Center Field (3 page)

Mike stared out the window. Gray, rainy day. Fits my mood.

Phones rang. Period bells clanged.

He stared at the pictures on Coach Cody's wall.

Cody getting a plaque from the mayor and the chief of police. Cody showing a senator around the school. Cody with last season's baseball team after winning the conference title. Mike was in that picture.

Cody posing in a camouflage uniform with an automatic rifle. Must be from when he was an Army Ranger. There was a sign in the background with Arabic letters. He didn't like to talk about the places he'd been and what he'd done there.

Tough guy. That's why he'd been hired as dean of discipline five years ago. There had been gang violence and drug dealing in nearby New Jersey towns. The school board was
afraid it would spread to Ridgedale. Mike was in middle school when Cody arrived but he heard about him from his older brother, Scotty. Cody was kind of a mystery man, which made him seem even tougher. No one knew if he was married, or even where he lived. There were rumors he had worked in law enforcement, even Homeland Security. He scared people.

Cody instituted zero tolerance policies. He searched kids, busted into lockers, shut down the school newspaper when it complained. Some parents threatened a lawsuit but gave up the day Cody pulled a pistol out of a kid's backpack. The kid claimed he had never seen it before, that the gun had been planted. He was expelled.

Cody was promoted to vice principal, and to celebrate he took over the baseball team. That was two years ago. His first season was Ridgedale's first winning season in ten years. He could pretty much do what he wanted without checking with anyone else. He'd driven the players hard and some quit, but he gave the team pride in itself with tougher practices, stricter dress codes, one-strike-you're-out for smoking, drinking, fighting, don't even dream about drugs.

He even changed the school teams' nickname from Ridgerunners to Rangers. He made athletes feel superior to anyone who wasn't one of them. He liked hard-nosed players who would run through a wall.

Last year he'd been at the JV game when Mike slid so hard headfirst into the opposing catcher that he dropped the ball. Mike scored the winning run. Cody came into the locker room afterward and on the spot promoted Mike to the varsity. He was only a sophomore. Cody made a little speech about how you don't really know what's inside yourself until the chips are down and you have to either step up or wimp out. Mike Semak stepped up.

He got into a few games and even started one, in center field, when the regular, a senior, got hurt. Mom and Dad showed up for that game. Mike got two hits and made a running catch. It was the proudest day of his life.

It seemed so long ago.

Maybe I should have told Coach Cody what happened, he thought. What
did
happen? Stupid. Zack Berger's been on everybody's case all year about global warming and health care and immigration and AIDS in Africa, and some local program to teach disabled kids and old people how to use computers to make the world better. He'd been in my face before and I just walked away. Why did I lose it today?

My ankle?

The Dominican kid?

I'm supposed to keep my cool. It's what ballers are trained to do. You don't let yourself get distracted, thrown off your game. Billy Budd's advice was to take a deep breath and count
to three. Or repeat the name of your favorite ballplayer three times. Billy's favorite when he was a kid was Kirby Puckett, the Hall of Fame center fielder for the Minnesota Twins. When he felt himself getting angry or losing concentration, Billy would say
KirbyPuckettKirbyPuckettKirbyPuckett
.

Mike said,
BillyBuddBillyBuddBillyBudd
.

Why didn't he do that today?

You never give the opposition the satisfaction that they got to you. Don't get mad, get even. A wide receiver shoves you, just make sure you disrupt his route. Pitcher brushes you back, get a hit. Or drill one back at him, like Oscar Ramirez did.

A new center fielder takes a couple nice swings and you go batshit and shove a nerd. Get yourself thrown off the team, just what Oscar wants. You're supposed to step up to the challenge. That's what real jocks do.

Mike remembered that first year when he and Billy were struggling. There was talk that the Yankees were going to trade for a veteran center fielder and send Billy back down to the minors. Billy didn't lose it. He stepped up his game. He nailed his position. You've got to do the same thing.

If Cody lets me.

What can I say to him?

And to Dad? Mike felt a stab of dread. Dad was going to be pissed big-time. He's got a lot on his plate these days and
he doesn't need me messing up. Scotty in graduate school and Tiffany alone in the city with her little kid and especially the new store about to open. Dad and Mom talk about money all the time. Loans and mortgages and lines of credit drying up. I know he's counting on me to win a Division I athletic scholarship to pay for college. They had money for Scotty's music lessons and college, and for Tiffany's therapy and special schools. But things are tough now.

How could I screw up like this? I'm supposed to be the steady kid in the family, the dependable one.

Mike wasn't counting bells so he didn't know how much time passed before the door opened and Cody marched in—with Dad a step behind, breathing fire.

“How brain-dead can you get?” Dad yelled.

“Hello to you, too,” said Mike.

With his left hand, Dad grabbed the front of Mike's shirt and yanked him out of the chair. He was roaring, “This is not acceptable,” when Cody pulled Dad away.

