Best of the Best Page 3

  “Uh, not really,” his dad said without taking his eyes from the road. “Diane’s son is on it, I guess.”

  “Which son?” Josh asked.

  “She’s only got one,” his dad said, shucking a stick of cinnamon gum from its wrapper and stuffing it into his mouth. “Marcus, I think his name is. I haven’t met him.”

  “Not Zamboni?”

  His dad chuckled and said, “I think that’s the name his father gave him, but Diane calls him Marcus. That’s his middle name, but I wouldn’t call him Zamboni around her. She’s a really nice person, but she’s been through a lot.”

  “Why? You think I’ll be around her?” Josh tried to keep the panic out of his voice.

  “She’s just a friend, Josh,” his father said. “But she’s been helping me look for a house. We can afford it now, and it’s time to get out of the city. The schools are better in the suburbs.”

  “I like my school,” Josh said, not wanting anything to do with moving, especially if it meant his father was going to be with Diane. He remembered Diane saying she and his father had a “real thing” between them, and couldn’t help wondering if this was what it all meant. Still, he was unable to bring himself to ask, partly because he felt embarrassed and partly because he was afraid of the answer.

  “Yeah, well, you’ll like this even better,” his dad said. “A man’s got to move up in life, Josh. You either go forward or sink backward. You never stay the same. That’s life. Your mom, she only wants to stay the same, but it’s not possible. And I’m not going backward. I fought for the past twelve years of my life to live a dream I couldn’t quite reach. I hope that never happens to you, Josh. I’ve come to terms with it, and it’s time for me to go in a new direction. This time, I’m not going to flounder around.”

  His father pulled the car into the lot outside the batting cages. Most of Josh’s Titans teammates were already there, gathered in a loose cluster around a bench, each with his own bat bag. His father turned off the car and took the keys from the ignition. Josh wondered if, when his dad talked about moving up in life, he had been talking about buying a house or changing his wife. He put a hand on his father’s arm and looked up at him.

  “Dad,” he said, “you can tell me. Are you and Mom getting a divorce?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HIS FATHER’S LUNGS FILLED and emptied like metal tanks. Finally he jingled the keys and said, “Not now, Josh. The team is waiting. After practice, we’ll talk. I promise.”

  Before Josh could protest, his father pulled his arm free and got out. Josh followed, listening as his dad barked at the team, getting everyone into action at the appropriate stations. Coach Moose did a ball toss drill outside the cages, and that’s where Josh began, waiting with Benji while their classmate Kerry Eschelman swung away.

  While they stood taking warm-up swings, Josh got to tell Benji all about the all-star team and his plan to get Benji on along with him.

  “The best of the best,” Benji said, whistling dreamily. “Man, I can see that happening. It’s where we belong, really. Wow. This’ll be great, Josh.”

  “Yeah, I just hope they’re okay with you on it.”

  “Dude, I am so far better than most of the guys in that league,” Benji said, tilting his ball cap back on his head. “I’m a Titan, a national champ. Are you kidding? They want to win the World Series, they need a heavy hitter like me. That’s a fact. Think about every World Series. You just don’t win the big show without a heavy hitter.”

  “No,” Josh said, “I meant because of the eligibility. Remember when you took that trip with your dad? My dad said you have to have played in half the games to qualify. Those are the rules.”

  Benji’s face fell. “I made half, don’t you think?”

  “I hope so,” Josh said. “If it’s you and me, this thing could be fun.”

  Benji was up, then Josh took his turn before continuing on the team’s circuit, working down the line of cages on his own, until over an hour later, he finally came to the cage where his dad watched and made adjustments with his players. As he stepped inside the cage, Diane suddenly appeared beside his father. His father grinned from ear to ear. Diane tickled him and his father laughed and gave her a playful shrug. Josh’s ears burned. He turned away and stepped into position. He thought he heard his father say the word “sweetie,” which made him sick.

  When his father told him to get started, Josh didn’t even look back at him. The balls fired at him weren’t even close to the ninety-mile-an-hour pitches Josh had hit the night he met Diane, but he could barely see them now. Just the sound of their voices seemed to blur Josh’s vision. He swung and missed, over and over, until his father finally noticed.

