by Tim Green
Josh let that sink in before he said, “And that stuff’s good, right?”
“What? Super Stax?”
Josh nodded.
“You think I’d have you taking it if it wasn’t?” his father said. “It’s proven. If you don’t like the banana, they got it in chocolate, too.”
“No, banana’s okay.”
“Josh,” his father said, stopping at a red light and looking over at him. “I know it’s hard, but it gets easier. Trust me. Your body will adjust. Especially with the Super Stax. That’s what it’s for, to build muscle.”
Telling his father about Rocky’s car at the hospital danced on the tip of Josh’s tongue, but the direction of the conversation made him certain it would sound stupid, so he dropped it. After a few minutes, he turned the radio on to fill the silence while he replayed the fight with Perkins in his mind. Before today, Josh had never been in a fight.
When they got home, Josh choked down a glass of milk with Super Stax, then gobbled down two plates of his mom’s spaghetti and meatballs. He tried to play a game of Candy Land with Laurel while his mom cleaned up the kitchen, but Laurel kept chewing the cards. After that he polished off what little homework he had, kissed his parents good-night, and crawled into bed early with a copy of Heat. He only got through a couple chapters before his eyes grew heavy, and he fell asleep without bothering to turn off the light.
Josh woke, and panic raced through his veins. His left leg wouldn’t move. He rolled from the bed and hit the floor, the feeling returning in the form of a million needles. Every other muscle in his body shrieked with pain. Josh groaned and pawed at the bed to help himself rise. He limped down the narrow hall to the bathroom. His father was just coming out, wearing only the bottoms of his red and white striped pajamas. His father’s hair was a mess and his beard extra stubbly.
“Dad,” Josh moaned. “I’m sore all over. I can barely move. My shoulder.”
Josh clutched his aching right arm.
His father studied him for a few seconds with his lips pressed tight before he said, “Hang on. I got something to help you.”
His father ducked back into the bathroom, and Josh followed him. His father opened the medicine cabinet behind the mirror and jiggled some pills out of a prescription bottle.
“Here,” his father said, handing Josh a little octagonal yellow pill.
Josh turned the pill over in his fingers and asked, “What is it?”
“Anti-inflammatory,” his father said. “Go ahead. It’ll help.”
“Can I?” Josh asked. “You don’t have to check with the doctor or anything?”
His father frowned and made an impatient gesture with his hand. “You think I don’t know about this stuff?”
“No.” Josh said. “I mean, yes. I know you know.”
“You’ll feel better,” his dad said, pushing past him and shuffling off toward his bedroom. “Medicine is part of sports. The higher you go, the more you have to get used to that. It’s just part of the game. Don’t worry. It’s safe.”
Josh looked at the pill and the tiny numbers stamped on its face. He filled a paper cup with water and washed down the pill, then looked at himself in the mirror to see if anything had changed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
JADEN STARTED SITTING WITH Josh and Benji at lunch every day. Bart Wilson didn’t show his face around the neighborhood, and Sheila made a point of walking past Josh in the halls, just so she could turn up her nose. The second article Jaden wrote about Josh in the school’s weekly paper didn’t take up much space. It explained the situation with him joining the Titans in a sympathetic light and pointed out that with Kerry Eschelman’s arm, the team should be a contender anyway.
The Mount Olympus Titans continued their grueling practice sessions, but the excruciating soreness Josh felt in the mornings began to ease up. He stopped taking the little yellow pills and learned to pack his throwing arm in ice every night before bed.
Josh, Jaden, and Benji teamed up for a science poster project that brought them all together at Josh’s house on a Thursday evening. Josh’s mom made a stir-fry of chicken and vegetables that everyone loved before the three partners spread out their materials on the living-room floor.
“Benji,” Jaden asked, “what are you doing?”
Benji sat with his back against the wall, and he looked up from his notebook only after writing something down. His face turned red and he said, “Just a little math.”
“We’re doing science,” Jaden said. “Our team project?”
“I just figured, while you guys were working out the details, I could get this done,” Benji said. “I’m not a good detail guy. I’m more of the big-picture type.”
Jaden looked at Josh, appealing for help.
“Come on, man,” Josh said. “We gotta work together.”
“Well, I’m a science genius, but this math stuff is killing me,” Benji said, rumpling up his face. “I got a sixty-four right now and if I fail, I’m off the baseball team. I know that doesn’t mean much to a big travel team star like you, but us little people got to eat, too.”
Jaden scooted over next to him and examined his notebook.
“Where’s your work on this problem?” she asked.
Benji shrugged. “What do you mean?”
“Your work,” she said. “The calculations for the problem. You’ve got the formula right, but the answer’s wrong. Where did you do the work?”
Benji crunched his eyebrows and said, “I sit right next to you in math. I see the way you do it, and you’ve got, what? A hundred and two average?”
Jaden looked at him, and her face relaxed. She shook her head and softly said, “I think if you just do the work out on paper, you’ll be fine. There’s a lot of calculations you have to make with this. If you write it down, it’s ten times easier to keep track of. Here, let me show you.”
Benji watched her, nodding his head.
“Yeah, I get that, dude,” he said. “Just what I was doing, but in my head.”
