High and Inside (11 page)

“That's why more than ever—certainly more than when myself or your parents were in school—it is important to make good decisions. And if you make a bad one, it's important to realize it quickly and learn from it.”

That was it. The session was over but Matt's brain was turning this information over and over. He had heard of crystal meth before but only in news stories on television. It was pretty scary to think that some of that junk could end up in a joint, maybe even a joint like Jake had smoked with his cousins.

Attending the counseling session had certainly put a crimp in Matt's Sunday schedule. Not only had he missed hoops, he was now severely squeezed for time to complete his social studies project. It was a pretty cool assignment—the students had been required to pick a country they knew nothing about and then develop a travel brochure for it. Matt had chosen Bolivia, a small South American country that he had learned produced much of the world's cocoa beans, which were the essential ingredient in chocolate. His slogan was
Bolivia, Your Chocolate
Source.
It had a nice ring to it.

Matt was printing off pictures of Bolivia from the Internet to use in his brochure when the phone rang. He heard Mom answer it. “Matt, it's for you.”

He bounded down the stairs and grabbed the cordless phone. “It's Jake,” Mom said. “I forgot to tell you he called earlier this afternoon too.”

“Hey, Jake,” Matt said. Although things hadn't been the same between them, his anger had dissipated.

“Where were you today?” Jake asked. “I called about hoops. We had some killer threes at Anderson.”

“I couldn't make it,” Matt said solemnly. “I had something else going. I'm not going to be out on Sundays for about two months.”

“You gone religious on me, son?” Jake joked. Matt didn't think it was funny. He took the phone upstairs and closed the door to his room.

“Actually, I'm tied up on Sundays because of you,” he said, leaving the statement to hang in the air.

“What do you mean?” Jake asked. There was another long awkward pause.

Matt had been waiting for an opening, and here it was. He jumped at the chance. “My mom's making me go to a drug and alcohol counseling program that Marcia's dad runs. It's because of Joker sniffing your jacket in my bag and freaking out in the dugout.''

Again, silence on the other end.

“Matt, I'm sorry, man. I feel bad. I didn't mean...”

“I know you didn't mean it, but it happened,” Matt said. “Now I've gotta go to this thing for the next two months.”

“Sorry, bud,” Jake apologized again.

“Yeah, I know,” Matt replied. “I just thought you should know, that's all. I've gotta go now. I've got this travel project to do for school.”

Jake hung up. Matt knew he felt bad about what had happened, but part of him was pleased with that. Until now, Matt had been taking the full brunt of Jake's actions. It was only fair Jake shared in some of the discomfort.

Matt kept working on the project, cutting out pictures of Bolivian jungles and cocoa beans. A country full of chocolate. Not a bad place for a holiday at all.

chapter fifteen

Monday was a big day for Matt. Not only was his social studies project due, but the South Side Stingers had an important game that afternoon against the Middleton Marauders.

Middleton was on the north side of the city, so the South Side players had to put on their uniforms, hats and cleats right after school was out and quickly board a bus for the twenty-five-minute drive through city traffic. The Stingers carried a 5-0 record into this game and, with only three games left in the regular season, were looking like they would finish in first place in the league. Getting that top spot was crucial too, since only the best team in the regular season advanced to district playoffs. For the rest, baseball was over.

The Marauders were a strong team themselves. They were 4-1, with their only loss so far to the Churchill Bulldogs. This road game was critical for the Stingers.

Middleton was an aging neighborhood that at one time had been the heart of the city. But as the region's population grew and the more affluent families settled in North Vale or South Side, Middleton had become neglected, a place where young families avoided moving, as long as they could afford to live somewhere else. As the bus neared the Middleton campus, Matt noticed that many of the buildings appeared run-down or even deserted. The same went for the school, a two-story red-brick building surrounded by pavement and partially covered with graffiti, some of which looked like the gang signs Matt had seen in movies.

