Center Field (13 page)

He woke at noon with a weight on his chest. The moment he opened his eyes, the cat started meowing and digging her claws into his collarbone. She shrieked as he rolled her off. His mouth was dry. His head hurt. He was nauseous.

He was captain of the Ridgedale High baseball team.

It took more than an hour, a shower, tomato juice, coffee, and three ibuprofen tablets before he started to think clearly.

He was friggin' captain of the friggin' Ridgedale High baseball team!

He didn't bother checking his cell or computer—they would be packed with messages. Andy and Ryan would be coming over soon. Maybe even Lori. Mom and Dad would want to know. The day would disappear into the night and he'd never talk to the only person whose voice he wanted to hear.

If he was ever going to do it, he had to do it right now.

What if she's in a nasty Tigerbitch mood? Why wouldn't she be? She thinks you narked out the Cyber Club.

You gotta risk it. You can handle it. You're a jock.

Don't you remember that she said, I'm not into that these days?

Go for it, Captain Mak.

He called Kat.

“Hello.” Her voice was clear, high.

“It's Mike.”

“Mike.” She sounded glad.

“Ready to run?”

“Now?”

“I'll come right over.”

“You know where I live?”

He felt confident, strong, the Captain. “Forty-three Harrison.”

“How do you know?”

“I'm a stalker.”

She laughed. “Come around the back.”

“See you in fifteen.”

He was there in less than ten. He flew. He zoned into getting there fast. He didn't want to think about why her mood had changed. It had. Stay in the now.

He circled around to the back. It was one of those old mother-daughter houses. She had her own apartment with
her own entrance. Peeking through a window, he saw her standing at a mirror, her T-shirt pulled up. She was pinching a roll of flesh at her waist and shaking her head. He had never thought of her as being at all self-conscious about her body. She was beautiful, an athlete in great shape, full of confidence. He felt a rush of warmth. He knocked on her door.

“That was fast.”

“I ran.”

She pushed up the bill of his baseball cap and looked into his eyes. “Rough night?”

“Sort of.”

“How long you good for?”

“Try me.”

She set a slow and steady pace until they reached the trails that wound through the county park and up into the hills. She picked it up. Her knee seemed fine. So was his ankle. They ran single file. She never looked over her shoulder to see his mouth open and gasping for air, the sweat pooled around his eyes. His legs felt heavy. Booze always goes to your legs. They were halfway up the first hill trail when she said, “You okay?”

“You?”

She lengthened her stride. He watched her long pale legs churn like pistons, the muscles bunching in her calves. The
round cheeks of her firm, high butt rose and fell under her blue and gold running shorts. He wondered what they would feel like if he reached out and touched them. Sweat darkened her T-shirt between her shoulder blades. His own shirt was soaked. By the time they were at the top of the second hill he had lost any desire to touch her. He just wanted to keep up with her.

He spilled some water into his mouth and spit it out. Anything more on his stomach and he'd barf.

This is crazy, he thought. I'm a baseball player, not a runner. Drop back.

No way.

Tell her to slow down.

You kidding?

This some kind of macho thing?

Whatever.

He hurt all over. His hair hurt. His teeth ached. Billy said you have to know the difference between pain and injury. Pain is your body complaining. Maybe it's just tired, wants to quit. Injury is something wrong. You got to stop and take care of it.

He talked to himself. This is just pain, Mike. Hungover pain. Running faster than you're used to pain. Trying to impress a babe pain.

At least the ankle feels fine.

You can do it, Captain.

They reached the top of the last hill. He was pleased to see she was sweating and breathing hard, too. She bent over, hands on knees. She cocked her head at him. “Didn't think you'd make it.”

He smiled at her. “Nothing better to do.”

“I bet on you.”

They laughed and sat down on the soft earth.

It was cooler up here. A light breeze tickled and chilled the drops of sweat. He used his cap to wipe his face and neck. They drank water and stretched out.

“So what was the occasion for getting wasted last night? Or don't you guys need one.” She was gently teasing.

“How could you tell?” He rolled over on an elbow. She was on her back staring at the pale blue afternoon sky. Her hair was gathered under her baseball cap. Her neck was long and graceful. He wanted to touch it.

“Your eyes,” she said. “They're always so clear, white and light brown. Today they're red-rimmed and a little muddy.”

“I feel muddy,” he said. “I was elected captain of the baseball team last night.”

She sat up, smiled at him. “Congratulations.”

He took a breath. Got to get it out in the open. “I'm captain because they think I ratted out the Cyber Club.”

Her smile faded. “I know you didn't.” She looked so intense, serious, he wanted to reach out and touch her face. “You couldn't have.”

