Rivals (2010) (3 page)

JOSH’S BRAIN LIT UP
with a Christmas display of pain, and even though the ball went out of the park, he staggered and needed to catch his breath as he ran down the first-base line. Jogging around the field, even the screams of the Titans fans and his teammates made him wince. When the Titans tried to swarm him in the dugout, he pushed them away.

“I can’t,” he said, shrinking from their backslaps. “Don’t. I’m hurt.”

“Josh?” his father said.

“It’s okay, Dad,” he said, catching himself on the bench and taking a seat, knowing the game wasn’t over yet. “I just need some space.”

The next batter went down on three pitches and it was the Titans’ turn to take the field. They had a 7–4
lead, but now they had to protect it.

“Don’t get excited yet,” Josh’s dad said in a growl to the team after calling them in to a huddle. “We need to play defense. They’ve scored the last two innings and they’re at the top of their lineup, so this thing is far from over. Let’s go, ‘Believe’ on three. One, two, three—”

“BELIEVE!”

Josh’s dad took him by the arm and said, “You proved how tough you are, Josh. Let me put Lido at short and put a sub in for him in right field. That eye looks worse by the minute.”

“I’m good, Dad,” Josh said, trying to smile but unable to because of the pain. “We need this and, no offense to Benji, he’s got a great glove, but he can’t make the throw to first as good as me. I can play with this.”

His dad bit into his lower lip, but he nodded and patted Josh on the back. As he headed out, he said, “That’s why you got two of them, right?”

“Two of what?” Josh asked.

“Two eyes,” his dad said. “In case one closes up, you got the other.”

Josh smiled.

The Titans relief pitcher struggled mightily, walking two batters and giving up a double and two singles. It wasn’t long before the Nighthawks had two more runs and the bases were loaded. Josh looked at the 7–6 score and felt sick, in part because of how much his face hurt,
but mostly because it looked like the whole effort was for nothing.

Planczeck stepped up to the plate. One of the runs from earlier in the game was a homer by Planczeck, and Josh knew he’d be licking his chops for a chance to smash another one with the Titans pitcher struggling like he was. Planczek slapped the chalk on his glove and rubbed it with his other hand as he approached the box with the bat under his arm. Before he stepped to the plate, Planczeck looked right at Josh, offered up a tiny smirk, and pointed his bat at the fence like he was Babe Ruth.

Josh crouched down and smacked his hand into his glove, angling his head so his good eye could take in more of the action. On the first pitch, Planczeck swung so hard, he spun himself around.

“Strike one!” the ump called.

Planczeck seemed unfazed. He let the second pitch go by.

“Ball.”

The third pitch was a ball as well. A 2–1 count. Planczeck wiggled his hips and cleats as though he was planting himself permanently into the dirt of the batter’s box.

The next pitch came. Planczeck swung big and smacked it. Josh watched the ball leave the bat and he started to run. Planczeck had connected, but a bit more under the ball than what would carry it out of the park.
It floated for a moment, then started to plummet for the no-man’s-land between the third baseman and the left fielder. Josh poured on his speed, calling off both his teammates.

He leaped for the ball, diving and reaching and praying he could make a miraculous catch.

JOSH HIT THE GROUND
and saw red and orange lightning bolts of pain. He felt himself drifting for a moment, swimming in the pain and feeling as if he’d go under, but he didn’t. Adrenaline flooded his body. He rolled and came up out of it, raising his glove as much to see if he’d caught the ball as to make a play, and there it was, nestled in the brown leather like an egg in its nest.

Reaction took over. Josh didn’t even think about the throw he needed to make—he just threw it.

The runner on third was halfway home. He spun to recover his base, but Josh fired the ball to the third baseman, who caught it and fired it in turn to the second baseman before his runner could get back, either.

The crowd went silent as they absorbed what had happened and took the time to process what they’d
just seen: a triple play. Game over. Syracuse Titans, 7, Toledo Nighthawks, 6.

The Titan players ran screaming at Josh and picked him up despite his pleas. Once he was up on their shoulders, he forgot about the pain and instead rode his teammates like a genie on some magic carpet, floating across the field and soaking up the joy of victory and the treasure that was waiting for him.

The celebration didn’t last.

Josh’s mom went wild when she saw him up close, and she insisted they go directly to the hospital, which was only five minutes up the street. Nurses and doctors—not unused to treating knife and gunshot wounds in the city’s emergency room—cringed at the sight of Josh. He wanted to look in a mirror, but they stuck an IV into his arm and told him it would be best if he didn’t.