Middleton's ball diamond wasn't much better. It was nothing like the facility at South Side, with its pristine white fences, electronic scoreboard and green grass. The Middleton field, in contrast, was surrounded by a chain-link fence that had holes in several places. The grass was scrubby, half-brown and dotted with weeds, and it looked like the score-board lights had long ago been rendered useless by vandalism.

It was quiet on the bus. Coach Stephens seemed to read what was going through his players' minds. “Don't let their diamond fool you guys,” he warned. “These kids are ball players.”

It was obvious from watching the Marauders' infield warm-up that Coach was right. Middleton had a handful of tiny, quick fielders who could cover an amazing amount of ground and were capable of making acrobatic catches. They also had a terrific junk-ball pitcher in David Martinez, another smallish kid who wore a glove that seemed about two times too big for him.

Matt, Jake and Phil all knew Martinez well from Little League. Whenever their squad from Anderson Park made it a couple of rounds into a tournament, they had faced Martinez. The lefthander wasn't fast, but he was nearly impossible to hit. For a kid his age, he had an unusually effective assortment of off-speed pitches—a wicked curve and a change-up—that left batters swinging at air more often than not.

South Side was starting its own ace in lanky lefty Steve White, who seemed to be pitching better every game out. You could tell by the crisp tone of warm-ups that both teams were serious and looking forward to this one.

The Stingers and Marauders battled evenly for six innings, each scoring once and leaving a handful of runners stranded. Nobody in the Stingers' lineup was hitting Martinez, yet, but the Middleton pitcher had been a little wilder than usual, walking five batters. Meanwhile, White was shakier than Matt had ever remembered him being. He had only surrendered a single run, but he had been in trouble almost every inning and only some terrific plays by the South Side infield had bailed him out.

Matt had been glued to the South Side bench, clipboard and pencil in hand—his usual spot this season, it seemed. If a guy had to take statistics, though, at least this had been an exciting game to watch.

Just as South Side came up to bat in the top of the seventh, Coach Stephens cleared his throat and announced he was making a lineup change. “Hill, you're hitting for White,” he said, looking at Matt. “You'll play second, Archibald you go to short, and Jake you pitch the last inning.”

The move caught Matt off guard. White was up first in the batting order this inning. That meant Matt was suddenly going to the plate in one of the most important at-bats of the season for his team. He quickly pulled on his batting helmet, fumbling with the chin strap. Charlie grabbed Matt's favorite bat from his carefully arranged collection. “Like you can, Matt,” Charlie said quietly, handing him the stick. “Like you can.”

Matt strode to the plate. The hundred or so fans in the stands were chanting, “Strike him out! Strike him out!”, as they had in support of Martinez for most of the game. But once he stepped into the batter's box and dug his cleats into the hard soil, Matt tried to tune it all out and focus completely on the pitcher.

With the first pitch Matt felt as though everything was in slow motion. The ball appeared to be coming right over the plate at Little League speed. It looked fat and juicy enough to slug right over the…Matt's thoughts were rudely interrupted as his overly ambitious swipe at the baseball achieved nothing but air. “Steeerike!” the umpire bellowed, shooting out his right hand dramatically to signal the call.

Matt heard a few sniggers in the stands and in the Middleton dugout. He felt like a fool having taken such a big swing only to end up twisting around like a pretzel. But he was determined to keep his composure. All that extra batting practice had made him feel a lot more comfortable and confident in his ability at the plate.

Matt stepped out of the box to gather himself, as Coach Stephens always instructed his players to do. He knew Martinez wasn't throwing anything with speed. In fact, the Middleton ace hadn't thrown a fastball all game. It was either going to be the curve or the change-up, which is what the first pitch had been. And it was just a matter of Matt guessing right, and then executing.

Looking down the first-base line at Coach Stephens, Matt saw the coach tip his cap and then put his right hand in the back pocket of his uniform. This was the sign to “take” the next pitch, no matter where it was. Matt stepped into the box and waited, bat cocked. Martinez wheeled and threw. The ball seemed to be heading for the right-hand top corner of the plate as Matt watched intently, resisting the urge to swing. But as the pitch broke, it veered outside by about six inches. It was the curve ball all right, and it had missed the plate completely.

