Plunking Reggie Jackson (24 page)

Authors: James Bennett

BOOK: Plunking Reggie Jackson

12.95Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

“I know you talked to Mrs. Alvarez. What'd she tell you?”

He sighed. “I'm suspended for the rest of the term, but I can make up my work. If I pass English in summer school, I can graduate.”

“So you can go to Bradley after all.”

“If I pass with at least a C.”

“You can do it, don't worry. If you're in summer school, you'll probably have Miss Titus. You'll like her.”

“Well, at least it won't be Grissom anymore.”

“What about professional baseball, Coley? What about the major leagues?”

“If I get drafted in the first round, I'll probably sign.”

“And what if you don't? Not that I have a clue what being drafted is.”

“If you get drafted in the first round, it means you get a big-money contract.”

“You don't seem very excited about it.”

He watched Kershaw strike out to end the inning. “I'm not,” he told her. “I'm too ashamed right now to get wired up about much of anything. I have to graduate high school. I need to get my mind right. If I don't go first round, I'll spend a year at Bradley. After that, I can reenter the draft if I want to.”

“I can't follow all of this,” Ruthie admitted. “What about Bree?”

“The same thing. She's suspended, but she can make up her work.”

“Are you still seeing her?”

“I don't actually see her. We talk on the phone once in a while.” Coley asked her, “Why are you bein' so nice to me?”

“You don't kick people when they're down, right?”

“Right.” It made sense. “Long as you're here, Ruthie, how'd you like to do me a favor?”

“That would depend on the favor.”

“Did you ever drive a tractor?”

“Did I ever drive a tractor? I'd say about as often as I've climbed Mount Everest.”

“In other words, you haven't. I could teach you easy, though, and you could do me a favor.”

“You still haven't told me what it is you're asking me to do.”

“Get in the car. I want you to help me move a statue. All you'll have to do is drive a lawn tractor. Afterwards I'll take you home.”

“What about the game?”

“I'm curious, but like I told you, it hurts to watch. I'm ready to go now.”

“What if I refuse to do this favor?”

“I'll still take you home. Get in. Please?”

When they got to Coley's house, no one was home. He was grateful but not surprised; after all, it was just after four.

Coley pulled the lawn tractor out onto the driveway and let it run in neutral.

“Is this what you expect me to drive?” Ruthie asked him.

“There's nothin' to it, really. It's got hydrostatic drive.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you don't have to worry about usin' a clutch. It's like a car with automatic transmission. Come on.” He drove the tractor around back so he could position it next to the statue.

Ruthie Roth had never been to Coley's home before. She was deeply impressed by the beauty of the landscaping. “Who does all of this?”

“My mom, mostly. She gets a little help from Trinh sometimes. He's the yardman.”

There was a chain in the utility box that Coley used to secure a tight loop around Reggie Jackson's waist, where the indentations from all the fastballs that had plunked it were numerous. Then he secured the other end to the back of the tractor, leaving about twelve feet of slack.

“I won't even ask what this statue is all about,” said Ruthie. “It's bizarre, though.”

“My mother would agree with you,” he laughed.

“But I have to ask what we're doing here, and how much trouble can I get myself into?”

“No trouble at all. My parents won't even know who did it. They'll just think I did it by myself.”

“So why don't you do it by yourself then?”

“Because there are too many tight spots. Somebody has to walk behind to keep the statue on course. Otherwise it'll be knocking down flowers and bushes and God knows what else. Besides, we have to pull it through that narrow space between the garage and the fence.”

“And then what?”

“We're gonna drag the son of a bitch up the road to the bridge. We're gonna throw it into Laurel Creek and watch it float away. It can float clear to the ocean, for all I care.”

Ruthie was already shaking her head before he'd finished his sentence. “There's no ocean anywhere near Laurel Creek, which I'm sure you already know. But what makes you think it's going to float?”

“Because the water's so high from all the rain we've had. The creek has a real swift current now.”

She was shaking her head again. She knocked on the torso of the statue with her knuckles. “This thing is hollow, right?”

“It's hollow, but it's heavy as hell.”

“Coley, it's not going to float depending on the swiftness of the current. The only thing that will determine if it floats or not is how much water it displaces.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” He felt a raindrop, and then another. He got onto the seat and surged the tractor forward twice. He could hear a cracking sound at the base of the statue, where the footings were bolted down. On the third try the statue came tumbling down, making a dull
thud
in the grass. Coley went back to take a look. The concrete base was broken into pieces where the rusted bolts were sheared off. There was a huge divot near Reggie's right elbow that would have embarrassed any golfer.

