The DH

by John Feinstein

Alex also looked around, not so much to see if anyone was listening as to give himself time to think about his answer.

  “And we’re taking a break. At least for a little while.”

  Jonas rolled his eyes. “Her idea, right?”

  Alex nodded.

  Jonas closed his locker. “You need some remedial dating advice, my friend,” he said. “We’ll talk later.”

  Just then, the five-minute bell rang, so Alex didn’t have to respond. Once upon a time, he would have gone to Matt for remedial dating advice. Right now, that didn’t seem like such a good idea.

  He got through the morning by giving one-word answers to the various questions: “You okay?” “How’s the stomach?” “What happened?” “You and Matt patch it up?” His answers: “Fine.” “Fine.” “Nothing.” “Yes.” He left it at that and kept walking.

  The first real problem came at lunchtime. As Alex walked to his regular table, he saw that Christine was sitting at a table with several people from the student newspaper: Steve Garland, Kim Gagne, Ally Bachinski, and Janie Kappell. In a vacuum, that wasn’t a problem—she spent time with those people almost every day. But she always sat at the corner table with Alex, Jonas, Max Bellotti, and, most days, Matt.

  Only she wasn’t sitting there today. Neither was Matt, who came in a little bit late and joined some of the other baseball players at a different table.

  “Trouble in paradise, I take it,” Max said, nodding in the direction of the table where Christine was sitting. “I heard what happened.”

  “People in Mongolia heard what happened,” Jonas said. “Question is, what does our guy do next?”

  Max shrugged. “I assume you’ve talked to her since Friday,” he said, looking at Alex. “What’d she say?”

  “She needs space,” Alex said. “Apparently I’m relentlessly jealous.”

  “You are relentlessly jealous,” Jonas said. “She does have a way with words, by the way.”

  Max nodded. “He’s right. Give her some space. Let her miss you for a while.”

  “What if she doesn’t miss me?”

  Max shrugged again. “Then there’s not much you can do. Look, Alex, you know she could go out with just about anyone in the school.”

  “Except you,” Jonas said, grinning.

  Max laughed. “You know what? She’s so good-looking I might switch sides for her.”

  Alex knew he was kidding, but the comment didn’t make him feel any better. Once word got out that Christine and Alex were “taking a break”—and it would—guys would be lining up for the chance to go out with her.

  Seeing the look on Alex’s face, Max put his fork down and turned serious. “Did she say she was going to start dating other guys?” he asked.

  “No,” Alex said. “She actually said she wouldn’t start dating other guys.”

  “Then take her at her word,” Max said. “She’s a very mature girl. You know that.”

  “What if she does go out with someone else?” Jonas asked.

  “Then it’s a different story,” Max said.

  That was the story Alex was worried about.

  Alex heeded Max’s advice that afternoon. When French class was over, he was sorely tempted to follow Christine out of the classroom and engage her in some kind of conversation. But when she didn’t even glance at him as she was stuffing her French book into her backpack, he decided against it.

  Give her space, he said to himself, and he let her leave ahead of him, taking his time to pack up his own books.

  Getting back on the baseball field was a relief. Coach Birdy told them all before practice began that Bailey Warner was going to a specialist to try to figure out why his shoulder hurt when an MRI had shown no structural damage. Matt would pitch at Camden South the next day, Alex would pitch the final nonconference game of the year on Friday against St. Mary’s, and then Matt would pitch the conference opener against Bryn Mawr Tech the following Tuesday. By then, it would be April, and—everyone hoped—the weather would be warmer.

  Matt said nothing during practice about what had happened Friday night or about his decision to sit at a different table at lunch. He was the old Matt, teasing Alex about his golden arm and how it had “finally shown up again” in the game on Friday. Alex laughed along with everyone else and acted as if everything was back to normal—even though it wasn’t.

  The team left early the next day for the trip up I-95 and across the Ben Franklin Bridge into Camden. The New Jersey suburb of Philadelphia had a reputation for producing great athletes and for being a tough, gritty place. The bus arrived just as school was letting out, and it appeared, at least to Alex, that a majority of the student body was African American. But when Camden South took the field, the team had just one African American player. During warm-ups, Jonas—as if reading Alex’s mind—said, “Even here, no brothers playing baseball.”

