they hadn’t lost their sense of humor.

  For her first time pitching in a real softball game, Sarah did fine. She walked the first batter and gave up a two-out single. But she also had two strikeouts, and induced the Rawson catcher to hit a routine fly ball to Kathleen to end the game. When the ball was safely in Kathleen’s glove, Cassie went to the mound to congratulate Sarah. Lizzie and Brooke did the same. The rest of the Red Sox players celebrated with one another.

  So nothing had changed. The team was still two teams, trying to play as one. Lizzie and Brooke were still talking to Cassie. They told her that the other girls didn’t like it but continued talking to them even as they were ignoring Cassie. It was as if there was some kind of rule book for shunning that they were making up as they went along.

  Sarah was back on her own island. She would occasionally talk to Cassie at practice, or at a game. But it was as if none of the time they’d spent together away from the field had ever happened, as if Cassie hadn’t made any attempts at gaining her friendship or her trust.

  But even though Sarah showed hardly any interest in playing well with others, she was performing beautifully, at bat and in the field. You could count on her making one really good defensive play every game. She had gotten two more hits against Rawson, and two hits in the game before that. And Cassie had noticed that even the shunner
s paid close attention when Sarah stepped to the plate, as if they had come to expect big things when she did. Cassie was sure none of them would ever admit it, but their eyes were telling them that Sarah had made their team a lot better.

  Even though Cassie had been telling herself to give Sarah as much room as she needed, she couldn’t help herself after the Rawson game, and jogged to catch up with Sarah and her parents as they walked toward their car.

  “Hey,” Cassie said as she fell in alongside Sarah, who was about twenty yards ahead of her parents. “Can I ask you something?”

  “I know you’re going to no matter what I say,” Sarah said, and nodded. “People do that a lot. They ask permission, but then they do what they were going to do anyway. They do that a real lot.”

  “You’re right,” Cassie said.

  “So ask.”

  “Did I do something wrong?” Cassie said. “Is there something I did that made it like we don’t even know each other?”

  Sarah stopped. She turned to face Cassie. Cassie did the same. As she did, she could see Mr. and Mrs. Milligan stop too, as if they were giving them both room.

  “I don’t trust you,” Sarah said.

  Just like that.

  “You don’t trust me?” Cassie said. “Why not?”

  “The other girls are shutting me out,” Sarah said. “Why aren’t you?”

  “First of all,” Cassie said, telling herself to stay calm, “I’m not like the other girls. And second, they’re shutting me out too!”

  She knew she’d raised her voice without meaning to, more out of frustration than anything else. So she lowered it now as she said, “You get that part, right?”

  “I’m not talking about that,” Sarah said. “I’m not talking about what you want to talk about. I’m talking about what I want to talk about. I’m asking you why you want me if none of them want me. Do you get that?”

  “I like you.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “But why don’t you believe me?”

  “Because no one else likes me,” she said.

  Then she resumed walking toward their car, without another word. Cassie thought: When she’s not running away, she’s walking away.

  Or maybe she was just finding every possible way to push Cassie away.

  • • •

  The Cubs almost lost their next game, in Rawson, with Sam Anthony pitching. There was no practice and no game for the Red Sox that night, so Cassie got a ride to the game with Jack’s parents, and watched as Sam gave up four runs in the first inning and then two more in the second, before his dad was on his way to the mound.

  Jack’s dad turned to his mom and said, “That boy looks about as happy playing baseball as I used to look when my parents made me clean my room.”

  Mrs. Callahan laughed. “You cleaned your room?”

  “I’m being serious.”

  “Well, honey, who looks happy when they’re getting hit like this?”

  Mr. Callahan said, “It’s more than that. He doesn’t look like he even wants to be out there. And he certainly doesn’t look as if he wants to fight back.”

  Cassie pointed at the field. “Right now it looks as if all he wants to do is fight with his dad.”

  Mr. Anthony had put his hand out, asking for the ball, which meant he was taking Sam out of the game. But Sam wouldn’t hand it over, even though there were still two guys on, and only one out. Cassie couldn’t make out what they were saying to each other, but Sam was doing most of the talking. At one point, the ball still in his right hand, he turned and pointed with it at Teddy, who was standing at the plate, watching them.

  Teddy ignored him, simply turned around and started talking to the umpire.

  Finally Sam handed the ball to his dad and stomped his way toward the Cubs’ bench. As soon as he crossed the third baseline, he threw his glove over the bench, and over the fence behind it.

  At this point the home plate umpire took off his mask and was on the move, heading straight for Sam Anthony.

  Cassie and Jack’s parents were sitting in the bleachers behind the bench. Now they could hear everything.

  “Go get your glove, son,” the umpire said.

  It had landed just short of where Teddy’s mom was sitting with Gus’s parents.

  “I don’t need it anymore,” Sam said. “I’m out of the game.”

  “Good thing, too,” the umpire said, “or I would have been the one to toss you from the game for doing that.”