  “Get the weight off that front foot,” his father said.

  Josh tried to do what he said but missed the next two pitches. In his mind, he could see Diane watching him. He wanted to scream.

  “You’re not snapping your wrists,” his father said. “Focus on your wrists.”

  Josh nicked one pitch, missed another, and dribbled the rest.

  “Let’s go, LeBlanc,” Josh’s dad growled. “Get your head into it. No, don’t you go anywhere. You stay here and hit twenty more.”

  Josh heard a giggle. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Diane walking away. Josh gripped the bat so hard his knuckles turned blue, fighting the urge to hurl it at her.

  His father was strict as a dad, but even tougher as a coach. Josh got a full dose of both, partly because it was his dad’s nature, and partly, Josh suspected, to show the team that his dad didn’t play favorites. But what had just happened had nothing to do with any of that. Josh felt certain that it was about his father acting like a big shot for Diane.

  The rest of the team had finished at the other stations, and they clustered outside the cage. Josh tried to focus, but his head was swirling with hatred and rage. After a minute, his father stepped into the cage and tweaked the machine so that the rubber wheels that spit the balls spun faster. The pitches came, red hot, and Josh swung wild, either missing or nicking the ball ineffectively.

  “That stinks.” His father snapped off the machine. “And don’t give me that look. You’re distracted? Mind on other things? You want to play in the majors? It’s a hundred and sixty-two games a season, and believe me, there’ll be distractions all over the board.

  “Focus,” his father said, pointing at his own eye. “The ones who can’t focus, can’t play. Go on, get out.”

  His father raised his voice to the rest of the team. “Okay, you guys. Good work. You’ve got tomorrow off, but I want everyone ready to go Monday at nine at our field. Full practice, lunch, then another full practice. We need it.”

  Josh stuffed his bat and gloves into his bag and left the cage while his father picked up the balls himself. Josh’s teammates scattered, making their way to their rides in the parking lot. They shied away from Josh, and he knew they felt embarrassed for him. Only Benji remained.

  “Dude,” Benji said, “that was awful. What happened to you?”

  “Thanks,” Josh said under his breath. “Some friend.”

  “What? Friends are honest, right?”

  “Sometimes they look at the bright side,” Josh said.

  “Dude, the only bright spot was you leaving the cage. Come on, don’t take it so hard. It’s good for everyone else’s confidence to see that even the great Josh LeBlanc can have a bad day, too.”

  “Not according to him,” Josh said, angling his head.

  “Aw,” Benji said, swatting air. “Man’s a pussycat.”

  “What’d you say, Mr. Lido?” Josh’s dad squinted at Benji as he left the cage.

  “Talking about my cat, Coach,” Benji said, beaming at Josh’s dad.

  “When did you get a cat, Benji?” Josh’s dad asked.

  “Well, it’s really…uh…the neighbors’ cat,” Benji said, “but we kind of adopted him. You know my mom, feeding him all the time and letting him in the back. He poops on our bathroom floor, th
ough. My mom says he’s trained ’cause he goes in the bathroom, but I say, ‘Ma, that is not trained.’”

  Josh’s father nodded silently, slung the bag of balls over his shoulder, and headed for the silver Taurus. Josh and Benji climbed in.

  “So, you think they’ll let me play, too, Coach?” Benji asked, hanging his hands over the back of the front seat. “I mean, obviously I’m one of the top players, heavy hitter and all that.”

  Josh’s dad glanced in the rearview mirror. “If you had enough games, they will. I can’t keep straight who went to what game. It was baseball every day of the week is all I know, between our practices and tournaments and the Little League games, but didn’t you miss an extra game that one time you went with your dad to Niagara Falls? It was Memorial Day, I think.”

  “Best wax museum on the planet,” Benji said. “I showed you guys the picture of me and my dad with Elvis, right?”

  “Right,” Josh’s dad said. “Which is what I’m concerned about. But we’ll see.”

