Force Out (11 page)

Joey's dad offered the coach a drink.

“No, I can only stay a minute.” Coach Barrett held up a hand and took some papers out of his shoulder bag that he used as a coaching briefcase. He handed the papers to Joey's dad. “Okay, well you should sign these.”

“Is this for the all-star team?” Joey's dad screwed up his face at the mystery of it all.

Joey could barely breathe.

Coach Barrett clapped his hands before he clasped his fingers together. “Okay, well, what do you want first, the good news or the bad news?”

Joey's dad glanced at Joey. Joey swallowed and his dad said, “Give us the bad news first.”

Coach Barrett's face clouded over. He leaned forward and spoke in a somber and serious voice, almost like someone had died. “Okay well . . . No, no, no. I've got to give you the good news first.” Coach Barrett looked back and forth between them.

“Okay, the good news then,” Joey's dad said.

“Good news is that Joey is the first alternate for the all-star team.” Coach Barrett's face beamed at them like a headlight.

Then Coach Barrett's face fell, as did his voice. “I guess that's the bad news, too.”

“You mean, he made it, or he didn't make it?” Joey's dad asked.

“As the alternate,” Coach Barrett said, nodding like a bobblehead.

“So, unless someone drops out, he didn't make it.”

“Or if someone gets hurt,” Coach Barrett said brightly.

Joey felt like he was about to lose the small amount of food he'd choked down. This was it, and it was really over. The alternate thing was like striking a match in a blustery wind.

Coach Barrett cleared his throat. “And I want you to know that I fought tooth and nail to make him the very
first
alternate. I would not let anyone leave that room until they agreed. It was tough, because they argued no team should have three players on the all-star team, except maybe the champions, but I had them dead to rights because I argued that even though we didn't
win
the championship, we still had the best record, and there was a reason for
that
. It wasn't all just coaching . . .”

Joey's dad folded the waiver Coach Barrett had handed him, and his fingers crept across the crease over and over again.

“No, it wasn't, but, Don . . .”

Coach Barrett seemed startled by Joey's dad using his first name.

“You said ‘three players' from our team. I get Zach and Joey, but who's the third?”

Joey knew who the third was, even before Coach Barrett puffed up like a tom turkey, stretching his neck and arching his back just a bit to expand his chest as big as it could possibly get.

“The third? The third is Joey. The first is Zach. Butch was the
second
.”

“Butch?”

“My son.” Coach Barrett wore a vicious smile. “You know? Butch, our second baseman. The winning run on first yesterday in the top of the sixth inning? The one who caught that pop fly to keep them from scoring in the fourth?
That
Butch.”

“I didn't mean . . .” Joey's dad stopped talking to prove that he really didn't know what he meant.

“It's not easy when your son is involved, trust me. I wasn't the advocate for Butch. It was the other coaches. They
insisted
he get a wild card spot. Trust me, my vote was for your son, just as I said it would be. You can see the minutes from the meeting if you like.”

Joey's dad held up his hands in surrender. “That's not necessary at all. I was just thinking of your own words yesterday, that he had an outstanding season and that he deserved to be on that team.”

“And I stand by that. Look, Jim, I didn't come here to be challenged. I came to get this waiver signed and let you know that if anything happens, Joey will be the first kid we call to play in that game on Saturday. I think he
does
deserve it, but I'm only one vote. The other coaches felt strongly about Butch and the other kids we selected. I'm sorry. It's hard, I know.”

Joey thought about Butch Barrett's smug face and his bold predictions. He thought about Coach Barrett's secret meeting with the other coaches at the Dark Owl Diner the night before. A hot slush of anger slopped around inside his stomach. Joey wanted to scream. He wanted to spit. He felt tears building up in the corners of his eyes.

Baseball wasn't supposed to be like this.

Life wasn't supposed to be like this.

Life, and especially baseball, were supposed to be fair.

Through the screen of the open window, Joey and his dad listened to the sound of Coach Barrett's car as it faded down the street. Silence filled the room. Finally, Joey's dad sighed.

