Center Field (12 page)

Oscar showed up for breakfast.

Mike was in the kitchen waiting for a ham-and-cheese sandwich to finish nuking when the old white van pulled into the driveway. He could see Ferdy through the windshield. Oscar climbed slowly out and stood in the driveway, arguing with his father. Ferdy reached through the passenger window and gave Oscar a shove. Oscar walked slowly toward the house.

“Scott,” said Mom. She gestured out the window.

Dad opened the kitchen door. “Oscar!
Bienvenido!
”

Oscar looked reluctant, but entered after a moment.

Mom and Dad fussed over him, made him sit down. Mom said, “Have you had breakfast?” and when he nodded, head down, Dad said, “Can always have another one. Eggs, pancakes, French toast?”

Mom opened the cabinet where she kept more than
a dozen different kinds of cereals. Oscar's eyes widened. “Looks like a bodega,” he said.

Even Mike laughed. Mom was big on breakfast and she was always finding new cereals to try.

Dad left for the store and Mom made Oscar pick a cereal. She loaded the bowl with blueberries, bananas, and milk. Oscar ate as if he were hungry. Mike felt a splash of jealousy. Mom hasn't made me a breakfast like that in years, he thought. He remembered that he'd been refusing cereal for years, didn't like it. Used to have fights over it. His ham-and-cheese breakfast sandwiches were a compromise; Mom made batches and froze them.

“'S good, thanks.” Oscar had a big smile.

“Most important meal of the day,” said Mom.

He needs his strength, Mike thought sourly, to beat me out of center field. Thanks, Mom.

Oscar didn't have anything to say on the ride to school. At the varsity parking lot, Oscar jumped out and walked away with a quick wave as if he didn't want to be seen with Mike. He headed toward the temporary trailers where the English as a Second Language classes were held. Mike had heard they were always either too hot or too cold.

Ryan fell into step with Mike as they walked up to the front door. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

“He's on the team,” said Mike. “He's no enemy.”

“It's an expression,” said Ryan. “From
Godfather II
.”

Ryan slowed to talk to someone and Mike hurried through the door. He didn't want to talk to anyone about Oscar.

 

At lunch Andy said, “What's with you and Oscar?”

Ryan said, “Mike's coming out.”

“That's not funny,” said Lori.

“Maybe Mike's going to start smuggling illegals into New Jersey,” said Andy. “Coyotes make much
dinero
.”

“That's really not funny,” said Tori.

“Oscar and his dad are staying with us for a little while,” said Mike. The lie felt sour in his mouth. “It's the only way his dad can get to work on time.”

“That is so nice,” said Lori. Mike checked. No sarcasm there.

“Sounds to me you're establishing a false residence,” said Andy.

“Sounds to me like you need to mind your own business,” said Mike.

“As a citizen, it is my business,” said Andy.

“As a friend,” said Ryan, “you should just shut up.”

“Was that the deal to get center field back?” said Andy.

“At least you lost first base to an American, right?” said
Mike. He was sorry as soon as he saw Andy's face flush a deep red, almost matching his hair. Maybe Andy really did care.

They ate in silence until the buzzer freed them.

 

Coach pulled him into his baseball office before the pregame practice. “What's with Oscar and his dad?”

“They're fine.”

“All squared away at your house?”

“They left some stuff last night and then came by this morning.”

Coach nodded. “I like the way you've been handling yourself, Mike. Ranger steady. The team needed you in left field, you went there. You're back in center because you showed me grace under pressure.”

“Everybody thinks I'm back because I ratted out Zack and the Cyber Club.”

“Do they?” Coach was steering him out of the office. “Can't worry about what the pukes think.”

“Why did you shut down the Cyber Club?”

“You just worry about center field, big fella, and you'll have a breakout day.”

He did. First at bat, Mike lashed a double into the right-field hole and went to third on a botched relay. Oscar brought him home with a sacrifice fly. Two innings later
Mike hit his first homer of the season, with a man on.

There were no tough chances in center until the seventh inning, one out and the bases loaded, when Mike hit the fence making an over-the-shoulder catch. He bounced off, disoriented. Oscar, a foot away, yelled, “Secon' base,” and Mike turned and fired blindly.

Todd cut off the throw in short center, spun, and threw to Hector, who doubled the runner at second base to end the inning.

Ridgedale won. Coach gave Mike the game ball. They yelled and sang in the bus all the way home. They were leading the conference.