“You're the only one who doesn't think I did it. How come you're so sure?”

She hesitated. Watching her face, he thought she was about to say something, then swallowed those words and said something else. “You're a straight arrow.”

He sat up and faced her. “Straight arrow? Is that like a dumb jock?”

“Straight arrow is honest, steady, dependable. Good.”

Their knees almost touched. “Sounds boring.”

“Doesn't have to be,” she said.

They reached for each other at the same time.

The little apartment attached to the back of the house was neater than any of his friends' rooms, Mike realized, because there was was hardly anything in it. The pictures on the walls looked as if they had been bought by old people at a garage sale. Except for the purple laptop on an old rolltop desk and the red iPod in a dock on a nightstand alongside Kat's bed, there weren't too many clues that a high school kid lived here. None of the stuffed animals that gaped at you in Lori's room or the video games, dirty laundry, and sports equipment that littered the rooms that Andy and Ryan and he flopped in.

He looked at a tall black metal rack in one corner. He'd seen them before in a gym. You could hang upside down. “For your knee?”

“For my head,” she said. “You hungry?”

Behind a set of folding doors was a tiny kitchen. Refrigerator, stove, sink, some cabinets with dishes. Without
asking what he wanted, she started making sandwiches. He dropped into a black canvas sling chair. Hadn't seen one of these since his grandparents were alive.

“Who lives in this house?”

“My grandparents. My mom was raised in this house.
Her
grandparents lived in this apartment while she was growing up.”

“Your folks split?” He didn't usually ask so many questions, he realized. He was hungry for information about her.

“It's more complicated than that.” She seemed absorbed in slicing a tomato. “More than you want to know.”

“Hey, straight arrows want to know everything.” He thought he had said it comically but she turned sharply, her face tightening.

“Don't assume you own me because of what we did.” The Tigerbitch voice was taking over, low, cold, sharp.

“I don't assume anything. I just like being with you.” He realized he had never said that to Lori.

“What about your girlfriend. The twirler?”

“The one who deserves as much respect as the tubs of lard on the offensive line?”

Her face relaxed again. Her voice rose, warmed. “You my official biographer?”

“Job open?”

“Maybe.” She handed him a plate with a sandwich. It was
turkey on whole wheat bread with lettuce and tomato. He bit in hungrily. “'S good, thanks.”

She put a glass of orange juice on the floor next to his chair. He swallowed. “Pulp.”

“More nutrients.”

“That's what Mom says. Tastes like seaweed.”

“That's good, too.” She sat on her rolling desk chair and ate her sandwich. The music on her iPod speakers was familiar. Tiffany had blasted it constantly in her locked bedroom. Plenty of fights with Mom and Dad over that.

Kat caught him looking at the iPod. “Pink Floyd,” she said as if he should know. “
The Wall
.”

Scotty hated it, called it music for crazy girls. Mike didn't want to think about that. He watched Kat eat from the corners of his eyes, the way he tracked a fly ball in the sun. She wasn't pretty and perfect like Lori, the nose and chin too sharp, eyes close together, but his breathing stopped when he looked at her, the strong teeth tearing off chunks of sandwich, the small muscles along her jaw pumping under the smooth skin. She closed her eyes when she swallowed.

He got excited remembering them holding each other on top of the hill. She had set the pace for their sweaty slick bodies. With Lori, sex was quicker, driving to climax. With Kat it seemed as if they were trying not to let it end. She
seemed as sure of herself when she was making love as she did when she was running, older and more confident than she seemed now.

“Stop staring at me.” Her voice was tense.

“Sorry.” He looked down at his sandwich. “I can't help it.”

“I'm so beautiful, right?” she said sarcastically.

He took a deep breath. “To me you are.” Is that me talking?

She put the sandwich down and looked at him. He thought her eyes were gleaming. Tears? “You don't know anything about me.”

“Enough,” he said, “to know I care about you.”

“Don't start caring too much.” She looked away.

He felt she was slipping away from him. He thought about getting out of the chair, reaching for her, but he felt suddenly shy. Better wait for her to come back. At her pace. He realized he was afraid of her, at least afraid of upsetting her, changing her mood. He finished his sandwich and drained the orange juice. He leaned back in the chair, trying not to let his mind get lost in the music.

She finished her sandwich and turned toward him. Her eyes were dry. Steady.

“That rack?” She pointed at the black metal apparatus in the corner. “When I feel bad, I hang upside down like a bat.”

“That works?”

“Most of the time. When it doesn't, I have pills. Running used to do it for me. It got really bad when I had to stop.”