  Coach Q lived in a small red box of a house down a shady side street in Lyncourt. His son, Vito, was on the front lawn playing catch with a kid Josh didn’t recognize. It wasn’t until they pulled in that Josh saw the white Audi convertible in the driveway tucked up next to the house. Panic boiled up in Josh’s stomach, and he looked with wonder at his father.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “IS THAT DIANE’S?” JOSH asked before he could contain the question.

  “You mean Ms. Cross?” his dad said.

  “Right,” Josh said.

  “She’s the Little League secretary,” his dad said. “We need an officer of the league to sign off on the score-book rosters. That’s if Benji has played enough games.”

  Josh nodded and got out. Together they walked to the front step. From the yard, Vito Quatropanni shouted hello. They both knew him from playing on the Delmonico Insurance team together. Vito was short and muscular with olive skin and quick, powerful movements. He could hit and played catcher as well as anyone in the league. Even though his dad was the coach, Vito certainly deserved to be on the all-star team.

  The other kid was tall and lanky with sandy blond hair that hung like a mop from beneath his own cap. He turned and, when he saw Josh’s dad wasn’t looking, stuck a finger in his nose and made a flicking motion toward the driveway. Something flew through the air and landed on the edge of the blacktop. Josh narrowed his eyes at the booger that lay like a jagged meteorite. The kid grinned and went back to his catch.

  Benji burst out in a laughing groan. “Dude, that’s Guinness Book of World Records material.”

  The kid winked at Benji and gave him a thumbs-up. Benji kept chuckling until Josh nudged him in the ribs.

  “Dude? What’s that about?” Benji asked.

  “What are you laughing at? That was disgusting,” Josh said, twisting up his face.

  “Take it easy,” Benji said. “Gross can be very funny. I still remember when Fletcher Smith puked in Mrs. Malochy’s chair in third grade. Remember? She sat down before she smelled it, slipped right off her chair and onto the floor, and then she puked all over Gretchen Carabinno’s new red shoes. Stuff like that makes up the bright spots in life.”

  Josh just shook his head.

  Coach Q answered the bell and led them into a small living room, scratching the tufts of hair surrounding his bald head. Beyond the living room, in a tiny kitchen, Diane Cross sat at the square table with her big red purse, a stack of score books, a calculator, and some scraps of paper she had scribbled numbers upon. When she got up, she greeted Josh’s dad like a simpering schoolgirl, taking both his hands in her own before kissing him on the cheek. Josh looked away, his face hot with embarrassment. Benji stared with a mouth wide as a largemouth bass’s.

  “So you’re Benji. I’m Diane Cross.” She held out her hand. “Josh’s father’s friend.”

  “Right,” Josh said. “The house saleslady.”

  “Real estate agent,” Josh’s father said.

  Josh’s blood went cold. His father gazed at Diane with an expression so silly that it reminded Josh of someone who’d been hit by a pitch.

  “Hey, guys.” Diane turned her smile from Josh’s father to them before her attention shifted back to her calculations. “Your father told me it’s important that both of you play on the all-stars and I said, ‘Of course.’ We all know how important team chemistry is, right? Speaking of chemistry, I can’t wait until you meet my son. He’s an awesome player, and I know you’ll all be friends. Everyone loves him.”

  “I’d say we all got kind of lucky on this,” Coach Q said. “The only reason there’s room on the roster is because Chris Harrigan and Johnny Sindoni are going on some Rotary exchange. Everyone was supposed to make a commitment for the whole summer. The truth is, I don’t think they thought we’d make it to Albany.”

  “Harrigan and Sindoni?” Benji said. “Imagine how much better your team’s gonna be with us on it instead of them. I can see why they didn’t think you’d make it to Albany.”

  Josh stared at him.

  “What?” Benji said. “I’m just saying.”

  Diane held up a sheet of paper with numbers. “All that doesn’t really matter, does it? Like I said, it all comes down to the numbers, and I’m the one who’s got them.

  “Right here.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “TWENTY-THREE GAMES IN ALL,” Diane said, running her pen down a column of numbers, “including our playoffs. So, you needed twelve. And…you’ve got twelve!”