  “What’s the deal with that?” Alex said.

  “Baseball’s dead to black people,” Jonas said. “I play because what else am I going to do in the spring? But if you asked me to give up a sport, this is the one I’d give up.”

  That wasn’t all that surprising to Alex. Jonas was a very good baseball player, but he was better at basketball, and even better at football.

  Still, he asked the follow-up question: “Why would you give up baseball first?”

  “It’s not cool,” Jonas replied. “It’s slow. Would you rather watch a football game, a basketball game, or a baseball game on TV?”

  Alex thought about that. He loved going to Fenway Park with his dad, but he didn’t sit and watch baseball for hours on end the way he did football or basketball. He loved the game, but compared with football and basketball, it was slow.

  “Old people like slow,” Jonas continued. “Young people want fast.”

  “You sound like a Nike commercial,” Alex said.

  Jonas laughed. “Why do you think they make those commercials? Who buys sneakers and gear from them?”

  They were interrupted by Coach Birdy telling them to come on back to the dugout. Alex was again hitting second, behind Jeff Cardillo, and playing left field. Matt was hitting third, and Jonas, even though he wasn’t a true power hitter, was batting fourth.

  “Camden’s the best team we’ve played,” Coach Birdy told them. “But we’ve got Matt pitching. As long as he’s out there, we can beat anybody.”

  Alex wondered if that was supposed to be a pep talk. Did it mean that when he or any of the other pitchers were on the mound, they couldn’t beat anybody good?

  There was no point worrying about it at the moment, especially since Coach Birdy’s assessment proved accurate very quickly. Camden South’s starting pitcher was Jaime Garcia, a kid who didn’t throw as hard as Matt but had about four different breaking pitches—or so it seemed. Alex struck out in the first inning, swinging at a curveball that bounced on the plate.

  Fortunately, Coach Birdy was also right about Matt. He matched zeroes with Garcia inning after inning. The only two hits that Garcia gave up were to Matt—a two-out double in the first, which he followed up by striking out Jonas, and a single in the fourth. Matt also gave up two hits through the first seven innings—both to Garcia. It was as if the two of them were playing one game and everyone else was playing another.

  Looking into the bleachers—which would seat maybe five hundred—Alex could see plenty of scouts on hand. He wondered if they were there to watch Alex or Garcia—or both.

  The score was still 0–0 after the seventh, which meant extra innings. High school rules dictated that a game played on a weekday could go no more than nine innings. Before he went to coach third base in the top of the eighth, Coach Birdy told Ethan Sattler and Patton Gormley to go warm up. Lucas Mann, the number nine hitter, was about to lead off. Garcia was still in the game. As soon as Sattler and Gormley left the dugout, Matt walked over to Coach Bloom, who was sitting on the bench with all of his various charts on his lap.

  “Why is Coach Birdy warming them up?” Matt said. �
�I’m fine.”

  Alex was a few feet away, preparing to grab a bat and follow Jeff Cardillo to the on-deck circle, since he would be hitting third in the inning.

  Coach Bloom tapped his clipboard. “You’ve thrown ninety-nine pitches, Matt,” he said. “We aren’t going to push you past a hundred.”

  “What?” Matt said, raising his voice so the entire dugout could hear him. “How many pitches has Garcia thrown?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Coach Bloom said. “We’re only worried about you.”

  “How many?” Matt demanded.

  “Hundred and eight,” Coach Bloom answered.

  “And he’s still out there!” Matt yelled.

  Coach Bloom had heard enough. “Matt, you’re in for Hague at first base in the bottom of the inning.”

  He put his head down to indicate he wasn’t going to argue further. Matt stalked away just as Mann swung and missed at strike three from Garcia.

  Alex headed for the on-deck circle. Cardillo was dropping a bat and taking one more practice swing before walking to the plate. It looked to Alex as if he was stalling. “Someone needs to calm Matt down,” he said softly, still looking at the plate.

