He couldn't help but feel nervous as the time approached. South Side had done its part and beaten Central. But to stay alive in the playoff race, it would need both Middleton and Churchill to drop one game before the end of the year.
Matt listened to the entire sportscast, which listed off major league scores and golf results, before the announcer said, “And turning to middle school baseball league action, the South Side Stingers had no problem pounding the Central Wildcats 12-3. In other games⦔
Matt felt his stomach flipping about.
“...the Manning Minutemen upset the league-favorite Churchill Bulldogs 4-3⦔ Matt's heart soared. Manning beat Churchill! Unbelievable! “And the Middleton Marauders easily downed the North Vale Nuggets 6-2.”
Just as quickly as his spirits had risen, they were dashed by the news of the Middleton win. Matt clicked off the radio. Well, at least Churchill had lost. There was still a chance for the Stingers on Monday. All they had to do was defeat the visiting Mandela Lions in their final game and then hope that Central, by some miracle, could beat Middleton.
Coach Stephens gathered the team together on the pitcher's mound before Friday's practice. “We're just going to have a short one today, boys,” he said. “There's not much we can drill on now. I know you'll play well Monday against Mandela, and the rest is out of our hands. So let's have a good, crisp practice today and then get some rest on the weekend and be ready to come out hard Monday.”
There was plenty of optimism in the Stingers as the ball zipped from player to player during the workout, which everybody was keenly aware could be the last of the season. Matt approached Charlie in the locker room afterward. “Got any plans tomorrow?” he asked.
“Why?” Charlie asked.
“I feel like I could use a little BP,” Matt replied, using the major league abbreviation for batting practice.
“I'll be there,” Charlie said. “For my usual fee, of course.”
Matt laughed. Charlie, of course, would get no pay for helping him. But the two had developed a strong relationship and a common sense of humor during their Saturday morning practice sessions. Matt had also developed a ton of respect for Charlie, who seemed to get more done on one-and-a-half legs than most kids did on two.
That night Matt had a brainstorm. After supper he took five dollars out of his dresser drawer, climbed on his bike and rode the eight blocks to Wong's Grocery. Once there, Matt parked his bike's front tire in the metal rack before swinging open the white screen door with the 7-Up logo on the wide handle. He walked inside the cluttered store with the soft, hazy lighting and the dual aisles of penny candy. Phil wasn't there, but his grandmother was.
Seeing Matt come in, she hustled out from behind the counter and down an aisle toward him. As usual she was dressed in a baggy white sweatshirt and running shoes. Her eyes lit up as she addressed Matt. “Hello, Lucky Boy,” she beamed.
Matt had been “Lucky Boy” to Phil's grandmother almost since she had first laid eyes on him. He wasn't sure exactly what the nickname meant but he knew she used it because she liked him.
“I just came to buy something for a friend,” Matt said, already knowing precisely which shelf to look on. He and Phil were extremely familiar with the location and selection of all the treats in this store. He picked out the chocolate and coconut cookies that Phil and he had gorged themselves on during many a night of video games. “I'll take these for my friend,” he said.
“Must be good friend,” Phil's grandmother replied with a twinkle in her eyes as she made change. They both laughed.
The next morning, Matt grabbed the cookies, his bat, helmet and batting glove and rode his bike to South Side. Charlie was there, all set up and ready to go, as usual. After hitting 100 balls, Matt signaled to Charlie that he had had enough. The two rolled the pitching machine back into the locker room together. “Before I go, I've got something for you,” Matt said.
“For me?” Charlie asked.
“Yup,” Matt replied, fishing into his equipment bag for the box of cookies. “I figured if Andrea can make you cookies, the least I could do is
buy
you some.”
Charlie was clearly pleased. It wasn't so much the cookies as it was the thank-you they implied.
“Thanks,” he said, “for not using me as a guinea pig for your own baking, that is.”
“Well, you've helped me out a lot this year,” Matt said. “How did you get to know so much about hitting, anyway? Besides reading books, I mean.”
