Force Out (4 page)

Joey could barely remember, but he thought he did recall his mom giving him something on that trip. It had been miserable. They got diverted on one flight and missed another when they changed planes. They spent most of one night in the LA airport with Martin wailing hysterically and everyone staring at them, then flew all day to get to Hawaii, only to sleep all day when they got there. Except Joey. He was so wound up, he couldn't sleep.

“Yes, you gave it to him. You gave him some Valium to sleep. He couldn't sleep. He was totally wiped out. We all were. He was miserable, and you didn't want to ruin the vacation for him or any of us. You set a
precedent
, Marsha. A precedent that when it's an extreme case, it's
okay
to use a Valium to get to sleep. And it's
okay
to use someone else's prescription medicine. And I'm sure that you—being a police officer—allowing him to do this, made it okay in his mind.”

“But
I
gave it to him. That's different.”

Joey's dad stroked his chin. “It is different. Yes. But the fact remains that the precedent was set and you—or I—never told him, ‘Joey, this is something that's okay only when
we
give it to you.' We never said that.”

“It's
implied
.”

Joey's dad crossed the kitchen and put his hand on her shoulder. “Honey, it's the championship. He's nervous about it. He was exhausted and desperate and the only other time he was like that before,
we
gave him a Valium. Please, let it go.”

Joey studied his mother's hardened face.

Her shoulders relaxed. She didn't smile, but her lips disappeared and her mouth became a flat line before she spoke. “Okay. I get it. You're right.”

Joey's dad hugged her and kissed her forehead. “You're the best cop I ever met.”

“Of course I am,” she said. “Go on, Joseph. Get dressed and let's get you to the ball game.”

Joey was careful not to whoop with joy because he sensed the delicacy of the truce between his parents. It wasn't often that his mom backed down, and he'd never seen her reverse a punishment. It made him giddy and his feet seemed to float above the carpet as he scooted around the corner and up the stairs to get ready.

They drove to the ball field together, Joey riding in the back of his dad's Jeep with Martin strapped down in his car seat. The sun had burned off the early morning fog, washing everything in its golden glow. High, puffy clouds dodged about the blue field in a breeze so weak the flag hung limp on its pole beside the scoreboard. Half of Joey's Blue Jays team was already there, tossing balls back and forth in front of their dugout. Joey narrowed his eyes as he climbed out of the Jeep and saw Zach unloading his bat bag in front of the bench.

“Good luck.” Joey's father held out a hand and they shook before Joey headed for his team.

Zach leaned his bat inside the dugout wall and turned to see Joey. Zach hugged him and messed his hair, knocking off his hat.

“Take it easy.” Joey looked around.

“How good is this? Me being here? And I owe it all to you. Our whole team owes you.” Zach turned to shout to the rest of the team. “Hey, guys—”

Joey grabbed Zach by the shoulders and spun him around. A couple of teammates peered curiously but went back to warming up.

“Stop that. Keep it down. Act normal. I almost got grounded.” Joey leaned close and whispered the story about his mom and the pill.

“That's how you shut down Kratz's crazy mutt?” Zach's eyes widened. “Man, you are so smooth. That is so
bad
. You're my hero, bro.”

“Shh. Just stop. Let's get out there. We can talk out on the field.” Joey dumped his bat bag in the dugout and began to arrange his equipment the way he liked it, bat leaning in his lucky corner, batting glove hanging over the edge of the dugout, and the helmet he liked on the spot at the end of the bench where he always sat.

“Hey, Coach Cooper.” Zach nodded at the assistant coach.

Joey said hello, too, while he wormed his hand into his glove, and then they took the field.

“Now,” Zach said before they reached the pitcher's mound, “stop right here and I want you to look into the stands, because one good turn deserves another. I'm like that, you know, and so . . . I have a monster surprise for you. Go ahead, turn and look.”

Zach pointed up into the stands.

Joey turned and couldn't believe what he saw.