“You should come bike riding with me. That clears my head.” As soon as he said it he was sorry because he knew where she would take it.

“Unless someone tries to knock you off. We were just going to talk to you.” She looked down. “After he did it, I panicked and drove away.”

“You don't panic.”

“I'm always trying not to panic.” She looked at him. “Sometimes I think I'm holding on by my fingers.”

He struggled out of the sling chair and put his arms around her. “I can help you hold on.”

She squeezed him tight. “What's going to happen now?”

“I don't know about tomorrow,” he whispered into her ear, “but tonight's a movie night.” After he said it, he thought it made sense. Something kind of normal.

“What?” She pulled back and looked at him with a comical expression. “Movie night?”

“We could go to a movie.”

She smiled. “Like a date?”

“Straight arrows go on dates.”

“You can be funny, you know that?” Her voice had perked up. She pointed at the laptop. “I usually watch movies on that. Or edit what I've been shooting.”

“The Social Issues Project? Or the one you said you'll tell me about sometime?”

“The Billy Budd contest.” She looked happy.

“What?”

“That little speech you made at the senior center about center field? I edited it with some shots of you and Billy in center field and sent it in.”

“How could you do that?” He felt delighted and angry.

“It's easy with the software….”

“Without telling me?” The anger faded at the look of hurt in her eyes.

“I thought you'd like it. Then with everything that happened I forgot about it. I guess you didn't win.”

“Tomorrow night they announce the winner.” He felt icy prickles down his spine. This is my week.

“Wouldn't that be something,” she said. She wrapped her arms around him again. Something about the way she gripped him, he had the sense she was holding on.

When she released him, he said, “Show it to me.”

She shook her head. Now she looked shy. “I don't want to jinx it.”

“I'd like to see something you made.”

She smiled at that. “What about movie night?”

“We'll have it here. We'll get a pizza.”

She laughed. Her fingers started flying over the keyboard and the screen filled with faces.

In the dream Dad was shaking him awake Sunday morning, yelling, “How could you not tell us?” and Mike was struggling to remember what he hadn't told them.

No dream. Mom was right behind, smiling. “I'm so proud of you.”

“This is terrific, really terrific, Mike,” said Dad.

He remembered to cover himself before he sat up. “Terrific?”

“You kidding? Team captain? College sees that, you go to the top of the pile.”

“Dinner tonight,” said Mom. “I'm defrosting steaks.”

“If you want to come to the store, we could use…”

“Homework,” Mike said. “Getting behind, all the games.”

“Sure.”

He was disappointed at how easily Dad gave in. To the team captain.

Mom blew him a kiss at the door. “Breakfast's waiting for you. Gotta run.”

 

Ryan walked in before he finished eating. “Yo, Captain Mak.” Ryan poured himself a glass of orange juice, swallowed, and made a face. “Pulp.”

“More nutrients. Seaweed's good for you, too.”

“You're team captain, not team dietician.” He looked around. “Nobody home?”

“I'm home, dipshit.”

“Okay.” Ryan lowered his voice. “It's none of my business….” Ryan looked uncomfortable, his big open face twisted. Not like him, Mike thought, usually so direct. “Yeah, it's my business. You're my best friend. So. Guy in my fantasy league delivered an Everything Pie to Harrison Street and you came to the door and paid for it. Good tip. He saw a tall babe. Superbooty. I said, ‘No way,' but he knows you.”

“If it was a good tip it wasn't me.” He looked away and kept eating.

“C'mon, Mike, I'm trying to be your friend here. The twins were already pissed you invited Zack and Tigerbitch to their party. I had to lie like crazy for you last night. We all were going to Nearmont and when nobody could find you I said there was some more captain stuff you had to do.”

“Why'd you do that?”

“Cover your ass. Wouldn't you do that if I was slipping around on Tori?”

“Are you?”

He grinned. “I will if you'll cover my ass.”

“You tell them?”

“It always gets around.” The way he said it, Mike wondered if he had told Tori already. “What the hell are you doing? We've got a good thing going. How do you think you got home Friday night?”

He shrugged. He was tired of Ryan.

“Lori called Tori and me. We are your friends, man. Don't do this.”

“You finished?”

“Over and out.” Ryan slammed down the glass, stood up, glowered, then sat down and grinned. “So who was she?”

My best friend, thought Mike. I want to tell somebody. “Kat Herold.”

“Yeah, right. C'mon, you can tell me.”

“I just did.”

Ryan blinked. “Tigerbitch?”

“I don't think…”

“I guess she was a pussy for you.”

“We're done here,” said Mike. Just like the defense lawyers said it on
Law & Order
when the interrogation of their
clients got too hot. He stood up.