“So,” Jaden said patiently, “if you just write it down like this, I think you’ll be golden. The formula is the hardest part, and you got that.”
“Yeah,” Benji said, “that I got. That’s the hard part. But I still don’t get why I shouldn’t do it the same way as you.”
“She’s smarter than you, meathead,” Josh said. “Don’t get mad. She’s smarter than me, too.”
“But she can’t swing a bat like me,” Benji said, grinning.
“That’s why you’re her hero,” Josh said. “Now that you’ve solved the meaning of life, can we get back to this poster? I got to get to bed.”
Benji wrinkled his brow and said, “Anyone else tell you this Titans baseball team has turned you into a real bore?”
“Tomorrow, I’m either in or out,” Josh said, “so you might not have to worry about it.”
“What’s tomorrow?” Jaden asked.
“We got a tournament down on Long Island this weekend,” Josh said. “Rocky says the team has to be down to eighteen, so somebody’s got to go.”
“Not you!” Jaden asked.
“I’m the only twelve-year-old.”
“So what,” Jaden said. “I can’t believe you’re not as good as any fourteen-year-old. You’re as big as most of them, right?”
“Kind of.”
“So?” Jaden said.
“I’m not the strongest,” he said. “Not even close.”
“You don’t have to be the strongest to hit,” Jaden said. “Or play shortstop.”
“It helps,” Josh said. “But I’m getting better.”
“That stuff you drink at dinner when you hold your nose?” Jaden asked.
“You ever check out what that stuff is?” Benji asked her.
“The technical name is arginine alpha-ketoglu-tarate,” she said. “In theory, it replenishes the nitrogen in your cells and enhances the production of amino acids, the building blocks for muscle development.”
“What?” Benj
i said, his eyes wide. “Steroids?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“NO,” JADEN AND JOSH said at the same time.
Josh looked at her, and she said to Benji, “A supplement. Like food. Some people don’t even think they do anything. There’ve been studies that show placebos to be just as effective.”
“What’s a placebo?” Benji asked.
Jaden sighed and said, “They tell people they’re getting a supplement, but they just give them sugar pills with nothing in them. In some tests it works just as well. People think they’re going to get stronger, and they do.”
“Maybe I should be using that Stax stuff,” Benji said.
“They probably just work harder,” Jaden said. “Now, can we do this poster?”
“Bite my head off,” Benji said.
“Well, first we’re doing a math tutorial,” Jaden said, “and now we’re doing the ESPN Sports Reporters.”
“I’m a man of many interests and many talents,” Benji said, placing a hand over his heart. “That’s how you get personality.”
“Last I checked, that wasn’t a college major,” Jaden said, picking up a chart and beginning to snip away the edges with a pair of scissors.
“Major?” Benji said. “I’m majoring in baseball—that’s if I don’t go straight to the pros.”
“Then how come you’re not the one with the Titans?” Jaden asked, coating the back of the chart with a glue stick.
“When I’m developed, that’s all,” Benji said. “So I’m not a behemoth like my buddy here. I’ll grow, and when I do, I’ll be right there next to him, leading off.”
“I won’t be there myself if we don’t get this done and I get some sleep,” Josh said.
They got to work, and at 9:07, Josh’s friends walked out together. He got ready for bed and went down into the TV room to kiss his parents good-night. His mom worked on a Sudoku puzzle from the couch while his dad sat stretched back in his recliner, watching a Yankees game.
“Bed already?” his mom asked.
“We find out tomorrow who gets cut,” Josh said. He watched his dad but got no reaction until cheers came from the TV.
“You see that double play?” his father asked.
Josh turned and watched the replay.
“That’ll be you,” his dad said.
“So, you think I’ll make it?” Josh asked.
His dad clicked the remote, muting the TV, and said, “I don’t know, Josh.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Josh said. “I mean, you work with Rocky, right?”
His father shook his head and said, “It doesn’t work that way. Rocky’s not going to keep you unless he and his coaches think you’re better than someone else. You probably have to be a lot better than the older kids for them to keep you, Josh.”
Josh felt pressure build up in his face, and before he could stop himself he shouted, “Then why did I do all this?”
Josh’s mother put aside her puzzle and glanced nervously between Josh and his father. Josh’s father reached down and cranked on the lever of his chair, bringing it upright and sitting tall.
“You did it to be the best,” his father said. “You did it because if you make this team, you’re on your way. If you make it, everyone will be talking about you. Twelve-year-olds just can’t play with fourteen-year-olds, everyone knows that.”
“You didn’t!” Josh said.
His father stared at him for a minute, then in a low, tight voice said, “I knew exactly what I was doing. I wanted to see if you’ve got what it takes, not just hitting and fielding, but mentally, see if you’re tough enough to make it. Part of that is facing facts. If you’re good enough, you’ll make the cut. If you’re not, then you go back to the drawing board and start over.”
“But I can’t go back to the drawing board, Dad,” Josh said, his voice still raised. “I quit the school team, and I can’t go back now. They made their cuts.”