Charlie explained that his uncle Pete had played in Kansas City's minor league farm system for a few years. “He showed me a lot of stuff,” Charlie said. “I want to be a coach some day myself.”
“Oh, I get it,” Matt laughed. “So I'm your guinea pig when it comes to batting practice.”
Matt rode home slowly, feeling good about doing something nice for Charlie and about how his hitting had come along since the start of the season. It also felt great that the whole mess with Mom and Officer Peters and Joker had been straightened out. The only downer about the whole thing was Jake. He couldn't play for the rest of the season. That was bad enough, but now Jake had to attend that drug and alcohol counseling too. Worse yet, it was Mr. EvansâMarcia's dadârunning the sessions. Matt knew Jake felt kind of weird and embarrassed about going there and facing Mr. Evans tomorrow. That was when he came up with his second straight great idea of the weekend.
“You're up and about awfully early for a Sunday,” Mom said. She was just getting up herself, but Matt had already finished breakfast and was putting on his shoes.
It was 9:30, and usually Matt and his Mom liked to sleep in on Sunday mornings. But Matt had a plan today and he had to get going. “I'm going out to meet some friends,” he said to his Mom, kissing her on the forehead as she scanned the
Post
. “I'll be back in a couple of hours.”
Matt grabbed his bike from the garage, strapped on his helmet and pedaled the six blocks to school. He wanted to get there early, at least a few minutes before 10:00 AM.
At 9:55, he spied Jake, heading into the front doors of the school, a look of controlled dread on his face.
“Jake!” he called.
“What are you doing here?” Jake asked. “I thought you'd be off the hook for this.”
“I am. But you're here, right? I thought I'd keep you company. Besides, Evans isn't that bad after you get used to his lame jokes.”
Matt watched as most of the tension drained out of Jake's face and a little of the usual happy-go-lucky glow returned. “Thanks, man,” he said. “I was feeling kind of weird about being here with Marcia's dad.”
They walked together into the classroom, where most of the kids in the session and Mr. Evans were already gathered.
“You must be Jake,” Mr. Evans said, holding out his hand. “Marcia's told me about you.”
Jake gulped. Matt wondered where this was going, but Mr. Evans quickly put everybody at ease.
“Don't worry, Jake. As I told your friend Matt here, everything that goes on inside this room stays inside here. And we're starting with a fresh slate. I'm just here to give you some tools to deal with some of the things you might run into.”
Jake nodded. He and Matt grabbed the last two seats in the first row.
“We've got a couple of special guests here with us today,” Mr. Evans said, addressing the entire group and pointing to the door of the classroom.
Matt heard a sharp bark as Officer Neil Peters and Joker stepped through the door.
“These two police partners are responsible for plenty of anti-drug work in our city,” Mr. Evans said. “So I thought it would be helpful and informative if Officer Peters and Joker came to speak to you this morning and give you all a police perspective on drugs. Of course, Officer Peters will be doing most of the talking.”
The kids groaned at Mr. Evans' typical teacher's weak humor. But they were impressed with the sleek black German Shepherd heeled tightly at Officer Peters' side. When the policeman stopped at the front of the class, the dog stopped as well, sitting proudly in front of the group.
“Joker and I have been partners for about eight years,” Officer Peters told the group. “You may have seen him work from time to time in and around your school. He's a drug-sniffing dog, specially trained to be able to detect the scent of things such as marijuana, cocaine and heroin even if they are well-sealed and inside containers.”
Officer Peters went on to explain how Joker had been trained and how he wasn't like an ordinary pet. “I would trust Joker with my life,” he told the group. “And he has to trust me with his.”
After he had spoken for a few minutes about the way he and Joker work together, Officer Peters put Joker in a “down” position and addressed the group with a serious look on his face.
“I know some of you have already tried drugs, which may be why you're here,” he said. “And some of you have been offered drugs, like marijuana, and haven't known quite how to handle it, right?”
A few heads nodded around the room.
“Well, I'm going to give you a few pieces of advice,” the officer continued. “You do what you want with them, but remember, I've seen a lot of kids mess their lives up pretty good by getting mixed up with drugs and the wrong crowd.”