“Easy, Mr. Semak. We'll handle this.”

“Whatever you decide, Mr. Cody, you have my full support. Demerits, detention…”

“Could be suspension,” said Cody.

“Well.” Dad made one of his palms up gestures. “Boys will be…”

“Not on my watch.”

“Of course,” said Dad, dropping his hands, backing up. Over Cody's shoulder, Dad winked at Mike. He's telling me to be cool, Mike thought, he's got a plan. “What do you want me to do?”

“Take him home, Mr. Semak. I appreciate your cooperation. But give us a chance to sort this out.” Just the way Cody said it, Mike had the feeling the coach was impressed by Dad's hard-nosed, take-charge attitude.

As usual Dad has a scheme, thought Mike. He felt safer, but smaller.

Out in the hall Zack Berger was being comforted by the principal and his mother. Mike had seen Zack's mom around the school, volunteering in the library. Just like a nerd, thought Mike, gets all that attention for a little shove. A jock would have picked himself up and shaken it off.

Dad marched right up to them, tugging Mike along by his shirtsleeve.

“I can't tell you how sorry I am about this,” said Dad, his voice booming in the hallway, “unacceptable behavior.”

They all took a step back. The principal, Dr. Howard, said, “After a complete investigation, we will be in contact.” Mike thought she looked at Dad as if he were an unfriendly dog, off the leash.

Zack's mother said, “This may be a police matter.”

Dr. Howard said, “That's your decision, of course, but…”

“She's right,” said Dad. “If schools can't keep boys from
fighting, maybe the cops can.”

The principal's nostrils flared. She didn't want cops in her school. Zack's mom blinked hard. Dad had called her bluff, thought Mike. She didn't want her son mixed up with the cops, either. Zack was probably a stoner. Dad has moves. The tricky old salesman.

Dad put his hand out. “I'm Scott Semak.”

“Denise Berger.” She gave his hand a quick shake. “I've passed your store in town.”

“We're opening another one at the Valley Mall. Stop in.” He gave her a card. “I'm not sure who's at fault here, Ms. Berger, but I can tell you how disappointed I am that Michael was involved. It's a difficult age but that's no excuse.” He grabbed Mike's triceps harder than Coach Cody had. “Let's go. You've got some serious explaining to do, young man.”

He dragged Mike away. Mike felt even smaller, weaker. He hated the look on Zack Berger's face; the nerd feels sorry for me.

Dad pulled him through the hall toward the front door. Mike caught a glimpse of Coach Cody, arms crossed over his big chest, a smirk on his face. What was he thinking—now that I'm rid of Semak, I can put Ramirez in center field?

Outside, Dad walked Mike through the rain and shoved him into the front passenger seat of his green Prius, the car he used when he was hustling clients who cared about the environment. He usually drove a Lexus SUV. Once they
were out of the entrance parking circle, he said, “I think we're okay. Kid's not hurt. I made 'em feel bad for you. No charges, no lawsuit.”

The old phony wants me to give him a standing O, thought Mike. He stared out the windshield through beads of icy rain.

“So what happened?”

Can't talk to him, thought Mike. “Drop me off here. I'm in the varsity lot.”

“Varsity lot.” Dad shook his head. “You know the first thing Coach Cody said to me? Responsibility goes with the varsity letter. You can't act like a dumb jock.”

Mike glanced at him, but Dad was turning into the varsity lot, no expression on his face. Dad is not subtle, thought Mike. If he knew what Zack had called me he would have slapped me around with it, not just dropped it in.

Dad was looking around. “I don't see the Jeep.”

“I rode my bike.”

“In this weather?”

He'd been through this before and didn't feel like going through it again. Billy Budd rode his bike through sandstorms and ice storms, whatever the weather threw at you in Centerburg, Colorado. That's why he never got tired now, why his legs were steel.

Dad pulled up at Mike's specialized hybrid locked to a
light pole. “I'll call Cody later. Might have to lay some tile in the locker room.”

Mike opened the door and stepped out. He met Dad's eyes as he closed the door. The old bull artist looked sad. Trying to make me feel guilty, thought Mike. I am guilty. How stupid can I get?

Mike unhooked the batting helmet from his backpack. He put it on and fastened the special strap to keep it snug. The helmet was like the one Billy wore as a kid. Protected your head while it got you used to wearing a batting helmet. Until the Yankees made him stop, Billy rode his bike in spring training and sometimes even to the Stadium.

Mike slipped his backpack on and unlocked the bike. The Prius hadn't moved. Dad was still watching him. Thought I might go back and hit Zack again?

What's wrong with me? I am a dumb jock, he thought. Dad always waits to make sure I'm okay before he drives off. Does it for all his kids. Always has. He has our backs, best he can.