After stepping out again, Matt saw Coach fold his arms across his chest and then adjust his hat. He was telling Matt to swing away at the next pitch if it was good. As Martinez wound up, Matt had a strong feeling another change-up was coming his way. This time he patiently waited on the ball until he could gauge the speed. Lining it up calmly, he blooped the ball into left field for a single.

The South Side dugout erupted. Nobody had hit Martinez cleanly yet today. Not until Matt. Coach Stephens was pumped up too. “Nice at-bat, Hill,” he said from his coaching box at first.

Archibald was up next. He went down swinging hard at the change-up magic of Martinez. But one wild pitch that got by the catcher during his at-bat allowed Matt to hustle down to second base. Howard Berger followed Archibald, but he grounded out quietly, moving Matt along to third.

There were two outs as Phil came to the plate. Matt knew that if anybody else on the South Side bench had figured out Martinez it would be Phil. Like most good catchers, he could quickly pick out a pitcher's tendencies, something that made him a dangerous hitter in the latter stages of any game.

Matt watched from third as Phil, a determined look on his broad face, worked Martinez to a two-and-two count. Then, just as Matt had done, he waited on the change-up, patiently stroking the ball into center field. Phil's hit scored Matt. South Side was ahead 2-1 with just a half-inning to go.

Those were all the hits Martinez would surrender, though. And as the Marauders trotted in from the field, they still seemed supremely confident in their ability to come back.

Jake hustled out of the dugout to the mound. He often relieved White or another starter in the late innings. Coach Stephens liked the fact Jake could throw hard and accurate for at least two innings. He was a great shortstop, but he was valuable to the Stingers as a late reliever as well.

Still, this had easily been Jake's worst game of the season. Matt had noticed that he didn't have the same confident bounce in his step today. He hadn't even managed a single hit off Martinez, walking once, grounding out and striking out on the Marauder pitcher's wicked curve ball.

The first Middleton batter was Martinez himself. He was a decent hitter, but no match for Jake's pure speed on this day. Four pitches later, Martinez was heading back to the dugout, shaking his head after a disappointing strikeout.

The Stingers were now two outs away from a huge win. With just Central and Mandela left on their schedule—both of which figured to be routine wins— a victory here could almost lock up first place.

Up next, however, was catcher Tommy Layne, a player that everybody on the South Side team knew well. Layne was a ninth-grade shortstop who had also probably been the city's best middle school basketball player for Middleton this past season. Hoops was Layne's first love, but his lean sinewy frame and huge hands were those of a pure athlete. The kid could hit and field too.

Jake caught Layne looking with the first pitch, a fastball. But when he tried to throw the same thing past Layne on the next offering, the Middleton senior wheeled on the pitch and drove a hard grounder straight at Matt, who was covering the hole between first and second.

Matt charged the grounder, thinking he had a good read on the ball. But at the last second it bounced high off a clump of grass at the edge of the unkempt Middleton infield and soared over his head. There was nothing he could do but watch it bounce into center field.

Layne seized the opportunity, hustling to second before the South Side outfield could relay the ball in to Matt. The tying run was now aboard with just one out.

The next Middleton batter grounded weakly to Howard Berger at third. Layne held his position at second as Berger checked him off and then threw out the runner at first. It was two away. One more out would seal the win for the Stingers.

The Middleton crowd was on edge as Gustavo Martinez, the older brother of David, strode to the plate. “Gus! Gus! Gus!” the fans chanted as the muscular ninth-grader took his practice cuts. Martinez was the Marauders' best long-ball hitter. He had taken Steve White deep to center a couple of times today, but hadn't managed a hit.

Jake went into his windup and delivered a sizzling fastball that split the center of the plate. Martinez had been taking all the way, so he didn't even blink when the umpire signaled the first strike. On the next pitch, Jake got lucky. The ball slipped out of his grip as he delivered, floating out over the plate like a balloon. But it fooled Martinez, who had been expecting heat. He swung wildly, twisting himself up just as Matt had done on the first pitch from the younger Martinez.