  “Not me,” Alex said.

  “Me, then, I guess,” Cardillo said just as the umpire walked in their direction, indicating that Cardillo needed to get in the batter’s box.

  Alex wasn’t sure what Cardillo’s plan was, but the first thing he did was lay a perfect bunt down the third base line. Camden South’s third baseman sprinted in and tried to grab and throw with one hand, but he threw wildly, over the first baseman’s head. By the time the right fielder ran the ball down, Cardillo had raced all the way to third.

  Suddenly, the Lions had a real chance to score. As Alex headed to the plate, Coach Birdy walked down from the third base coaching box and waved him over. He wasn’t going to chance a missed sign.

  Coach Birdy put his arm around Alex.

  “I want you to swing at the first pitch—regardless of where it is,” he said. “My guess is it’ll be out of the strike zone because they’re going to want to see if you show bunt.”

  Alex wasn’t quite getting it. “Swing and miss?” he said.

  “No, not necessarily, but I’m guessing that’s what will happen. On the next pitch, I want you to bunt toward third. The third baseman can’t come in too far because that’ll give Jeff a running start. Just get it down and he’ll score.”

  Alex walked back to the batter’s box. Sure enough, the first pitch was well off the plate. Alex saw the first baseman charging and the third baseman cheating in, both looking for a bunt. He practically dove across the plate trying to swing at the pitch. He missed.

  Alex stepped out and looked down at Coach Birdy, who flashed him all sorts of signs, none of them indicating anything had changed. He still wanted him to bunt.

  Alex stepped back in and noticed that both the first baseman and the third baseman had backed off a little bit. Garcia was pitching from the windup, since Cardillo was unlikely to steal home. As soon as he kicked his leg, Alex squared and ran his hands up the bat. The pitch was going to be a strike, on the inside corner. Alex twisted his body toward third base and, out of the corner of his eye, saw Cardillo starting toward home. He pushed the ball as hard as he could and managed to get the bunt down in the no-man’s-land between Garcia and the third baseman.

  Cardillo scored easily, and by the time the third baseman got to the ball, Alex had beaten his throw to first. It was 1–0. Garcia stood, hands on hips, clearly disgusted. His coach came out of the dugout and changed pitchers. Matt came to the plate and, on the new pitcher’s first pitch, hit a home run to dead center field, the ball sailing well over the fence. He didn’t even move as the ball left the park, just stood at the plate, admiring his work.

  Alex waited for Matt at the plate to high-five him. “Now,” Matt said, “they can let someone else pitch.”

  Ethan Sattler came in and got Camden South one, two, three in the bottom of the eighth. The 3–0 deficit had broken the home team’s spirit.

  “Great win,” Coach Birdy said in the dugout after the teams had exchanged postgame handshakes. “We’re on the bus in twenty minutes.”

  Alex noticed Christine, Steve Garland, and a number of other media members gathered outside the dugout. They were all waiting for Matt. When Matt walked over to them, he shook hands with Garland and then hugged Christine.

  Alex felt the familiar burn. Behind him, he heard Jonas in his ear. “Keep saying it with me, dude: ‘She needs space.’ ”

  Alex took a deep breath. “Not sure how long I can keep this up,” he said.

  “Been two days,” Jonas said.

  It felt more like two weeks to Alex. Or two months.

  Alex was practicing his deep breathing when he saw Steve Garland walking in his direction. Alex could see that Christine—and several other reporters—was still talking to Matt.

  “You got a minute, Alex?” Garland asked.

  “Sure,” Alex said, in a tone that meant, Okay—but why?

  Garland picked up on it right away.

  “I’m prepping a big story on Matt for next week and need some quotes from the rest of you guys. Christine’s writing the game story, so she needs to talk to him about today.”

  It was almost as if Garland was becoming part of the “Give her some space and quit worrying” chorus.

  “Sure,” Alex said again, hoping he didn’t sound uptight. More deep breaths, he told himself.