His father flicked his hand and said, “School team. That’s crap. Mount Olympus is going to have a U12 travel team put together in a week or so. We got Dickie Woodridge lined up as batting coach, and if it goes good with the Nike people, Rocky might even let me manage the whole thing, so you can play there.”
Josh thought about Benji and Esch and the other kids he had looked forward to becoming friends with by playing together, being the team’s baseball great. Then he thought about the older kids he’d spent every afternoon with, the kids who made fun of him if they talked to him at all, the kids who didn’t even want him to be there. Josh’s vision blurred, and he turned away so his dad wouldn’t see his eyes. He wiped them on his sleeve as he left the room, mumbling his good-nights.
The sleep he wanted so badly wouldn’t come. The sloped ceiling above the head of his bed never seemed so close, and his tiny room never seemed so small. The dresser and fully stuffed bookshelf that stood shoulder to shoulder alongside his bed seemed to press in on him. Clothes bulged from the narrow closet, forcing its single door open to bump against the bed’s footboard. Sports posters hung crowded together on what little wall space he had, and the players seemed to pile out of them into the room and breathe up all the dusty air. Around and around his mind went, half of him hoping he’d make the Titans, the other half hoping he’d be cut and the whole thing could finally be over.
CHAPTER TWENTY
AT LUNCH THE NEXT day, Josh got his milks lined up and looked around for Jaden. If anyone could cheer him up, it was her. Her knowledge of the game and about everything else made her praise of his baseball skills twice as meaningful as anyone else’s outside his dad’s. He didn’t see her, though, and he started in on his first sandwich, not wanting to get behind.
When Benji arrived with a tray of pizza and carrot sticks, Josh asked, “You seen Jaden?”
Benji set down his tray and said, “Who cares?”
“Come on, Lido,” Josh said. “She helped you with math, right? You got something like an eighty-one on the quiz? You’re out of the woods now. You’re going to pass.”
Benji puffed out his cheeks and blew air through a small hole between his lips. “You think that’s ’cause of her? I got brains just like the rest of you.”
“Man, sometimes you really get to me, Lido,” Josh said.
“So, you’re got,” Lido said, picking up his tray and walking away.
“Where you going?” Josh asked.
Benji turned and said, “To sit with some of my teammates—the ones who are still left, anyway. Some people around here appreciate me, dude.”
Josh watched him go, gulped down the rest of a roast beef sandwich, and searched the lunchroom for Jaden. When he spotted her over by the stage underneath the flag, sitting and eating in the midst of a big group of brainy girls, he balanced his three remaining milks on his lunch bag and crossed the cafeteria.
“Hey,” Josh said, nudging Jaden with his hip. “Can you ask someone to make room?”
Jaden looked up at him with a deadpan face.
“No,” she said in her southern drawl, “I don’t think that’s nice.”
Josh snorted at the joke and said, “C’mon, Jaden. Stop it. It’s me, not Benji. He’s mad because I stuck up for you. He’s not even sitting with me.”
Without looking up at him, Jaden said, “I got to believe that anyone who cares about this school isn’t going to be lining up to sit with you.”
“Hey, easy,” Josh said, touching her shoulder. “C’mon, Jaden. It’s not funny anymore.”
Jaden shrugged his hand off her shoulder and turned. “I know it’s not funny. No one’s laughing but you.”
“What are you talking about?” Josh asked.
Jaden looked around at her wide-eyed classmates and said, “Fine, you don’t care if other people know?”
“Know what? I don’t care.”
“It was bad enough when your father took you off our baseball team for some pack of muscle-bound all-stars,” she said in her drawl, clutching a pretzel so tight it broke into pieces. “I
tried to be fair. I tried to be understanding, but I realize now that I did it because of how I feel—how I felt—about you. I compromised my journalistic integrity, and I should have known better. Well, fool me once, shame on you. You won’t do it twice.”
“Twice, how?” Josh asked, his jaw falling.
“Oh, you’re going to pretend you don’t know?” Jaden said. “Okay, Josh. I believe you. Duh. I’m stupid. You didn’t know your dad recruited Kerry Eschelman for the U12 Titans. Sure, I believe you.”
Josh stood for a minute, staring at Jaden, then looking around at the other girls’ faces and the faces of the kids at the nearby tables staring at him.
“I didn’t,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right,” Jaden said. “I wouldn’t want to know either if me and my dad were killing the entire baseball season for the whole school.”
“My dad never said anything about Kerry,” Josh said, still softly.
“You didn’t know he was putting together a U12 travel team?” Jaden asked accusingly. “And he called Kerry’s dad, like, twenty times?”
“I…” Josh said, not wanting to lie. “I knew about the team, but not Kerry.”
“He’s only the best seventh-grade pitcher around,” Jaden said, slapping the crumbs of her pretzel down on the table in front of her and jumping up so she could stick her face in his. “Only a moron wouldn’t think they’d go after him. Are you a moron, Josh, or just a liar?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
JOSH COULDN’T SPEAK. HE clamped his mouth shut, glaring at Jaden, humiliated in front of half the school.
“You’re some friend,” he said in a mutter. “Benji was right all along. Girls are nothing but trouble.”
“Moron it is,” Jaden said, the word coming out “MOE-ron,” and she turned away and sat back down.