In a quiet voice he said, “Sorry, buddy. I don't know what to say.”

The shock and horror of it left Joey unable to speak. He could barely think, but somewhere in the soup of boiling emotions floated the image of him and Leah leaning against the railing by the falls and them talking about his baseball prowess. He wondered if she'd still go to the game, even though he wasn't playing in it. Maybe she'd go to see Butch Barrett.

A groan bubbled up in his throat.

“I know.” His father's voice was so full of sympathy that it only made him feel worse. “But these things happen. That's life.”

“Well, it stinks!” Joey jumped out of his seat and raced up the stairs.

He bumped into his mom as she rounded the corner at the top.

“Hey, hey.” She tried to take hold of his shoulders, but he shrugged free and escaped to his room, where he slammed the door and locked it.

His mom rapped her knuckles against the wood like gunshots. “Young man, you open this door! I'm your mother!”

Joey sat on his bed and wrapped his arms around himself, holding on tight through the storm of noise. He heard his father's footsteps on the stairs and the murmur of his calming voice through the bedroom door as he soothed Joey's mom. Finally, the two of them walked away and he heard them going down the stairs.

A minute went by before there was a soft scratching on the door. “Joooeeey. Joooeeey.”

Joey clenched his fists and leaped across the room. He hammered his fist against the door.

CRASH.

CRASH.

CRASH.

It was a ruckus the neighbors could hear. Martin scurried away, giggling. From below, Joey's mom shouted. He slumped down with his back against the door. His head fell into his hands and he couldn't help it anymore.

He cried, not hysterically, but in quiet gasps as the tears rolled down his cheeks. His life was in ruins. His mom thought she was mad now? Wait until she figured out he'd been the one to drug Mr. Kratz's dog and sabotage his truck. He hated being around Butch Barrett? Wait until Barrett spread the word that Joey was the alternate. Leah? He thought things were awkward with her because he couldn't dance? Wait until she found out that he was really just a blowhard, talking about Stanford and playing pro baseball when he couldn't even make the Little League all-star team.

After a time, he stopped. Mercifully, his parents left him alone and Martin didn't reappear to torture him. Joey got up and looked at the pile of notes and textbooks on his desk. He still had much to do—he knew the consequences if he didn't, but his life was a runaway train. So much had gone wrong that bombing his exams didn't seem like a big deal at all. So, against his better judgment, instead of digging into his studying, Joey lay down on his bed and closed his eyes and went to sleep.

The good thing about finals was that no one had a chance to really do any talking. During the break between tests, Joey slipped outside and found a quiet, hidden spot at a picnic table behind the elementary school loading dock to eat his lunch. Only the slightest hint of sour garbage asked him to leave. He discovered that if he leaned his head just past the brick wall—constructed to hide the goings on of garbage and delivery trucks—he could catch a fresh breeze and also observe the playground beyond. He chewed thoroughly, studying the pendulum of little kids on his and Leah's swings, then watching others play tag. It didn't take long to eat a peanut butter sandwich and an apple, but he loitered, watching the children, and waiting until just before the second test started before he stood to go. He planned on walking right in, sitting down, taking the test, and leaving before anyone else could finish.

When he did enter the school, though, it wasn't just Butch Barrett and two of his friends standing by the entrance to the gym. Zach, Leah, and her friends waited as well. He pulled up like a horse refusing its jump and might have bolted for the exit except that Zach saw him and waved furiously.

“Joey! Come here. Come on, man. Where'd you go?” Zach looked anxious and hurt. “Where you been?”

Joey took a deep breath and headed for them. Leah's hopeful expression made him cringe.

“Hey,” Joey said, light as air.

“This guy is saying you didn't make all-stars. That's not true, right?” Zach poked a finger at Butch but held Joey's gaze. “How come you shut your phone down, man? Where'd you go just now?”

“Lunch. I had to study.” Joey knew it sounded weak.