If there was anything that rivaled baseball in Joey's heart, he would have to admit that it was Leah McClosky. Her hair, dark as licorice, fell like silk around her pale face with its elfin features: almond eyes, small pink lips, and an upturned nose. Leah was as nice as she was pretty. Everyone wanted to be near her, no one more than Joey. He lost his breath when he saw her sitting there with a friend directly behind Zach's and his parents, talking and smiling and looking even more delicate than normal so close to Joey's Viking warrior of a mom.

“Bro, why is she here?” Joey asked the question without taking his eyes off her.

“What are best friends for?” Zach put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I told her how big this was for us—you know, if we win, we're both a lock for the all-star team—and that if she came, I knew it would help me but especially you—”

“You said that?” Joey interrupted.

“Well, it's true, isn't it?”

Joey didn't reply.

“And so . . . here she is. I guess she cares, right?”

Joey turned his attention to his best friend. “You think?”

Zach wagged his eyebrows. “She's here, isn't she?”

Joey looked again, as if he didn't trust his eyes the first time. Leah made the exhaustion from last night slip from his shoulders like a satin cape. His heart seemed to grow two sizes in his chest, and an eager current ran through his limbs so that his hand trembled ever so slightly as he removed the ball from his glove.

“Boys.”

Joey was so distracted that Coach Barrett had snuck right up on them without even trying. Coach Barrett was a tall, thin man whose dark beard and mustache circled his mouth. His son, Butch, played second base. Butch wasn't very good, even though he acted like he was. He was nearly as tall as Joey, but skinny like his dad, and he had a big head of long dark hair that he feathered back to the sides like a rock star from the 1980s.

“Hey,” Coach Barrett said, “Zach? Your mom said you had that field trip.”

“They canceled it, Coach.”

“Canceled? Wow. You just made my day. What happened?”

“Mr. Kratz ran out of gas.” Joey laughed, unable to contain his delight at having succeeded.

Coach Barrett gave Joey a funny look. “You weren't going on that field trip, were you, Joey?”

“No, no,” Joey said. “I just . . .”

Coach Barrett waited for him to finish, then looked over at the other team. “I didn't know if we were gonna be able to take these guys without you, Zach. We're gonna need your hitting, and Joey can't pitch the whole game.”

The Blue Jays didn't have any real pitchers. Joey considered himself a first baseman—that's where he planned to play in the pros—and Zach was the shortstop. But, because they had the two strongest arms on the team, they were also the top two pitchers.

“The Pirates?” Zach barely contained a laugh. “Coach, we beat them ten to three.”

“Yeah, three weeks ago, but Price is back.”

“Cole Price?” Joey looked over at the other team, warming up outside their dugout. Cole Price lived in the next town over and didn't go to the same school as Joey and Zach, but Joey still knew who he was. “He broke his hand.”

“He got the cast off two weeks ago.” Coach Barrett nodded at the other team. “He's back, so you guys get warmed up good.”

Zach whispered to Joey on their way to their positions on the field. “Man, just think now how good it is that your plan last night worked.”

Joey stayed on the pitching mound, where he would start the game, and Zach took his spot at shortstop. Coach Barrett peppered the ball around the infield while Coach Cooper warmed up the Blue Jays' outfielders.

From second base, Butch Barrett shouted encouragement to the rest of the team.

“Come on, guys! We got to
focus
! This is the championship game!”

Joey looked at Zach and rolled his eyes. Zach covered his mouth to hide a laugh, shaking his head.

When Joey fumbled a grounder, Butch Barrett yelled, “Come on, Riordon. Be sharp!”

Joey flashed him a look of disgust as he made the throw to first. He wanted to tell Butch Barrett to stuff it, but he'd contained himself all season long and now wasn't the time to start trouble. He'd had enough trouble already for one day.

When they finished warming up, the team went through a quick set of hitting drills outside the baseline while the Pirates had the field. They still had time before the game began to sit in the dugout and study the Pirates, especially Price, whose pitches hit the catcher's mitt like gunshots.

“See that?” Zach pointed at the pitcher. “Price's got a curveball
and
a fastball.”