 

There was no Herold in the phone book. He called information and checked it online. Nothing. He thought about calling Zack or Nick. Yeah, right. Then he remembered the Varsity yearbook. There it was, under Track. Katherine Anne Herold, 43 Harrison Road. Less than a mile away. He repeated her name as he rode, Katherine Anne, Katherine Anne. It rolled off his tongue.

The house was big, surrounded by an acre of lawn. Through the wide picture window he could see an old couple watching TV. No one else in the room. No lights in any of the upstairs rooms. Maybe she wasn't home yet. Catch her coming back. Hey, Kat, just happened to be out
for my evening ride. He circled the block and rode past three more times. A man came out of the house next door to play catch with his son and looked at Mike as if he was a stalker. Maybe he was. He pedaled home.

Tori was breathless at lunch on Thursday. The Cyber Club kids were refusing to make a deal with the school. They were fighting their suspension. Lawyers were in the principal's office. She looked at Mike.

“They contact you yet?”

“Why should they? I didn't rat them out!”

“Like that's such a bad thing,” said Tori, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Mike said he didn't and I believe him,” said Lori. She sounded like she was being loyal.

He felt uncomfortable. He was relieved when the twins moved on to what Lori was going to wear to Craig's party tomorrow night.

 

He had another good game in center field. With Oscar in left, he could shade toward right field and help Ryan. Ryan caught anything he got to, but he didn't get to everything,
he wasn't that fast. Oscar in left makes me a better center fielder, he thought. Don't have to think about left center. Or am I giving up territory that's mine?

Push that away, it's negative.

He was meeting the ball solidly, two hits today, one of them scoring a run. Another win. Oscar batting fourth makes me a better hitter because pitchers have to give me strikes, they can't afford to walk me with him coming up.

After the game he drove Oscar to the new store but Ferdy and his cousin had already left for their city job. They left word they would pick up Oscar on their way back to Orange County. Dad gave Mike money and told him to take Oscar to the diner.

They didn't have much to say. Mike had picked a corner booth where they would be out of sight. What am I doing with this guy? They both ordered the hamburger deluxe medium and Cokes. He noticed that Oscar ate very slowly, almost delicately. Mike was finished and Oscar was barely half done. He studied Oscar's face. Couldn't tell how old he was.

Back at the house Oscar dropped to his knees in front of the cat. She crawled right into his arms and purred. He was about to warn Oscar to watch out for her claws, but they were already nuzzling each other.

“You like cats?”

“Got three at home.”

“At home?

“In the DR.” When he saw Mike's puzzled expression, he said, “Dominican Republic.”

“You miss home?”

Oscar nodded.

“You came here to play ball?”

He nodded again.

“Want to watch the game?”

Oscar picked up the cat. She burrowed into his neck.

Downstairs Oscar's eyes widened as the eighty-four-inch screen came down from the ceiling and the projector hummed to life. But he was too cool to say anything until a life-size Billy Budd swung two bats at them in the on-deck circle. Then he laughed.
“Santa mierda.”

Mike got some Cokes and chips. “You like Billy?”

“The best, man.”

“You got his stance.”

“You, too.” They clicked Coke cans.

Billy popped up to the shortstop. Oscar stamped his feet. “He need to wait for his pitch.”

“He's batting .324.”

“Should be more. Goes for too many bad balls.”

“Did you go to one of those baseball academies in the DR?”

Oscar nodded. “Campo Juan Marichal. Oakland As.”

“For how long?”

“Three years. Play every day.”

“You signed with the As?”

He nodded.

“How come you're not playing pro ball?”

Oscar cracked his knuckles. Mike noticed how big his hands were. “You know what a
buscone
is?” When Mike shook his head, he said, “Like a scout. In the DR. When they sign you up with a team, they get some of your money.
Buscones
were ripping off kids and there was trouble. The Major League made the teams cancel some of the contracts.”

“Yours?”

He nodded. “Don't know what's going to happen now.” The long dark face looked miserable.

Mike felt badly for him. “What are you going to do?”

Oscar shook his head.

“How'd you come to Ridgedale?” When Oscar seemed to hesitate, he said, “I won't say anything.”

“My uncle knew Hector's father and Hector told Coach about me. Coach said he could help get me papers. My dad, too.”

“Is that happening?”

Oscar spread out his hands. The cat complained. “Don' know.”

“You trust Coach Cody?”

Oscar shrugged. “Got to.” He settled back into the couch.

The Yankee game was almost over when Oscar's cell rang. All he said was “Righ' there.” He stood up, carefully put the cat on the couch, and shook Mike's hand. “Thanks, man.”

Mike walked him to the front door. The van was waiting in the driveway.