Ryan stood up just as quickly. “This is a big mistake.”

“Go twirl.”

Ryan was six-three, an inch taller and twenty pounds heavier, Mike thought, but I'm faster, probably stronger. Why am I processing this? He's my best friend. I haven't had a real fight with anybody since fifth grade. And I've never had a fight over a girl.

Ryan shrugged. “I'm not going to tell anybody. I've got your back, man. Like always.” He walked to the door, turned, and said, “But it's a big fucking mistake.”

Mike almost called out to him, to try to explain. He let him go. How could he explain what he didn't understand?

 

He shut off his cell and let the house phone ring. He barely moved for hours. Throughout the Yankee doubleheader, announcers teased the winner of the A Day With Billy contest. Stay tuned for the postgame show.

Once he would have creamed in his jeans thinking about the possibility of a day with Billy. Once? Just a little over three weeks ago. Not even a month since he pushed Zack. Now the best part of thinking about a day with Billy was that Kat had made the video. He felt warm and happy thinking about her. Yesterday was the best day of his life.

He'd enjoyed watching her short films. She was good.
Some of them were dazzlingly bright, skateboarders and old folks and computer geeks telling their stories over upbeat tunes. Others were dark, almost mysterious, shadows in graveyards and hospital corridors. He wondered how she felt when she shot each one, but he didn't ask. She showed him a rough edit of a series she was doing called A Year in the Life of Ridgedale High, a lot of quick cuts of kids and teachers in action, Dr. Ching at the laser board with a math problem, Coach Cody's hand signals, even Tori filing in the front office.

After they had watched for a while and eaten the pizza, he had reached for her. She pushed him away, shaking her head. “It's not like that.”

“Like what?” He felt more confused than hurt.

“On demand. This afternoon was special. This would be just…routine.”

There was something about that he could understand, even appreciate. When he kissed her cheek, she grabbed him and kissed his lips, hard.

He drifted in and out of the game. He had barely slept last night. He dozed through several at bats at a time. Billy was having an okay day, nothing special. Billy seemed to save his best days for the postseason, when it counted, when everybody was watching. The Yankees won the first game and were ahead in the second when Mom came home. He
felt lonely and disconnected. When the cat ran upstairs sensing food, he trudged after her.

Mom was in the kitchen. “Dad'll be home soon.” She peered at him. “Everything okay? Captain, sir.”

“Just a little tired.”

“When did you get home last night?”

“Really late.”

“I thought the Burkises had a curfew during the girls' competition season.” She laughed, then stopped as she looked at him. “You weren't out with Lori.”

He wanted to talk about Kat. “Remember the varsity dinner last year? The girl who won the female sophomore of the year award?”

“Striking girl. Almost as tall as you.”

“Her name's Katherine Herold. They call her Kat.”

“Did you and Lori break up?”

Mistake. Would have done better emailing Catchergrrl or EmoBaller on the Buddsite than starting up with Mom. “No.”

“Does she know about this?”

“Maybe.”

“But not from you.”

“No.”

“You're my son, Mike, I'll always stand by you, but this isn't right. People deserve to know where they stand in a
relationship. Are you going to break up with Lori?”

“I don't know what I'm going to do.” He took a breath and thought
BillyBudd
three times. “But I know next time I'm not going to talk to you about it.” He went back downstairs.

The second game was almost over. The Yankees were holding their lead. He waited until he heard his father's heavy steps in the kitchen before he came back up. He could tell they'd been talking.

Mom turned her back on Mike and Dad winked at him. “Mike's got to work this out for himself, Sharon. We can't meddle in his love life.”

“It's not love life, Scott, it's life. It's about being a decent human being.”

When the phone rang, Mom snatched it up. She said something sharp and hung up with a clack. “Don't you have your cell on, Mike? One of your friends.”

“Who was it?”

“Who knows? Said he was calling for Billy Budd.”

The phone rang again. Without thinking, Mike reached across her and picked it up. “Hello.”

“Michael Semak? Ridgedale High School?”

“Yeah?”

“Dave Petry here. I work with Billy Budd. He wants you to come to the Stadium on Thursday, about noon.”

It sounded like a joke but the voice was unfamiliar. All he could think of to say was, “I have school.”

“I think they'll give you a day off for this. You've won the contest, Mike. A Day With Billy.” He kept talking, but now it sounded like an echo from a distance.

Petry said that there would be another call from the Yankee public relations department and an email with instructions. He would be picked up at home on Thursday morning. He could bring one friend. Congratulations.

Mom and Dad were staring at him. He put down the receiver. “You're not going to believe this,” he said.