Two-Minute Drill (14 page)

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Authors: Mike Lupica

BOOK: Two-Minute Drill
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Nick didn’t say anything. He was too embarrassed. He didn’t mind getting people’s attention with his arm. But you never ever wanted to draw attention to yourself like this. He was used to messing up in his life. Sometimes the messing up was epic, too.
More than anything he hated to do that in baseball.
He took off his mask finally, just because it gave him something to do. Then he walked slowly back around the plate, taking long enough that it felt like he was taking a walk around the block, and yelled out to his fielders to remember there were still two out.
Then he got into his crouch and watched from there as Zach beat the next pitch into the ground and Reed at least showed off a strong
accurate
arm by throwing him out from deep short.
It was then that Nick saw Coach Williams walking in from where he’d been standing in foul territory, walking past third base now, straight down the faded white line between third and home.
Walking straight toward Nick.
Yeah, Nick thought, he probably can’t wait for me to be his catcher next season.
As Coach Williams got closer, Nick could see that he was smiling, slowly shaking his head.
Great.
He’d cracked up the varsity baseball coach.
Coach Williams was still smiling when he got to home plate and was standing where a right-handed batter would stand, right there in front of Nick.
“That was some throw,” he said.
Nick put his head down. “I usually have better control than that.”
Now Coach Williams laughed. “Well, I
hope
so.”
“Really, Coach, I do.”
“I know,” he said. “It’s Nick, right?”
“Yes, sir,” he said, “Nick Crandall.”
He put out his hand the way he’d been taught by Paul Crandall and looked Coach Williams in the eye as the two of them shook hands, Nick thinking, My hand is almost as big as his.
Then Coach Williams said, “I just wanted to officially meet my new varsity catcher.”
Nick wasn’t big on surprises. He’d had enough of those already to last him the rest of his life.
A few good surprises.
Mostly bad.
“I don’t understand,” he said to Coach Williams.
“Bobby Mazzilli broke a bone in his wrist today on a play at the plate. His mom just called from the hospital,” he said.
“How?” Nick said.
“He was being a catcher, even in preseason,” Coach Williams said. “Blocked the plate like a champ, Les Roy flattened him, and both of them fell on his right wrist. He’s gonna be fine, but he’s gonna miss a chunk of the season. How much depends on how fast or slow he heals. For now, all we know is that he’s in a soft cast.”
Nick could actually hear himself breathing, even though he didn’t feel as if he’d heard a lot from Coach Williams since he’d said “varsity catcher.”
“Anyway,” the coach said, “I just wanted to come over and tell you myself that you’re going to have to play up for now.”
Nick noticed for the first time that the coach was small for a grown-up, taller than Nick but not by a lot, with blond hair and a young face.
Nick said, “You still want me after seeing a throw like that?”
Coach Williams put his hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Anybody can teach you control, son,” he said. “God has to give you an arm like that.”
“But I thought there was a rule at Hayworth that says you can’t play varsity sports until eighth grade,” Nick said. Almost sounding like he was trying to talk the coach out of it.
He saw that Coach Williams was smiling again.
“Not anymore,” he said.

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