“Let me give you something for the pain, honey,” a young nurse said, putting her hand on his arm as she injected something into his IV.

Within a few minutes Josh began to float, and it didn’t even bother him that they had taken off his clothes and put him into a gown. Before he knew it, they laid him down on a table and rolled him into a plastic capsule that made him think of a space coffin. The machine whirred and banged, but Josh felt no pain with the shot he’d been given. Finally the machine spit him out. They wheeled him down the hall, not back to
the emergency room, but into a regular hospital room where his parents stood holding hands beside the bed, talking quietly with a doctor.

“Hi,” Josh said, reading the worried expressions on their faces as the doctor slipped out of the room. Two nurses helped him into the bed.

His mom grasped his hand and squeezed tight enough that Josh could feel it.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” she said.

“Then how come you’re crying?” Josh asked.

She nodded and said, “They just want to keep an eye on you overnight, to make sure the bleeding stops, honey.”

“What bleeding?” Josh asked cheerfully, his words sounding slurred and the pain a distant memory. “Where’s Benji and Jaden?”

“They’re outside in the waiting room,” his mom said. “They’ll be in once we get you settled.”

“You fractured your orbital,” his dad said. “The part of the skull around the eye socket. You should be fine. They just don’t want to take any chances because of the eye.”

“It’s just an eye,” Josh said, giggling. “That’s why you got two of them, right?”

The look on his mother’s face made him laugh even more. Then something came to him through the fog.

“Hey, I’m gonna be okay to play in the Hall of Fame Tournament, right, Dad?” he said.

His parents looked at each other and his dad said, “The doctor went to look at the MRI, Josh. It’ll be a few minutes.”

“A few minutes for what?” Josh asked, the hot syrup of panic filling his chest and starting to spread, despite the shot.

“Easy, buddy,” his dad said as Josh struggled to sit up.

“Nurse,” his mom called at the door. “Can you come here, please? He’s a little excited.”

“Dad?”

His father took his hand and placed the other on Josh’s chest, nearly spanning it and gently laying him back down.

“I can play, right?” Josh asked.

“We don’t know, Josh,” his father said. “Maybe not.”

EVEN THOUGH THE DRUGS
kept the pain partially at bay, the dull throb behind Josh’s eye didn’t go away. His left eye was swollen completely shut. He was getting used to seeing out of just the right eye. He and his mom and dad sat in a doctor’s office at the Golisano Children’s Hospital in Syracuse. Dr. Cohen was a wiry man with tan skin, dark black hair, and glasses that hung halfway down his nose. He removed the X-rays from a big manila envelope and clipped the first two up on a light box that hung on the wall.

Using a pointer to trace the dark eye socket hole in Josh’s skull before detouring along a thin gray line, he said, “So, as you can see, this is the fracture, dangerously close to the optic nerve. One way to heal this is to just let nature run its course. Stay away from any kind
of sports or contact for another five or six weeks and this should mend enough to stabilize the area. Or, we can go in and fix it.”

“I sure can’t wait five more weeks,” Josh said. “The Hall of Fame National Championship Tournament is in three weeks. You got to fix it.”

Dr. Cohen looked down at him and blinked. “I understand. I used to play third base myself.”

“You think you can fix this?” Josh’s dad asked.

“And keep him safe,” his mother said, folding her arms across her chest. “That is a must. We are
not
going to do something that could jeopardize Josh’s eyesight in any way.”

Dr. Cohen nodded. “The procedure I’m thinking about won’t jeopardize his sight. I would never do that. If anything, this will be safer for him. He could fall down the stairs or slip in the shower, and if he hits that bone again, he’d damage the optic nerve. That we don’t want. That could cost him the eye. What I’m talking about would stabilize the area. Basically putting a small metal patch over the crack and screwing it down into the bone on either side. It would be very secure.

“But,” Dr. Cohen said, wincing, “there’s more to consider.”

“I knew it,” Josh’s mother said, slapping her hand on the arm of her chair.

“Nothing medical,” Dr. Cohen said, holding up a hand. “It would be cosmetic.”

“Cosmetic?” Josh said. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“Appearance,” Dr. Cohen said. “You’d have a scar on your face. With what I’d have to do, there’s no way around it.”

“A scar?” his mom said, horrified. “You’re kidding.”

