Rivals (2010) (9 page)

JOSH AND BENJI HELPED
Josh’s dad take the gear to the bus, then they headed to field seven. The winner of the game being played there would be their next opponent. With his mind on trying to get things back to normal with Jaden, Josh had a hard time focusing on the action in front of him. Halfway through the game, Benji nudged Josh in the ribs and he jumped, spilling his nachos all over his dad’s lap.

“Josh, what the heck?” his father said, wiping a smear of melted cheese from his knee.

“Sorry, Dad,” Josh said.

His father’s face softened and he pointed at the field. “How about this Chase Corcoran from Toronto? Kid can throw. He’s just closing out the last two innings, so we’ll see him in our game. I know I said I’d give you
guys the rest of the day off, but I think I’d like to get some batting practice in later. You see that slider?”

“Slider?” Josh said, looking out at the lanky pitcher on the mound.

“You even watching?” his dad asked.

Josh felt his face heat up. “Sure.”

“Right,” his dad said.

“Well,” Josh said, scratching the back of his neck. “I know—like you said—that we’ve got three more games to win before the championship, but I just keep thinking about the Comets playing over there on field eleven.

“Would you mind if I went over there?”

His father looked at him with mild surprise and said, “You’re taking this rival thing serious, huh?”

“Kind of.”

Josh’s dad broke out in a grin and he nodded. “Yeah, I get it. You go ahead. I can handle the scouting here by myself.”

Josh left the bleachers just as Corcoran struck out his third batter in a row. Benji hustled along beside him and said, “I’m all for seeing the Comets, but we ought to make a pit stop.”

Benji pointed toward the concession stand, but Josh didn’t stop his quick march or say anything until he stood there at the corner of the bleachers at field eleven.

“What the heck?” Josh said, his head swiveling this way and that, all around. “I don’t even see her.”

“Her? Who?” Benji said, wrinkling his forehead. “Jaden?”

“Who do you think?” Josh said, still scanning.

“Dude, you are so in love,” Benji said. “I thought we were here to scout these Comet guys. Hey, would you look at all those cameras and reporters? We had Jaden taking some crummy notes, but for these guys it’s like they’re shooting a movie or something.”

“Right, all the reporters, but no Jaden,” Josh said. He sighed angrily, still searching the stands and anyone within eyesight of field eleven. “Something’s not right.”

“Right or not,” Benji said. “We should at least watch a little.”

“Okay,” Josh said, starting to climb the crowded bleacher steps even as he continued to search. “Let’s sit down.”

They sat and watched the game for half an inning before Benji nudged Josh again and said, “Hey! Look! There she is.”

JADEN SAT IN THE
dugout between Mickey Mullen and Mickey Mullen Jr., wearing a bright red Comets cap and clutching her notepad. Her smile seemed to glow.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Josh said. “
A Comets hat
?”

“Women,” Benji said, shaking his head. “Can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em.”

Josh gave him a dirty look.

“Come on,” Benji said. “My dad says that all the time. I’m sorry. Let’s just go.”

“No, that’s fine,” Josh said. “Let’s scout these chumps.”

“Look, I know you don’t want to sit here looking at Jaden sandwiched between those two guys,” Benji said.

“I couldn’t care less,” Josh said. “Just be quiet and watch some baseball, Benji. Think about the game a little more, will you?”

Josh forced himself not to look at Jaden, a feat that became much easier when the inning closed out and Mickey Mullen Jr. took the mound against the Tallahassee Knights. Josh studied his rival, watching carefully the windup and delivery that was as unique to every pitcher as his signature. Mullen moved with long, sweeping motions, releasing the ball with a final snap of the wrist that took advantage of his long arms and maximized the velocity of the ball. The kid could throw, and not just fastballs. His only issue seemed to be accuracy, and the tall, skinny umpire took care of that. In fact, the umpire’s apparent strike zone was so high and so wide that Josh found himself studying the man’s pinched and narrow face as he lifted his mask to take a drink of water between innings.

The ump had a long nose, flattened to his face, and an unending scowl. When he walked, he swung one leg with a distinctive limp. Part of the scowl, Josh thought, might have been to deflect the constant complaints from the Tallahassee coach, who groaned loudly and shouted protests over the liberal strike zone.