Mike waved and pushed off. Once he was out of the lot and on the road, pedaling hard into the chill wind, he felt a rush of endorphins, the natural chemical that kicks in during exercise. Billy said they were the only drug you needed.

The cat was not happy to see him. Her eyes narrowed as if to say, You came home early to mess with me. He leaned down to give her a head scratch and she took a swipe at his hand with a claw. Near miss.

He pulled an ice pack out of the freezer and wrapped it around his ankle. Some of the chicken Mom had made for him yesterday was in the fridge. The only orange juice he could find had pulp. He took milk instead and went upstairs.

His cell was going off but he didn't open it. Everyone would want to know what happened. He didn't want to think about it. Stay focused. Work out, do some homework, use the day productively. He remembered one time when Billy Budd's best friend on the team, Dwayne Higgins, was suspended for five games for charging the mound after getting plunked, Billy had him stay at his house and use his personal gym. He came back in better
shape and had his best season.

Try not to think about Billy. He avoided looking at the poster. Forget about center field. Forget about baseball. Coach Cody is going to kick me off the team. He has a zero tolerance policy for almost everything. He liked playing for Coach. All you had to do was follow his rules and do your best and you were okay. Ryan felt the same way about the coach. Andy didn't like Cody, said he was devious, that he messed with your mind. But Andy had a problem with authority. Didn't like to take orders. The way Andy was going, he might not have to listen to Coach much longer. Me, either. Mike felt like crying. But jocks don't cry.

He couldn't concentrate on homework and there was no classic ball game on ESPN. He felt as though he were sinking underwater, losing breath, moving in slow motion. He searched for an old
CSI
. He didn't watch a lot of TV besides sports, but he liked these shows, where the bad guys get nailed after an hour of methodical, logical science. He finally settled for an ancient
Law & Order
with a sexy, sharp-faced assistant DA who looked like Katherine Herold. He remembered her in the locker room and felt a splash of heat, then began drifting away.

 

Footsteps on the stairs woke him. Mom ran into his room and leaned over the bed to hug him. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.”

She sat on the bed. “What did that jerk say to you?”

“Nothing.”

“He must have said something to provoke you.”

He felt like he was lying when he said, “I don't want to talk about it,” because he knew she would take that answer to mean she was right.

“You know we're behind you.”

“Thanks,” he said. He believed her. They had always trusted and supported him. He hated to disappoint them.

She hugged him again. He felt like a child. “This is such a stressful time for all of us. And you've always been such a good kid.” She paused and her eyes filled up. He knew she was thinking about Tiffany. “I'm so sorry I wasn't at the school for you.”

“Dad was there—it…”

“I was in the city buying carpeting. I'd never have agreed with Mr. Cody. It couldn't have been all your fault.”

“Agreed with Cody about what?”

“I cut a deal.” Dad was in the doorway, looking smug. “I know these law and order types.”

“What kind of deal?” said Mike.

“A little community service,” said Dad. “And a meeting with the school shrink.”

“Shrink?” said Mom. “You didn't tell me that. I don't
think that's a good thing to have on your record.”

“It's district policy,” said Dad, waving it away. “One session. Doesn't appear on your record if nothing else happens. I checked that out.”

“What kind of community service?” said Mike.

“Help out the computer geeks. Clean up, whatever.” Dad chuckled. “Delete their porn.”

“Great.” Zack was in charge of the Cyber Club. Now I'll have to listen to him lecture me, too.

“Think about what Cody could have done,” said Dad. “Not to mention a lawsuit.”

“But Mike didn't hurt that boy.”

“Get some doctor to claim back injury. Happens all the time. Cody said he'll make sure there would be no—”

“Mike was provoked,” said Mom. “Maybe it was self-defense.”

“You got to see this skinny nerd,” said Dad.

“Coach say anything about the team?” said Mike.

Dad shook his head. “Sounds like he's counting on you to play. Long as you do your couple of Saturdays for the computer club.”

“This Saturday?” said Mom. “I was hoping Mike could come with me into the city. Sophia hasn't seen her uncle Mike since Christmas.”

“Be grateful we dodged the bullet,” said Dad. “All we
need with the new store.”

“Scott, that's not the only thing…”

“Right now it is.”

She sighed. “I'll put lunch out.”

When she left the room, Dad said, “Lucky you hit the right kid. Cody doesn't like him.”

“He said that?”

Dad grinned. “Cody and I understand each other. Kid's a troublemaker. He pushed your button. Understandable. Let's go eat.” He grabbed Mike's arm and pulled him off the bed. “Got sandwiches from the deli.”

Downstairs, Mom and Dad began talking about the new store as usual. Mike thought he should be glad the discussion about him was over, but he felt dissatisfied. He realized he wanted a little more attention, maybe even some questions he wouldn't answer.

Don't be a baby, Mike. You're still on the team. Pretty soon there'll be green grass on the field.