  “It’s not like I threw my bat,” Sam said.

  “Close enough,” the umpire said. “Now please go over and pick up your glove.”

  Behind them Mr. Anthony had been talking to Jerry York, whom he’d brought over from third base to pitch. His back had been to the Cubs’ bench as he talked to Jerry. But now he turned and saw what was happening between his son and the home plate umpire. Saw and heard.

  He came running from the mound. Cassie thought: Usually you see managers in baseball running toward the field to jaw with umpires. Now the opposite is about to happen.

  “Don’t talk to my players!” Mr. Anthony yelled at the ump.

  Cassie looked around. Nobody at Rawson Green was moving, except Mr. Anthony.

  The umpire kept his cool. “Excuse me?” he said.

  “I run my own team,” Mr. Anthony said.

  He was right in front of the ump, but his voice was still loud.

  “And I’m asked to run this game,” the ump said. “And in a game in our league, we don’t throw bats, and we don’t throw helmets, and we don’t throw gloves. Now I want this young man to go collect his glove, so the game can continue.”

  “He’s my son.”

  “I sort of figured that out on my own.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You figure that out on your own.”

  Sam still hadn’t made a move to go and retrieve his glove. Neither Teddy’s mom nor Gus’s mom and dad had made a move to pick it up for him. It sat where it had landed.

  “How about I go get the glove?” Mr. Anthony said. “Will that make you happy?”

  The umpire slowly shook his head. “No, it’s your son’s glove. He needs to go get it.”

  It was here that Mr. Anthony, who had somehow moved even closer to the ump, made his mistake. He poked a finger at him, clearly coming into contact with the ump’s chest protector.

  “You don’t tell me what to do,” Mr. Anthony said.

  “Actually, I can. Now you’re out of this game.”

  “You’re throwing me out?” Mr. Anthony said.

  “I am,” the ump said.

  “I don’t have an assistant coach here tonight,” he said. “You can see that I had one of our kids coaching first base. So who’s going to coach the rest of the game?”

  An amazing thing happened then.

  “I’m the captain of the team,” Jack Callahan called out from shortstop. “I will.”

  And he did.

  Then another amazing thing happened, after Jerry York got the first batter he faced to hit a ground ball that Jack scooped up near second base and turned into a double play, and got the Cubs out of the inning.

  The Cubs came back.

  • • •

  Teddy got the first big hit, in the top of the fourth, a bases- clearing double with two outs that cut the Rawson lead to 6–3.

  By then the Cubs didn’t just have a player-coach in Jack, they also had a new third-base coach:

  Cassie.

  “Need your help,” Jack said to her from his side of the bench after both Mr. Anthony and Sam had gotten tossed in the bottom of the second.

  “What else is new?” Cassie said.

  “Can you coach third?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  When she got down to the bench, Jack said to her, “And, Cass? If you notice anything that could help us, don’t hold back.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “That’s me, always holding stuff back. Sometimes I keep so much bottled up
inside, I’m afraid I might explode.”

  “You think we can get back into the game?”

  “Totally,” she said.

  “So let’s have some fun,” he said.

  “Finally somebody wants to have fun playing ball!” she said, knowing she was speaking for both of them.

  She knew she was taking a risk when she waved Brett home from third on Teddy’s double, knowing that you never wanted anybody to make the last out of an inning at home. But she trusted Brett’s speed, and trusted her own instincts, and Brett ended up scoring easily when the Rangers’ shortstop bobbled the cutoff throw. Teddy took third on the play.

  It was here that Jack called for Jerry York to bunt, even with two outs, catching everybody by surprise, starting with the Rangers’ third baseman. Jerry deadened the ball perfectly. It died halfway up the line. The third baseman didn’t even try to make a throw when he finally barehanded the ball. It was 6–4, which was the way the inning ended.

  When Cassie got back to the bench, she said to Jack, “I thought the third-base coach gave the signs.”

  “You don’t know our signs.”

  “Good point,” she said. “But great call. A squeeze? Seriously?”

  “Thought we could steal an extra run,” Jack said.

  “Now are we having fun?” Cassie said.

  “We’re still losing.”

  “Yeah,” Cassie said. “But it sure as heck doesn’t feel that way.”

  It didn’t. Jerry, who hadn’t expected to pitch at all this season, finally tired in the fifth, loading the bases with two outs because of a couple of walks and a rare error by Gus at first base. Jack called time and waved J.B. in from second base to see if J.B. could get them out of the jam, even though J.B. hadn’t pitched an inning since last season, when he was still living in Pennsylvania. The score was still 6–4 for the Rangers, but more runs here would probably put away the Cubs for good.

  Cassie was sitting on the bench next to Scott Sutter, who’d turned his ankle catching a fly ball the inning before and had taken himself out of the game.

  “The only time Jack has ever seen J.B. pitch is in batting practice,” Scott said. “And even then, not for very long.”

  “Your new coach sees stuff other people don’t,” Cassie said.