“And that's some fast fastball.” Joey kept his eyes glued on their lanky opponent whose big, hooked nose made him look like some prehistoric bird.

The ump bellied up to the plate, and the Pirates streamed toward their dugout for a chant. Coach Barrett brought the Blue Jays together in the dugout for their own chant and a team break. Everyone put his hand into the middle. They all shouted “win,” and while most of the team took their seats in the dugout, the top of the order started warming up for real. Zach was the leadoff batter and he swung at the air. Joey batted cleanup, so he had more time. He put a weighted donut on his bat so that when he removed it, it would feel light and fast.

Price stood on the mound and ripped three fastballs down the pipe before the ump called for the batter.

With a helmet slightly tilted on his head, Zach scuffed up little clouds of dirt as he approached the plate, dragging his feet, to begin the game. Zach looked out at Cole Price, the feared sixth grade pitcher, as if he were bored. He actually yawned before he stepped into the box and gave one final warm-up swing.

Just as Price went into his windup, Zach's body coiled and shook like a little beagle ready to spring on a rabbit.

SMACK.

Zach ripped a line drive right through the hole between first and second. Like a blur, he rounded first. Only an exceptional throw by the right fielder kept him at second base, bouncing up and down on the bag like a pogo stick.

“Atta boy, Zach!” Coach Barrett hollered as his team cheered. “That's how to start it off!”

The next two batters—one of them Butch Barrett—went down swinging. Price threw heat like none of them had seen all season long.

Joey didn't have time to gloat over Butch Barrett's whiff. He swung his bat a few times more, unable to stop from thinking about his bad dream. He tried to clear his mind because this is something he should be looking forward to, and he knew it. He glanced up at Leah in the stands, then at his best friend on second. It was the championship game. He was a power hitter up against a fastball pitcher. It was perfect, but still, he gritted his teeth as he stepped into the box.

“You got this, buddy!” Zach bounced on second and held up a
V
. “
V
for victory!”

Joey went down swinging on a 1–2 count. He cursed to himself as he stomped back to the dugout to get his glove and take the field.

“Come on, Joey, head up.” Coach Barrett wore a look of concern. “Next time.”

“It happens.” Butch Barrett patted Joey on the shoulder on his way out of the dugout.

Joey wanted to spit. He headed toward the mound, trying to forget about Price, but that wasn't going to happen. It was Price who swung his bat in the warm-up circle, getting ready to lead off. Joey took the mound, thinking about how he wasn't even a true pitcher, he was a first baseman, and wondering why Coach put the pressure on him to start the game instead of Zach, even though he knew the answer.

Joey's arm, like the rest of him, was big. He could throw fast and hard, and that's how he went after batters. He'd never been able to develop any other kind of reliable pitch. Most of the kids in their league feared his arm, but the ones with real skill—the ones who could connect—could knock his pitches over the fence.

That's what Price did.

Bang.

Second pitch.

Over the fence, and just like that the Blue Jays were down 1–0.

“Come on, Joey. Focus.” Butch Barrett's voice rang out clearly, but Joey wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of even turning around.

The rest of the Pirates didn't fare as well against Joey's arm. The cleanup batter, a kid named Wells, nearly got on. He protected the plate, nicking foul balls on a 3–2 count that cost Joey ten pitches before he struck him out.

They changed sides with Coach Barrett slapping Joey on the back and telling him what a good job he did. He didn't spend long in the dugout. Price put the Blue Jays next three batters down, but then Joey did the same to the Pirates. The third inning began with a single, then three more strikeouts for Price.

Since the Blue Jays would start the next inning at the top of the order, Joey had an added incentive to focus on his pitching. He wanted revenge at the plate. He sat the first two Pirates down before he felt it.

A twinge in his arm signaled that it was about to fade. He knew what would happen next. It was always the same. It felt like a little toothache in his elbow. Once it started, there was no turning it back, and, once it happened, his pitching quickly fell apart.

Joey signaled Coach Barrett to take a time-out and come to the edge of the mound.

“My arm's going, Coach.”