“It’s the only option,” the doctor said. “Very safe. Medically sound. I could run the incision along the natural line under the eye so it wouldn’t be too bad. Eventually, it will probably fade away so much you’d hardly notice, but there’s no way around it.”

“I don’t care about a scar,” Josh said. “I want to play. I
have
to play. Dad, we can win this thing.”

Josh wanted to tell his father that he knew about Nike and the contract and that he’d do anything to help, but he knew he shouldn’t, so he thought up something else.

“There’ll be college scouts there,” Josh said. “Mom, you want me to go to college. That’s all you talk about. This is my dream.”

“No. We can’t do this,” she said, standing up. “You can’t have a scar.”

“Mom, who
cares
?” Josh said, clasping his hands together as if in prayer.

“You might not care now,” she said, “but that’s what God made parents for. Come on, Gary. Dr. Cohen, thank you, but no thank you.”

“I can’t sit around for five weeks and miss this tournament,” Josh said.

“Him sitting around is going to drive us all crazy,” Josh’s dad said.

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance,” Josh said. “It’s a national championship. It’s in Cooperstown! Dad? Tell her!”

Josh’s father didn’t get up. He sat with his legs splayed out to the sides, staring at the X-ray. Finally he cleared his throat, looked up at Josh’s mom, and said, “You heard him, Laura. This is the safest thing we could do.”

“The safest thing is to have him sit out for five weeks and let this thing heal without a scar,” his mom said, raising her voice loud enough that Josh could feel it in his eye.

Dr. Cohen looked back and forth between Josh’s parents. “This is something you should all discuss by yourselves.”

“There’s no discussion,” Josh’s dad said. “We’re doing it. It’s the safest thing.”

“And he can play
base
ball,” his mom said, spitting it out like some four-letter word.

“It’s his dream,” Josh’s father said.

“His dream?” his mom said. “Or
yours
?”

His mom turned and stormed out of the doctor’s office.

“You sure you want this, Son?” Josh’s dad asked.

“Please, Dad,” Josh said. “Please let me play.”

His father looked deep into Josh’s eyes, and Josh
thought for an instant that his dad might spill a tear. Then his dad nodded. “Okay, we’ll do it.”

“Thank you, Dad,” Josh said, grabbing his father’s thick arm. “Thank you so much.”

Dr. Cohen cleared his throat and said, “I can do the surgery this week, but I’d really like you to get your wife on board with this.”

“She gets excited,” his dad said in a low rumble. “Don’t worry, Doc. I’ll handle Laura. Let’s get it done.”

WITH SCHOOL IN ITS
final few days, the noise in the Grant Middle School cafeteria rivaled that of any place on Earth. Chatter sprinkled with hoots, catcalls, shrieks, and howls of laughter always left Josh’s ears buzzing when he finished eating his lunch and headed for his next class.

“Man, you’re like Ronnie Lott!” Benji said above the noise, tearing his ham sandwich free from the cellophane and stuffing half of it into his mouth.

“Who’s Ronnie Lott?” Jaden asked, cracking open her carton of milk and taking a sip before she opened her notebook to a page packed with columns and tiny symbols.

“Oh man,” Benji said, speaking around the huge wad of bread and ham filling his mouth, “just when I think
you’re not such a girl. Ronnie Lott’s a famous football player from the eighties.”

“I
am
a girl, Lido,” Jaden said, slapping her notebook and straightening her back. “I like being a girl. Girls rule, right, Josh?”

Josh felt the pulse in the dull pain behind his eye quicken. He looked down at his meat loaf sandwich and mumbled, “Jeez, I can’t win this one. You two fight it out.”

“Anyway,” Jaden said, nibbling on an apple, “who is he, and why is Josh like some old football player?”

“Well, you know, with my dad being a pro ballplayer himself,” Benji said through his food, “I get all the good stories. So, Ronnie Lott played for the Forty-niners back when they were a dynasty. They were on their way to the Super Bowl, but Lott crushed his finger, and they said there was no way he could play with it the way it was. Too risky for infection or something like that.”

Even though Benji didn’t live with his dad, he never missed an opportunity to talk about him, a big, burly plastics factory worker who played offensive lineman for the semipro Syracuse Express on autumn afternoons.

“So?” Jaden said. “So, he crushed his finger?”

Benji swallowed his wad of food and leaned forward. “So? So, he cut it off!”

