Dodger for Sale (6 page)

O
NCE WE FOUND OUT
the disastrous news that the forest had already been sold, Lizzie and I didn’t even bother going in to look for rare animals. We just walked the rest of the way to school, with Amy trailing behind.

“I wonder who bought the woods,” Amy said. “Maybe it’s a huge real estate developer and they’re going to put a hundred outlet stores in there. That would be the worst—wall-to-wall pavement as far as the eye can see. And can you imagine the view from our windows at home? Parking lots—yuck! Or maybe a garbage company is going to put a massive dump there. And they’re going to throw disgusting stuff in: Dead bodies! Bloody pig guts from butcher stores! Toxic chemicals! Yikes! We’d never be able to open our windows again! On the other hand, maybe a hospital is going to build a psycho ward. And they’re going to send all the craziest madmen in the state to live there! All day long, we’ll hear their disturbed laughter. And then at night, we’ll be awakened by the terrifying screams of their tormented—”

I couldn’t take listening anymore, so I snapped, “Could you just be quiet for a change, Amy? You are NOT helping! Why can’t you just leave us alone?”

Amy looked at me like I had just thrown something at her. For a moment, I thought she was going to cry, but then she just stomped away from us and into the school yard. Lizzie turned to me and said, “Why did you do that, Willie? She’s not that bad. And she really
does
try to help.”

I sighed. “I know you’re right. It’s just that she never stops. I’ll tell her I’m sorry later, okay?”

Lizzie nodded and we went into school.

At the student council meeting, a lot of the younger kids were very excited to show us all the work they had done to learn more about the forest. It was pretty interesting. Kids had drawn life-size pictures of several animals (as it turns out, bog turtles are kind of cute); made maps, charts, and graphs (it was sad to see how little wild land was left in our area and how fast it was disappearing); and even brought in little dioramas of animal habitats (it’s amazing how many animals can live in a forest if nobody cuts the trees down). The excitement was running so high that I couldn’t even bear to tell them the bad news about the
SOLD
banner.

As soon as I banged the gavel, I gave all of the council members time to show us what they had learned. Then, because I knew I had to tell them sooner or later, I told the group that the land had already been sold. That got everybody really riled up, and kids started shouting out ideas for what to do next:

“Let’s call the mayor!”

“No, let’s call the governor!”

“No, let’s call the newspaper!”

“Hey, why don’t we form a human chain and block the bulldozers?”

“What bulldozers?”

“You know, the ones that are going to knock down the forest.”

“Oh,
those
bulldozers.”

“Hey, I think bulldozers are cool! I saw this one show where a bulldozer totally flattened a hill in about five seconds flat. And then they put a car in front of it, and the bulldozer turned the car into a twisted pile of smoking wreckage. It was awesome!”

“Uh, can we focus for a minute here?” Lizzie said. “We really do have to act fast now. We will still need to gather evidence to prove that building on our woods would be a bad idea. Then we’re going to need to get the word out to the government, the newspapers and TV stations, and everybody in town. We’ll need committees, volunteers, sign-up sheets! We’re not going to take this lying down!”

Then James Beeks said, “You might as well forget it, Lizzie. I mean, it’s not like the town council is going to listen to a bunch of little kids, anyway.”

“What are you talking about, James? We’re just getting started.”

“Yeah, but doesn’t it seem kind of pointless? Whatever they’re going to build there, they’re going to have to build it somewhere. So even if you do stop them from knocking down these woods, you’re not really saving the planet, anyway.”

Wow, that sounded kind of logical. I hate it when Beeks starts sounding reasonable.

“James,” Lizzie said, “what’s going on? At the last meeting, you agreed to help.”

“I know, but … look, maybe we should just have a big bake sale to raise money for charity. We’d be doing something totally useful, and … and … and Craig would even wear an apron!”

Craig jumped up. “What? Why would I have to wear the apron? Why couldn’t you wear it? Why do I always have to do the dirty work, huh?”

James looked down for a minute, then back up at Lizzie. I couldn’t believe it: He almost looked like he was apologizing for something. “Lizzie, please. I’ll even wear the apron. I’ll wear ten aprons—pink ones. With bunnies on ’em. Just don’t make us do this forest thing.”