 

He thought about Oscar. He didn't seem like a bad guy. Trying to survive. Probably should be playing center instead of me. Coach Cody put me back in center field because he's afraid I'll rat out Oscar. But he knows I didn't rat out the Cyber Club. I need to talk to Kat.

He had heard so much about Craig's parties that he was prepared to be disappointed, that it would turn out to be like all the other jock parties, just rowdier and boozier. He'd have a bigger headache than usual tomorrow. But the moment he and Lori walked through the door, he felt the difference. The air was damp with beer and sweat, and sweet with pot. The mood vibrated with gathering waves, like surf before a storm. It was pumping up to a wild night. Lori pressed against him. He thought she was thrilled and scared. He thought he might be, too.

“Here comes Mak, Mighty Mak,” roared Craig. He had a bottle in his hand and he swayed. Wasted already. “Let's give it up for the man who busted the pukes.”

Whistles and applause. Slaps on the back and butt. A glass was in Mike's hand. He was absorbed into a scrum of bodies. Lori was swept away by a couple of senior
cheerleaders. A joint was pressed to his lips, he shook it away. Somebody laughed. He drank from the glass, nearly choked. It wasn't beer.

Mostly seniors, mostly jocks. Teammates appeared. He recognized a few guys he barely knew. Alumni. He'd heard that guys came home from college for Craig's parties. He saw Eric Nola's older brother, Derek, who had been team captain when Mike was a sophomore. He was playing at Montclair State now. He gave Mike a light shove to the chest with the heel of his hand. How I hit Zack, Mike thought. He wondered if that had been deliberate. Derek rocked back a step and shouted, “Mak the Man.” He swayed away.

The music pounded through the house, the same music that came out of Craig's iPod dock in the locker room. Chief Loki was screaming,
“We own da season!”
until Strep started yelling,
“I'll tell you again I am unbreakable.”

He began to relax. Everybody was friendly. Everybody seemed to know him. Even the student government big shots. The tough kids he'd figured were the school's dope dealers all wanted to bump fists.

He felt drunk before he had had much to drink. His eyeballs were swimming in the glass bowl of his skull. Lori floated back into view. Was her makeup smeared or his sight blurry? She came into his arms. They danced.

He didn't know how long they had been there before
Craig pulled him away from Lori and whispered, “Follow me upstairs. Now.”

Craig's girl had her arm around Lori and was leading her away.

The eight seniors on the baseball team were crowded into Craig's bedroom. They all had bats. He saw trophies jammed into bookcases and a huge poster of Roger Clemens on the wall. Even after the Rocket was busted he was Craig's hero. The lights went out. A single red bulb flicked on in a corner throwing a bloody wash across the sweating faces surrounding him.

The faces made a circle around him, started chanting, “Rangers, Rangers, Rangers.”

A blindfold was tied around his head. His stomach churned. They were going to make him next year's captain.

DeVon's deep voice, “Who proposes?”

“I do.” It sounded like Willie Lockett.

“Speak.”

“He puts team ahead of himself. This is a stud who crashes into walls, who takes no shit, who can lead the Rangers.”

“Who opposes?”

“I do.” Sounded like Jimmy Russo.

“Speak.”

“He's a coach's pet, never one of the guys,” said Jimmy. “What made him change? What's his deal? Can he be
trusted?” It sounded memorized to Mike. Was there a script?

“He bided his time,” said Willie, “stepped up in the clutch.”

“Nark's a nark,” said Jimmy. “Weasels his way in. Drops the dime.”

“Spies for the good,” said Willie. “Like Nathan Hale.”

“What say you, Captain?” said DeVon.

“Vote,” said Todd.

One by one, eight voices said, “Yea!” Each banging his bat on the floor. Even Russo.

“So be it,” said Todd. “Captain-elect Mike Semak. Do you accept?”

Before Mike could say anything, they were all on him, pummeling, poking him with their bats, pulling at his clothes. Someone had a hand between his legs. He fought his way free.

Jimmy Russo pulled him to his feet, whispered, “That was just part of the ritual, didn't mean it.” He pulled off Mike's blindfold.

DeVon handed him a glass. “Drink the blood of the foe.”

They all chanted, “Rangers, Rangers, Rangers,” while he chugged it down. He had no idea what was in it besides alcohol that stung his nose and made his eyes water. He
was dizzy. Who was the foe?

Downstairs there was more whistling and applause, more drinks. Lori hugged him. “I'm so proud of you, Mike.”

He tried to say something and DeVon said, “Good thing he ain't captain of the drinking team.”

Laughter in the fog.

He had no idea how he got home.