“He's full of junk, right?”

A part of Joey hated his best friend for being so laid-back and trusting. Why did Zach always presume things would work out the way he wanted, or even the way they were supposed to?

“No, I didn't make it. My dad's not the coach.”

“See?” Butch snarled and looked around at the rest of the kids. “I told you guys he'd try to make it like that. It hurts when you stink, especially when you're always talking about playing at Stanford and in the Major Leagues, but
my dad
voted for
him
over
me
. You can ask anyone.”

“You mean ask all the coaches he had a secret meeting with Saturday night?” Joey couldn't help himself. As crazy as it sounded, it was the truth.

“Give me a break.” Butch snorted with disgust. “Come back from fantasyland anytime you like.”

Mr. Jasper, their social studies teacher, appeared suddenly from inside the gym, his face contorted in disbelief. “What are you all doing? We're about to begin. Get inside.”

The teacher stood there, glaring, until they all filed past and took their seats. Joey couldn't stop thinking about it all, even though he knew he should be focused on his test. The smell of floor wax and old sweat filled his nose as he dug into the exam. He finished before anyone else, so he felt the eyes of the entire sixth grade on him as he handed in his papers and departed the gym. He avoided Zach's eyes, and Leah's, too. It was worth getting out of there just to be away from them.

Joey found his bike in the rack outside and asked himself if he could have done better. He knew he could have. He should have studied more last night. He should have read over his answers. It was a sixth grade exam, though. He still had plenty of time to keep his grades up so that he could live out his dream and play at Stanford.

Joey fumbled with the lock on his bike chain, his fingers numb. He laughed out loud at himself. Dream? Stanford? He wasn't going to play on one of the top college teams in the country and get into one of the toughest schools if he couldn't even make the Little League all-star team. He had to be realistic.

“But I
should
have made it.” He growled to himself through clenched teeth, snapping open the lock.

He wrapped the chain around the stem of the seat, then removed the bike from the rack. With one foot on the near pedal, he surged ahead, preparing to mount up and ride for home.

“Joey, wait!”

Instinct tugged his chin around, and instead of swinging his leg over the bike, he let it drag him to a stop. The waffled grips of the handlebars shifted beneath his fingers like the skin of an exotic reptile. Leah sprinted for the bike rack, reaching him just as the door behind her clanked shut. With a hooked finger, she swept a web of hair from her face and stopped to catch her own breath.

“What are you doing?”

“I have to study.” He thought of the swing set, or even the falls, but he couldn't stay. His skin crawled.

“Can I give you something, first?” Her eyes were wide and glistening.

“What?”

Before Joey even knew what happened, she kissed him.

As she moved toward him, he turned his head just a bit so their lips brushed before the kiss landed squarely on his cheek. The thrill and embarrassment of it swirled through him like a front door opened into a blizzard, then quickly shut, leaving him numb and confused. While she stood smiling, he got onto the bike and raced away.

It took him the entire ride home to realize he'd blown it again.

“Stupid!” He threw his bike onto the grass and struck his own forehead.

He jammed his key into the door and stomped into the house and up the stairs to his room. With Martin at day care, he had the place to himself, so he slammed the door and it echoed through the house without a sharp response from his mother. He threw himself onto the bed and curled up in a ball with his hands over his head like the roof might come down.

In the dark cocoon of pillows and arms his mind replayed the kiss over and over so many times that it wound itself down and finally stopped. He was reminded of the old brass alarm clock sitting on his father's nightstand, dusty and silent. Free from one tyrant, his thoughts turned to another: Mr. Kratz. The science teacher's truck and dog led Joey naturally to his final exam. It sat in its spot on the calendar of Joey's mind like a fat spider. That day was tomorrow and now was no time to despair.

Joey threw off the pillows and crept to his desk. He pushed English and social studies to the floor and science ruled his world. Over and over the notes he crawled, sucking the knowledge, page by page, himself a mosquito drinking ink instead of blood. A wild thought danced across the stage in his mind.