“What?” Jaden said in disgust.

“Whop!” Benji said with a chopping motion. “Cut the
finger right off, just so he could play in the playoffs and help his team win. Same thing with Josh. Whop!”

Benji made a dramatic slicing motion under his eye.

“Did he really?” Josh asked, his chest flooding with pride at the comparison. “I think I’ve heard of Ronnie Lott.”

“Josh Lott, that’s what I’ll start calling you,” Benji said, jamming the other half of the sandwich into his mouth and nodding furiously.

Josh gently patted the swollen skin beneath his eye, which had surprised him that morning by allowing in a slit of light. “I guess.”

“Wow,” Jaden said, obviously impressed. “I hate to say it, but you’re right, Lido. Maybe I could do a story on this for the
Post-Standard
. Get some pictures of that eye or the scar right after they cut you. People love to read that kind of stuff.”

“Gosh,” Josh said.

“I was going to put something together about this,” Jaden said, patting her notebook.

“What’s that?” Benji asked through his food.

“Basically, it shows why out of the teams that have qualified so far, the Syracuse Titans have a great chance to win that Hall of Fame Tournament,” Jaden said, obviously proud. “See? It’s all the statistics of all the different teams. I rate the pitchers, the defense, batting, everything every team that qualified has done over the past six months. Then, look, I add a value to all
these things and calculate it out. The Titans are definitely the team to beat. That’s what I was thinking the headline of my story could be: ‘The Team to Beat.’ It’s a good follow-up to ‘The Triple Play,’ don’t you think?”

“Where did you get all that stuff?” Josh asked, leaning over as he finished off his sandwich.

“I’m a reporter, Josh,” she said. “I’ve got my sources. Well, mostly just the internet. But do you realize, with you guys being the team to beat and you having this surgery just so you can play, the Titans could make some national news?”

Josh raised his eyebrows.

“I mean it,” Jaden said.

Benji almost choked on his food and took a big swig of milk to wash it down before he gasped and said, “Man, Josh, I can see it, you and me on the front page of
SI for Kids
. Maybe even a piece on
SportsCenter
. I mean, we win the national championship and that, like, makes us famous, right?”

“You and Josh?” Jaden said, squinting at Benji.

“Me being the other heavy hitter on the team,” Benji said. “The Dynamic Duo, something like that.”

“But Lido,” Jaden said with wonder, “you haven’t hit a single home run this season.”

“Well,” Benji said, wrinkling his brow before snapping his finger. “Batman and Robin, then. He’s the bat man knocking it out of the park, and I’m robbin’ bases all over the place. Get it?”

“You have, like, two steals in the past two months,” Jaden said.

“Yeah, see? I’m Robin, out there stealin’ bases,” Benji said with a deadly serious look. “Why do you have to get all caught up in numbers all the time, anyway? I thought you wanted to win a Pulitzer one day. Don’t you have to be, like, creative to do that? Use your creativity here, will you?”

The bell rang. They picked up their garbage and headed for the hall.

“I think I’ll stick with the Ronnie Lott angle,” Jaden said. “Josh taking a scar for the team. Besides, there’s still one more team to qualify for the tournament from out on the West Coast, so I have to wait for them to be completely accurate with my numbers. I’ve got a study hall eighth period. I think I’ll text my editor at the
Post-Standard
. I’ll let you guys know what he says in history.”

With English, math, and Spanish between lunch and history—as well as the constant worry about having his face cut open in two days’ time—Josh forgot all about Jaden’s newspaper story until he saw her and Benji huddled up outside their last class of the day, having a serious discussion.

“Hey,” he said, noticing the expression on Jaden’s face, “what’s up? Editor didn’t like the idea?”

“Well, he liked it,” Jaden said. “I mean, he gets it, you being the big star of the team and doing what you’re doing, but…”

“Yeah?” Josh said, nearly laughing at her look of distress.

“Well,” Jaden said, looking down and shaking her head, “I don’t think you’re exactly going to be the big story I thought you were, Josh. I know you don’t care too much about that stuff anyway, so that’s good.”

“What are you talking about?” Josh asked as the bell to class rang. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“There’s a bigger story happening in the Hall of Fame Tournament,” Jaden said. “It’s a
huge
story. You’ll hear about it. It’ll be on the news. I mean,
I
can’t believe it myself.”

“I’ll
hear
it? What are you talking about?” Josh asked. “Come on, you guys, just tell me!”