The game moved into the top of the final inning with the score tied at two. Mickey Mullen Jr. hit a double, sending the runner on second home and giving the Comets the lead before the Tallahassee pitcher put
down three batters in a row, closing out the side. With a 3–2 lead, Mickey Jr. took the mound again. The Mick emerged from the dugout and urged on the crowd, waving his arms with the drama of a symphony conductor. The crowd stood and cheered, wild for the movie star.

The Mick then made a gallant gesture with his arm toward the pitcher’s mound and bowed to his son. The crowd ate up the theatrics, and a storm of applause rained down on Mickey Jr. Even after the noise had settled to a steady cheer, excitement buzzed in the air, and Josh couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to have a dad that famous. He stole a glance at Jaden. She stood too, inside the dugout, clapping her hands with the rest of them.

“Half the time the guy can’t get it over the plate,” Josh said with disgust, leaning into Benji’s ear, “and they’re clapping like he’s Roger Clemens.”

Benji did his best to make farting noises by blowing on his arm, but it was no use. All eyes were on the Mick, his glowing eyes, his shining teeth, and his all-star son on the mound. The thrill must have gotten to Mickey Jr. because his first three pitches were so wild, the catcher had to come out of his stance to snag them. The ump correctly called all three balls. Finally Mickey Jr. put one down the middle, but it passed the batter at eye level.

“Strike!” the ump called, pumping his fist.

“What?” the Tallahassee coach screamed. “Are you
crazy? That ball was almost over his head.”

The ump ignored the coach and crouched down behind the plate.

“You’ve got to be
kidding
me, Ump!” the Tallahassee coach screamed.

Josh studied Jaden. It looked like she was sitting a little more rigid than she had been a few minutes ago. The next pitch came waist high but outside, a close call.

“Strike!” the ump said.

The Tallahassee coach went berserk, running out onto the dirt. The umpire whipped off his mask and snarled at the coach.

“You get back in the dugout or you are
out
of here, Coach,” the ump said. “Set an example for the kids, would you?”

“
You
set an example,” the coach shouted. “I’ve never seen calls that bad.”

“One more word, Coach, and you’re done.”

The Tallahassee coach stamped back to his dugout and began shouting encouragement to his team, but even though his words were positive, his anger came through loud and clear. The next pitch was inside. The batter hesitated and Josh knew what went through his mind—if it was even close, he might as well swing. He swung and missed.

The crowd cheered as if they’d forgotten the pathetic calls and so it went, with the next batter striking out on
an 0–2 count. The third man up was the top of the Tallahassee order. He surprised everyone by hunting for a high pitch and connecting, blasting a line drive over the first baseman’s head. The next batter came out swinging, too, jumping at an outside pitch and connecting enough so that he dribbled one down the third-base line.

With two runners on, the next batter went hunting as well. It was obvious that the irate Tallahassee coach had told his best batters to swing at anything they could. Meanwhile Mickey Jr. seemed to suddenly gain control. The first pitch came inside fast, then broke outside across the plate. The batter swung but missed. The next pitch was low, but he swung anyway, hitting it foul. For three more pitches in a row, the batter defended the plate, swinging at everything but delivering nothing except foul balls.

Finally, a ball came down the middle with heat.

The batter swung and connected, sending a red-hot grounder past the edge of the mound. The shortstop made a great play by diving and just getting a glove on the ball to slow it down. The runners took off. The center fielder ran in on the wounded grounder. The runner from second rounded third, and the third-base coach waved him home.

The center fielder scooped up the ball, one-hopped, and made the throw to home. The runner slid, kicking up a cloud of dirt as the umpire crouched nearby with his eyes glued to the plate. The runner’s foot hit home
plate just as the catcher stretched up and snagged the throw. The catcher brought his glove down and slapped the runner’s leg, nearly a second too late.

“Out!” the umpire shouted, throwing a thumb over his right shoulder.

“Out?” the losing coach shrieked amid the cheering crowd.

“Tagged him before the foot touched the plate, Coach,” the umpire shouted. “He’s out.”

“Out? He was
safe
!” the coach screamed, whipping off his hat and slapping it against his leg. “You’re blind! You’re a moron! You’re a crook!”

The coach threw his hat down and stomped on it. Then he balled his hands into fists and ran right at the umpire.