Officer Peters cleared his throat. “The first thing I'd say is be brave enough to turn it down,” he said. “I know kids might call you names or stop hanging out with you unless you smoke some weed with them or whatever. But you know what? It's your decision. Nobody else's. If you decide you don't want to do something, then they'll respect that if they're good friends. If not, maybe they're not as good friends as you thought.”
Matt's mind wandered back to the night at Long Lake. He was pretty sure Jake was thinking the same thing too.
“The second thing is this,” Officer Peters continued. “If you do try something like marijuana, that doesn't mean you're a bad person. Kids experiment. Sometimes they make bad choices. Just don't compound that by making more and more bad choices.”
“The last thing,” he added. “Is trust the people you've always trusted. Trust in your parents, your teachers, your principals, your policemen. We're all here to help, even Joker.”
Matt and Jake stood in the parking lot where Jake's dad was going to pick him up. “Thanks for coming,” Jake said.
“No problem, man. I've always got your back.”
Matt couldn't resist asking Jake the question he had been wondering ever since that night on Long Lake. “What's it like, anyway?” he said.
“What's what like?” Jake replied.
“You know, smoking a joint.”
“It's different,” Jake said. “The first time, I didn't feel anything special, just lousy in my lungs from inhaling the smoke. But the next couple of timesâ¦I don't know how to describe it. It definitely relaxes you. It makes everything seem funny, and you sort of get spaced out and find weird things interesting.
“But I'm not going to do it again,” Jake added. “My parents said there would be no sports for me if they caught me. It's not a tough choice between those things.”
“I was scared to try it,” Matt admitted. “I thought maybe you figured I was being a wuss that night on the beach.”
“Naw,” Jake said. “At least you had enough guts not to do it.”
The Piancatos' red station wagon was now pulling up to the school. Jake stuck out his right hand and shook Matt's. “Thanks again, bud,” he said.
The South Side Stingers had just one game left on their schedule. But if they were both good and lucky, their season would extend beyond this Monday afternoon home date with the Mandela Lions.
It was South Side's final game of the regular season. The team had a six to one record, tied with the Middleton Marauders for first place in the city standings. Only one problemâMiddleton had the edge in the tiebreaker between the two teams since it had beaten the Stingers 3-2 on that home run by Gus Martinez.
That meant South Side had to win this afternoon and then hope that the Central Wildcats could somehow upset the Marauders in a night game a couple of hours later at Central Middle School.
Mandela, named after the great South African leader Nelson Mandela, was the newest middle school in the city and didn't have an established baseball program. But the suburban school drew students from a huge area and consequently had a lineup full of talented, if inexperienced, athletes. This game wouldn't be a pushover.
After taking infield practice, Matt was standing, watching Mandela take its turn when he heard a voice shouting from the stands. “Hey, Matt, over here.”
It was Andrea. She was dressed in a white tank top and cut-off jeans and despite the fact it was early summer her skin had already tanned a light brown. Combined with her blond hair and blue eyes, Matt thought it made her even cuter.
He walked over to the South Side dugout, where she was leaning over the fence. “I heard that Jake cleared everything up,” she said. “I'm glad. I also heard that you went along on Sunday, anyway.”
Matt nodded. “You've got pretty good sources,” he joked.
“That was nice of you, Matt. I bet Jake appreciated it.”
Matt felt himself blushing once again. Four rows up in the stands, he noticed his Mom sitting with the Wongs. He hoped she didn't see him with Andrea; otherwise, there would be a lot of questions later. “Well, I better get to the dugout,” he said. “I'll talk to you after, okay?”
Coach Stephens posted the lineup on the dugout fence. For the second straight game, Matt was starting at second base. Inside, he was particularly excited because both his Mom and Andrea were here to see it.
Despite Mandela's lack of experience, the game was extremely close. Steve White was once again pitching for the Stingers while Jamaal Baker, a long, lean, seventh-grade fireballer was throwing for Mandela. By the sixth inning it was still scoreless, a combination of both pitchers throwing extremely well and the infields playing sharply.