Lizzie was speechless. So was everybody else, until Mrs. Starsky broke the silence. “All right, kids. Time’s up for today. Let’s all take a few days to see what happens, okay? In the meantime, Willie and Lizzie can work on finding out who is supposed to buy the land. Then maybe we can vote on our next steps when we meet again.”

I was so confused I almost pounded the gavel down on my own hand. Why had James suddenly tried to get us to change our project? He had been negative at first, but that was different; it was just his usual sniping at anything Lizzie or I said. Now he was almost begging us to do something else. And was he right? Was saving the forest a hopeless idea?

My head hurt.

Lizzie had a dentist appointment after the meeting, and Amy had left when school got out, so I walked home all alone. As I drew within sight of the spot on the sidewalk where the
FOR SALE
sign had been, I couldn’t help noticing it looked different somehow. For a few moments, I felt hopeful. Maybe the project had been canceled! Maybe we had just imagined the
SOLD
banner! Yeah, right. And maybe my ninety-year-old aunt Ida is going to run away and join the Marines.

When I got close enough to see, the sign was different. In fact, the old sign was completely gone, and in its place was a larger one:

This was terrible! I ran the rest of the way home and tried to call Lizzie, but then I remembered she was at the dentist. I was dying to tell somebody about all this, but my mom was working late, my dad was locked in his office, writing, and Amy—well, you can see why I didn’t want to go blabbing to Amy. I charged up to my room and rubbed the side of Dodger’s lamp. He didn’t come out right away, so in my excitement, I might have knocked on it—a little too hard.

Dodger appeared next to me in his usual POOF! of blue smoke. He was swaying from side to side, holding his head. As soon as his eyes focused on me, he said, “Earthquake! Willie, we have to get out of here before the whole house—oh, wait. Why aren’t we shaking? That was a pretty short earthquake.”

Oops. “Um, it wasn’t an earthquake. You just didn’t come out when I rubbed, so I started knocking. I guess I got a little carried away.”

“Ah, it’s no big deal. I didn’t really like those ancient Greek statues on my table, anyway.”

Double oops.

“So what’s the emergency, dude? Is Lizzie in trouble? Is Amy hurt? Did I miss a meal?”

“No, it’s just bad news about the forest. I was walking home and—”

Just then, Amy started pounding on my door. I jumped about three feet. Dodger whispered, “Whoa, bud. What’s with your family and banging on stuff today?”

Amy shouted, “Willie, who’s shouting in there? I just saw you go into your room by yourself a minute ago, and now I hear somebody screaming.”

“Uh, it’s just a computer game,” I said.

“Oh, yeah? What’s it called,
My Brother Is a Big, Fat Liar: The Game
?”

I knew I had been a little mean to her that morning, but this was too much. I shouted back, “For the last time, Amy, LEAVE ME ALONE! What I do is none of your business!”

She said, “You know, I just want to know what’s going on with you and your friends.”

Then it just slipped out. I was mad at James Beeks, mad at the world, and annoyed with Amy, so I yelled, “Well, maybe if you got some friends of your own, you wouldn’t have to worry about mine all the time!”

I heard Amy’s footsteps running away down the hall, and then her door slamming shut with a bang. Meanwhile, Dodger was staring at me. I waited for him to tell me to apologize, or something. But all he said was, “Dude.” Then he sighed and said, “Let’s get out of here. I’ve been stuck in my lamp all day, and you’re going, like, bonkers.”

I wasn’t really in the mood for fun, but it was better than sitting around feeling guilty about my sister. “What do you want to do?” I asked.

“You’ll see. Meet me at the field, pronto!” With that, he disappeared. I walked out of my room, walked down the hall trying not to look at Amy’s closed door, went downstairs, left a note for my parents, and headed for the Field of Dreams. As I walked down the path from my backyard, I told myself I should try to enjoy the rest of the afternoon. After all, who knew how many more times we’d get to play there?

Just before the trees closed in around me, I took a look back at my house. For a split second, I saw Amy’s sad face in the window. I almost waved, but before I could even get my hand up, her curtains swooshed shut and she was out of sight.

D
ODGER WAS WAITING FOR ME
at the Field of Dreams. He was all suited up to play baseball, even though it was the middle of winter and there were patches of slush and ice all over the diamond. His jersey said Pittsburgh Primates. He threw one at me that said Philadelphia Willies. It seemed like a nutty idea to drop everything and play ball in this situation, but I didn’t bother to ask Dodger to explain. I generally find that asking Dodger questions just makes things more confusing.