  “Wahoo!” Benji slapped Josh a high five.

  “Yes,” Josh said, the thrill of having his best friend to travel with overcoming his anxiety for a moment.

  “I’ll just sign these,” Diane said, rifling through the score book and adding her signature to the spots where Benji’s name appeared on the roster. Diane slapped the book shut and patted it before rising from the table.

  “Okay, Coach,” she said. “You got yourself another all-star.”

  “You got more than an all-star,” Benji said, slapping the coach on his back. “Coach, you got yourself a heavy hitter now.”

  “You don’t call Josh a heavy hitter?” Coach Q raised a furry eyebrow.

  “Well, he is,” Benji said, “but Josh is all about skill, too. When he’s not blasting one over the fence, he can put it in the hole or dribble a bunt down the third-base line. With me, it’s all or nothing, Coach. I’m as heavy as they come.”

  Coach Q chuckled and informed them that they’d be hitting the road first thing Monday morning.

  “We’ll meet at Grant Middle at seven-thirty,” Coach Q said. “As long as we keep winning, we’ll be in Albany for the sectional finals all week, so pack for five days. After Albany—presuming we can beat everybody there—we’ll go to New Jersey for the regional finals. If we win in the regionals, it’s hello, Williamsport, and the World Series.”

  “Who else is in this show?” Benji asked. “We got some pitchers, right?”

  “You got Niko Fedchenko,” Coach Q said, “and the Fries brothers, Callan and Camren.”

  Benji whistled. “Not bad, Coach. You done good.”

  “And Marcus! Marcus in left field,” Diane said, looking eagerly at Josh’s dad. “He really came into his own this season. It’s really amazing.”

  “Marcus is a fine player,” Josh’s dad said, nodding and grinning at Diane, who just about melted at his words.

  Josh nudged Benji and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

  He and Benji left the adults to talk. Outside, Vito and his buddy were nowhere to be seen.

  “Hopefully that kid with the booger was just from the neighborhood,” Benji said, looking around, “and not on our all-star team.”

  “Yeah, but you know what my dad says,” Josh said. “A team isn’t a social club, Benji. Sometimes you have to come together as a team with people you wouldn’t normally be friends with. That’s how you win. That’s baseball.”

  “Team, shmeam. You and me are the fr
anchise. How many other teams in this shindig you think will have two national champs on their roster? About zilch.”

  “Benji,” Josh said. “I know you like to kid around, but seriously, you know as well as me that you gotta have a complete team to get to the World Series.”

  “Good thing I had enough games,” Benji said. “How about that? We were all worried for nothing.”

  “It wasn’t nothing,” Josh said. “I only made it by one game, and you missed that Memorial Day weekend game. You didn’t tell me you played a game that I wasn’t at.”

  “Dude,” Benji said. “I never played when you weren’t there.”

  “But she said you had twelve.” Josh’s words trailed off. “She must have made a mistake.”

  He reached for the doorknob.

  “Dude,” Benji said, grabbing Josh’s wrist, “are you nuts? Leave it alone. I’m on the team, right? Her mistake is our chance to play in the World Series.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Dude, the only butt is your face,” Benji said. “Cut it out. She said I’ve got enough to play, just leave it alone. If it’s an honest mistake, who cares? That’s life. Look at Cinderella.”

  “Cinderella?”

  “Yeah, she drops the glass slipper, right? Big mistake. But if she doesn’t drop that sucker, she’s sweepin’ ashes for the rest of her life. Get it?”

  “But I think Diane did it on purpose, Benji,” Josh said. “I mean, of course I want you to play. I told my dad I wasn’t doing it without you.”

  “Which is probably why she did it,” Benji said. “She wants the heavy hitters on the team so her ice-machine son can win a trophy. I can’t blame her.”

  The door opened and Josh’s dad almost knocked them over.

  “You guys ready?” he asked. “Let’s go.”

  Josh said nothing more about it. They dropped Benji off at his mom’s and went home. Josh couldn’t remember a more bizarre day in his life. He had so many questions, so many concerns, but one overpowered them all. Josh’s dad pulled into the garage and cut the motor.