THE COACHES FROM BOTH
teams swarmed home plate, grappling with the head-coach-gone-crazy and fending him off the umpire. Mickey Mullen stood outside the Comets dugout with his arms crossed and grinning, shaking his head in disappointment at the madness but staying well away from the action. He turned to the crowd and offered up a dramatic shrug as if to say that some people were simply crazy. The umpire didn’t back down. In fact, he went after the Tallahassee coach—who was being restrained—and nearly got a punch off before two of the Comets’ assistant coaches got hold of him and dragged him away.

“Holy moly,” Josh said.

“It’s like a Syracuse Express football practice,” Benji said, gawking. “Those guys are always going at it, only
the coaches just let ’em fight ’cause they say they don’t get paid enough to get a black eye.”

“But did you see that call?” Josh said. “It was the worst call I’ve ever seen.”

“Not the worst,” Benji said. “Remember when we were in Philadelphia and that ump called it an out when the guy dropped the pop fly but scooped it up and put it in his glove but the ump couldn’t see that far?
That
had to be the worst.”

“Well, one of the worst then,” Josh said. “That was awful.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when your dad is in the movies,” Benji said. “That ump is probably looking for tickets to the Oscars or something.”

“Well, he earned them, I’ll tell you,” Josh said, shaking his head and slipping into the press of people exiting the bleachers.

“You gonna try and talk to Jaden?” Benji asked.

“Forget Jaden,” Josh said, pulling out his phone. “I’m calling my dad.”

But when Josh called his dad’s cell phone, he learned that his dad had already left.

“Your mom asked me to get some grape juice at the store for your sister,” his dad said, “but I’ll come back and get you guys if you’re ready.”

“No,” Josh said. “That’s okay. You talked to the driver about us being banned from the shuttle bus?”

“She’s all set,” Josh’s dad said in a low rumble that meant business. “I had a talk with the camp manager.
You guys can ride, but keep the comments to yourselves, right? Tell that to Benji, too.”

Josh smiled to himself. “I will. So, we’ll just catch the shuttle. Maybe we’ll even take it into town and see the Babe’s statue. Benji’s dying to get a shot with it, and I want to see Hammerin’ Hank’s. Then we can take the shuttle home later.”

“Don’t miss dinner,” his dad said. “I’m going to have batting practice right afterward. This Corcoran kid’s got me worried.”

“No problem, Dad.”

Josh hung up and he and Benji made their way to the entrance, where they found the powder blue Beaver Valley Campsite shuttle bus just getting ready to leave. The driver glared at them as they climbed the steps, but several parents and players from the Titans were already on the bus, heading for town, and the driver seemed to consider them with a glance before she said anything nasty.

“No trouble,” she said, growling under her breath with obvious hatred.

“We won’t,” Josh said.

“Trouble’s what you make of it,” Benji said, strutting by.

“Meathead,” Josh said in a whisper as they took their seats, “what does that even mean?”

“Sounded good,” Benji said. “Like a ninja or something.”

“A ninja?”

“Or a Buddhist or something. I don’t know. Just work with me.”

“Like that umpire worked with the Comets?” Josh asked, shaking his head in disgust.

“You don’t have to be as obvious as that,” Benji said. “That guy’s lucky the Comets fans outnumbered the Tallahassee people by about twenty to one or there might have been a riot.”

“I mean, I’ve seen some bad calls,” Josh said, “but that guy took it to a whole new level.”

“Starstruck, I guess,” Benji said. “You saw what the Mick did with that crowd. Like putty in his hands.”

They got off the bus in the center of town with the rest of the crowd from the Beaver Valley Campsite. Josh and Benji fell in with a handful of their teammates who were also heading for the museum. They walked up Pioneer Alley, and at the corner of Main, where the turn for the museum was, Josh saw Mickey Jr.’s limo with its blacked-out windows heading their way. He grabbed Benji by the arm and pulled him aside.

“Look,” he said, pointing.

“I told you, dude,” Benji said, freeing his arm. “I’m not impressed with big cars.”

“Not the car,” Josh said, lowering his voice as the rest of the group kept going and the limo rolled past. “Jaden. You think she’s in there?”

Benji wrinkled his nose. “Nah.”

Then Benji said, “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Josh asked.

“They were sitting pretty close in that dugout.”

“Thanks,” Josh said, turning to go.

“You asked,” Benji said. “Hey, where you going?”

“To see,” Josh said, taking off at a jog as the limo continued on down Pioneer Alley toward the waterfront.