I went behind the backstop to put on my jersey, and when I came back out, Rodger was there, too, sporting a hoodie that said World Chimpions on the front. He was standing on the pitcher’s mound, clearing snow off the rubber with one foot. He had a glove on one hand and was tossing a baseball up and catching it again and again in the other. “Ah, spring!” Rodger exclaimed.

“Um, it’s not spring yet,” I said. “Technically, winter only just started a few weeks ago.”

Rodger frowned at me, then continued. “Yes, spring! The scent, the odor, the perfume of the flowers wafting through the pollen-filled air. The evening sun, that magnificent golden eye, casting its warm rays on the grassy field of play.”

Actually, it was getting dark pretty rapidly, although somehow it never really gets too dark to see on our field. But it would take more than a total mismatch with reality to stop Rodger when he’s on a roll. “And the ball, ready to fly from pitcher’s hand to catcher’s outstretched mitt, unless by some stroke of chance the batter connects, makes contact, drives the ball into the vasty depths of the fresh-mowed outfield. Yes, it is time: time to test the might of my good right arm against the pluck, the determination, the sheer courage of the young man in the batter’s box.”

Dodger came over and put an arm around me. “I think what my bro is trying to say is, PLAY BALL!” He crouched down behind home plate, held out a huge, old-fashioned catcher’s glove in front of him, and gestured toward a bat that was leaning against the backstop. It was an awesome bat, made of some mysterious jet-black material, with my name written near the sweet spot in sparkling red letters. I picked up the bat and took a few practice swings. Of course, the bat felt perfect in my hands. I stepped into the batter’s box and took a deep breath. Oddly, I almost thought I
could
smell a little whiff of fresh-cut grass.

What was I going to do without this place?

As Rodger went into his windup, I stepped away from the plate. “Dodger,” I said, “we have a really huge problem.”

Rodger delivered a perfect strike right down the middle of the plate and into Dodger’s glove. “You’re right,” Rodger shouted. “The problem is that you can’t hit my fastball, my heater, the high cheese.”

If you’ve ever wondered whether being taunted by a chimpanzee is a good cure for a bad mood, here’s your answer: It isn’t. “Guys, I’m serious. The field is being sold.”

“Dude, we knew that,” Dodger said as he tossed the ball back to Rodger.

“Yeah, we knew Lasorda was trying to sell it. But now he has a buyer. Do you know what this means?”

Rodger threw a screaming fastball that hit Dodger’s mitt with a loud thwap. “Uh, strike two?” Dodger said. He tossed the ball back to his brother.

“No, it means all of this is really going to be gone forever if we don’t do something.”

Rodger said, “But you ARE doing something. You’re acting! You’re fighting back!” He wound up and blew the ball by me again. “You’re striking out!”

“Ha-ha.” I put the bat down. “And guess who the buyer is? James Beeks’s dad! He’s
James Beeks’s dad
! Do you know what that means?”

“His last name is Beeks, too?” Dodger said.

“Very funny. It means that Beeks went home and told his dad to buy the forest. James was supposed to be helping the student council save this place, and instead he betrayed us in a second as soon as he got the chance. Like he wasn’t enough of a jerk already, now he goes and does this!”

Rodger threw a slow, slow pitch past me and yelled, “Second batter! Strike one! Boy, all this anger is having a bad, counterproductive, negative effect on your hitting.”

That was it. Now I was even madder. Rodger got ready to pitch again and I got into my batting stance for the first time since baseball season had ended. He delivered, and I smacked the ball into a snowbank all the way out by the left-field fence.

“Whoa!” Dodger said. “Willie, that was awesome!” Truthfully, even though I was so mad, hitting the ball that far on my very first swing of the season really did feel great. I decided to do what Rodger and Dodger both wanted me to do, which was stop talking and start playing. They let me bat for a while more, and then Rodger pitched to Dodger and let me field—not that there was much fielding for me to do. I had never seen Dodger hit before, but holy cow! He hit pitch after pitch out of the park. Dodger had once hinted that he had taught Babe Ruth to hit home runs, and for the first time, I sort of believed him. He had a short, abrupt swing, but I guess magical chimps are just super strong, because the balls jumped off his bat. After every big hit, he shouted, “Du-u-ude!” at the top of his lungs and laughed with joy. By the third or fourth homer, I was laughing with him.