  “Did you have any idea Matt was this good?” Garland asked, turning on his mini tape recorder so Alex knew they were now on the record.

  “No,” Alex said honestly. “I’d never seen him play, and since he didn’t play the last couple springs, I don’t think anyone else knew how good he was, either. I’m not sure Matt knew how good he was.”

  Garland smiled. “He seems to now.”

  Alex let that go.

  Garland tried a different tact. “Just now he was saying that he thinks he’s better at baseball than football. You agree?”

  Alex was going to be careful with that one. “He was—is—a very good football player and was good before he ever took steroids.” Alex paused. “You know that, right?”

  Garland nodded in agreement.

  “He’s a natural when it comes to baseball,” Alex continued. “He can do everything. You’ve seen it. I’m not surprised all these scouts are coming to see him.”

  “Word travels fast,” Garland said. “I asked him if he was going to go to college or turn pro, and he said he didn’t know yet. What do you think?”

  Alex shrugged. “Well, he’s got another year to figure that one out.”

  Garland gave him a funny look. “Another year? Didn’t Christine tell you? He’s thinking about reclassifying. If he wants, he can go to summer school to graduate and either go to college or turn pro in the fall.”

  “What?”

  “You didn’t know?” Garland said, surprised. “When Christine told me, I figured all you guys knew.”

  “I’m not sure Coach Birdy knows,” Alex said.

  Alex saw a look pass over Garland’s face that told him that he hadn’t asked Coach Birdy about it yet.

  “Talk to you later,” Garland said. “Thanks.”

  He turned, clearly going to look for Coach Birdy. Alex was willing to bet that the only person who had known was Christine Whitford. And he was sure that wasn’t relentless jealousy talking.

  Alex didn’t find out until the next morning that his theory had been correct. Steve Garland’s story on Matt mentioned that Coach Birdy “appeared to be caught off guard when informed by a reporter that Gordon is considering passing up his senior year”—though the story didn’t say, “Gordon had already confided this information to Christine Whitford.”

  Alex showed the story to Jonas when he found him at his locker. “He tells Christine but not his coach,” Alex said. “What does that tell you?”

  “Tells me he likes her and she’s a g
ood reporter,” Jonas said. “Two things we already knew. Does it say anything in there about Christine doing anything to make you think she was lying on Sunday when she said she wasn’t going to be dating anybody?”

  Grudgingly, Alex had to admit he had a point.

  “Maybe I’ll ask Christine why she thinks he told her,” Alex said.

  “Maybe you won’t,” Jonas said, slamming his locker door for emphasis. “Unless you want to set yourself back another couple of weeks.”

  Alex hated that Jonas was right but knew that he was.

  To his surprise, Matt was back at the lunch table that day.

  “So, I guess you guys know that I’m thinking of passing on senior year,” he said as he unloaded his tray, which was piled high with two massive roast beef sandwiches and a plate of French fries.

  Before Alex or Jonas could say anything, Max jumped in. “I read it,” he said. “Why in the world would you do that?”

  “Because I have the hammer right now,” Matt said. “I can put my name into the draft, and if I don’t get offered a lot of money, I can graduate this summer and go to college, or come back here. No reason not to try.”

  “Do you really want to go live on your own in some little nowhere farm-team town and ride buses all over the place when you’re seventeen?” Max said.

  “I’d like to live anywhere that’s far away from my father,” Matt said.

  That quieted everyone.

  “I get that,” Max said finally. “But you’ll have the exact same ‘hammer’ a year from now, and you’ll be bigger, stronger, older.”

  “Smarter,” Jonas added.

  “Mr. Anderson says teams like players who are young. I won’t be seventeen until July. That will make me more attractive and will probably get me more money.”

  “Who,” Alex asked, “is Mr. Anderson?”

  Matt hesitated, almost as if he hadn’t meant to bring up the name.

  “He’s a friend,” Matt said.

  “What kind of friend?” Alex asked. “What does he know about any of this?”

  Again, Matt hesitated. Finally, he threw his hands up in the air and said, “Okay, just between all of us, he’s an agent. He knows about all this stuff.”