“This is about the weirdest thing I've ever seen,” Ruthie declared. “You've got this huge metal statue of some baseball playerâ”

“Reggie Jackson.”

“Reggie Jackson, then, whoever that is. It's probably worth a lot of money, although it would go against any logic. You just pulled it down and now you want to throw it in the creek.”

He felt a few more raindrops. “Okay, it's weird. That's something we agree on. What were you sayin' about how it's goin' to float?”

“I was saying, that will depend on water displacement. It will float if the amount of liquid that is displaced is the same or less than the hull. That's Archimedes' principle.”

“Oh.”

“Simple physics.”

“In my mind there's no such thing as simple physics. I was lucky to get through Basic Math II. Now get on up here in the seat. Please. It's gonna rain soon.”

She did as he requested but asked him, “Why am I doing this?”

“Because I asked you to. Because we're friends.”

“Friends,” said Ruthie, repeating the word thoughtfully. Coley knew now that she was going to drive the tractor, but he could tell at the same time it wouldn't be right away. It must have been something about the word
friends
that got stuck somewhere, because she had her glasses off. She was using a handkerchief to clean them. It was hard for Coley to determine if she was simply wiping off raindrops or working toward some kind of composure.

When she had her glasses on again, she said to him, “I'm ready, I guess. Show me.”

Ruthie had no problem steering the tractor, partly because she insisted on driving at the slowest possible speed. That was fine with Coley, though, because it made his job easier. With his right foot he kept shoving the base of the statue into position so it was dragged straight behind the tractor. Using this method, they avoided any damage to flower beds or landscaping stones or the side of the garage.

By the time they made it to the street, the raindrops were more frequent, but Ruthie declared she was enjoying the ride. He couldn't help smiling. He told her to drive on up the street to the bridge, which was some fifty yards up a gentle incline. She even throttled up. The statue bounced and clunked behind, sparking the blacktop from time to time. Coley walked behind.
I'm gonna plunk you like never before
.

The bridge railing was an old-fashioned one, made of concrete, but it wasn't much more than three feet high. Once they got the statue into the upright position, the hard part would be lifting it onto the railing.

“Once we get it up here,” Coley told Ruthie, “we can lay it on its side. The rest will be easy. All we have to do is just push it on over.”

They lifted together, on either side of the base. Coley sucked it up and strained his muscles to the utmost. He could tell he was doing most of the lifting by far, but the little bit of help Ruthie provided was just enough to make the difference. The statue was on its side, teetering on the flat surface of the railing. Coley was out of breath; he had to pause several seconds to recover. His pulse was racing. Ruthie was in the same condition, only worse.

Then it was time. The final push was easy. The statue tumbled over and smacked the water with a huge splash. It submerged briefly beneath the water's surface, then ever so slowly, or so it seemed, rose to the top. It floated. It was in motion, carried by the swift current. The two of them stood in the rain, watching it bob its way into the distance until it was hardly more than a speck.

“It floats,” said Coley.

“That's displacement for you.”

“How far do you think it'll go?” he asked her.

She was cleaning her glasses again, and returning to her old sarcastic self. She said, “Oh, I suppose it'll probably go clear to the ocean.”

“Yeah, but which one? The Atlantic or the Pacific?”

“Maybe neither one. Maybe it'll end up down in the Gulf of Mexico.”

He hadn't thought of that option. “That would be just about perfect,” he said. Then he asked her, “Did I thank you yet?”

“Not that I remember, but that would take social skills.”

“Thanks a lot, Ruthie. Come on, I'll take you home.”

Acknowledgments

The author gratefully acknowledges the assistance of editors David Gale and John Rudolph. He is also indebted to baseball historian Dr. Donald Raycraft.

About the Author

James W. Bennett's uncompromising, challenging books for teens have earned him recognition as one of the nation's leadingâand most provocativeânovelists for young adults. His fiction has been used in curricula at the middle school, high school, and community college levels.

His 1995 novel,
The Squared Circle
, was named the year's finest by
English Journal
and the
Voice of Youth Advocates
.

Bennett has served as a guest author at Miami Book Fair International, as a featured speaker at the Assembly on Literature for Adolescents of the NCTE, and as a writer in residence (a program he established) for secondary schools in Illinois. He has also been the director for the Blooming Grove Writers Conference.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Mimi Bark

ISBN: 978-1-4976-8397-6

This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

345 Hudson Street

New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com