Baseball Genius Read online

  Jalen had been at the public library, using the computer to do research for a Revolutionary War project, when a bad burrito from the school lunch had taken its revenge. With sudden and vicious cramps twisting his gut, Jalen dashed for the single men’s bathroom only to find it was locked. He knew there was another downstairs on the other side of the library, but Jalen doubted he could make it there without an accident.

  He knocked and begged for entrance, only to hear a dull “It’s being used” through the thick wooden door. Jalen strained his ears for sounds of a flush or something, hand washing, anything that would give him hope as he danced from one foot to the other. Suffering terribly, he began to calculate the odds of a wild dash downstairs when the door to the ladies’ room across the hall swung open, and there stood the prettiest girl Jalen had ever seen. He was so tormented by the burrito that he didn’t have enough pride to be embarrassed. She gave him a knowing look and wasted no time grabbing Jalen by the arm and steering him right into the ladies’ room, where, before closing the door in his face, she told him, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep a lookout.”

  Jalen didn’t need any more of an invitation, and a true disaster was averted. Afterward, he had realized he was trapped. He had no way of exiting without coming face-to-face with the pretty girl. He wanted to melt, but the horror of being in the ladies’ room hadn’t allowed him time to pause, and only a few moments later—after a thorough hand washing—he emerged with what he knew from the mirror was a cherry-red face.

  “Uh . . . thanks.”

  “I’ve got an older brother,” she said, then nodded at his T-shirt, “and us Yankees fans gotta stick together, through thick and thin.”

  Jalen looked proudly at the big NY letters on his chest. “Yeah. True.” His eyes went to the LADIES sign on the door. “Pretty horrifying.”

  The pretty girl waved her hand. “Aww, you’ve been there before.”

  “No.” Jalen was horrified.

  “Sure,” she said. “I mean when you were little. Moms take their kids in there all the time. No big deal.”

  Jalen stared at her for a moment. “No.”

  She laughed. “Don’t lie.”

  She sounded like she was kidding, but the explanation just sprang from Jalen. “No, I don’t have a mom.”

  “Oh.” The girl’s face fell, then brightened. “Hey, I don’t have a dad. I mean, I have a stepdad, but trust me, no way does he count.”

  Jalen had no answer for that.

  “Name’s Catrina.” She stuck out her hand, chomping on gum that had filled the air with peppermint. “But I like ‘Cat.’ ”

  • • •

  In the brief instant before Chris Gamble grabbed two fistfuls of Jalen’s shirt and shoved him into the lockers, that was what Jalen thought of: Cat, saving him.

  Chris breathed something rotten through his fat lips into Jalen’s face. The rancid odor caused him to blink, and when he opened his eyes, there she was.

  Cat was tapping Chris on the shoulder. “Hi, Chris. What’s wrong?” She spoke in a sweet, sisterly tone of genuine concern, piercing the boy ogre’s rage.

  Chris’s eyebrows went up, and he turned his attention to Cat, although his grip didn’t lessen in any way. Jalen still felt his toes dancing in the air and the metal vents of the locker scraping the knobs of his spine.

  “Jokers is what’s up.” Chris snarled. “Jokers looking to get their teeth bashed in.”

  “Don’t do that,” said Cat. “You’ve got your last regular season game tonight. You don’t want to mess that up. You gotta get used to jealousy, Chris. When you’re a major league pitcher, people are going to be taking potshots at you all the time.”

  Chris’s face softened. Cat knew right where his underbelly was and just how to scratch it. With her big eyes, long, straight nose, and high cheekbones, she was so pretty it didn’t matter that her bulky sweatshirt was grass-stained and her jeans were torn at the knees. It almost made her prettier, like a flower bursting with color from a tangle of thistles and weeds.

  “Yeah.” Chris nodded and replanted Jalen against the lockers with a shove before letting go. “I know. You’re right. Can’t let the little rodents drag you down. Heh-heh.”

  “Come on.” Cat angled her head down the hall. “You going to homeroom? Let’s walk.”

  Chris turned to go; then, under his breath so no one else could hear, he threw one last punch. “You mutt.”

  And just like that, Chris was gone, lumbering along beside her, talking box scores from last night’s games.

  Jalen knew what Chris meant by the word “mutt.” With most people it would mean you were a dog, and not in a good way. With Jalen, it meant he was biracial, half white and half black.

  He clenched his fists and coiled his legs, preparing to launch himself at the other boy. He could strike him hard and fast, maybe even get in a knockdown punch, maybe even win the fight.

  11

  JALEN PAUSED AND THOUGHT ABOUT the potential consequences of his actions.

  He huffed and unclenched his hands. He dusted his shirt off and picked up his tumbled books.

  “Here, let me help.” Daniel picked up a notebook, still snickering over the success of his prank.

  “Thanks a lot.” Jalen ignored all the stares, and people began to filter toward their homerooms.

  “I was gonna save you.” Daniel’s eyes sparkled.

  “You and what army?”

  “I was getting ready to chop him right in the fat part of his neck. Right here.” Daniel pointed to a vulnerable spot between his own vertebrae. “One chop and they go down like a ton of bricks.”

  “This isn’t the dojo.” Jalen had all his books now, and he turned to go.

  “Martial arts is for real. Don’t test the will of kung fu.”

  “What does that even mean?” Jalen dismissed his friend with a wave of his hand.

  He didn’t see Cat until fourth period in science class, but when he did, she was all smiles. The three friends sat on stools along one side of a lab table waiting for their teacher.

  “I hope you didn’t have to invite Chris to your birthday party Saturday night.” Jalen grinned. “That would be torture.”

  “He’s not that bad, Jalen,” she said.

  Jalen made a face. “Ugh, those moles on his cheek?”

  “He kind of reminds me of my brother, Austin,” she said. “He’ll be coming home from college soon.”

  Jalen felt a bit ashamed and wanted to change the subject. Certainly he didn’t want to hear any more about how Chris wasn’t that bad. “Well, you may have saved my life, but I’m not sure if it was enough to save my baseball career. His dad might just ban me from the Rockets.”

  “His dad’s not gonna ban you from the travel team for sticking a note on his son’s back. Anyway, I told him it wasn’t you, and he believed me.”

  “It wasn’t me.” Jalen eyed Daniel, who got suddenly interested in the homework sheet from the day before. “But that’s not what I was talking about. I can’t just sell those baseballs on eBay anymore. Someone could be watching.”

  “Hmm.” Cat stared hard at her pencil before looking up. “You may be right.” She removed the phone from her pocket and opened the browser. “By the way, here’s why your favorite ballplayer—if he still is your favorite player—was home last night. Tweaked that bad ankle of his, and they wanted him to get an MRI and some hydrotherapy at the stadium. Meredith Marakovits tweeted that his condition is day to day.”

  “Why do you say if he’s still my favorite player? He’s James Yager, maybe the greatest second baseman ever. Why wouldn’t he be?”

  “Well, now that you met him up close.” Cat popped her gum. “I mean, he imprisoned you in his barn, and he’s on the downside of his career. Maybe at the end with that ankle.”

  Daniel had obviously been listening, because he put a hand on Jalen’s shoulder and said, “This guy is loyal like a soldier. You can’t shake Jalen if he’s on your side. That’s just not how Jalen rolls.
”

  Jalen looked at his friend, wondering if he was talking about Yager or himself, and then he decided both. “So, now what do I do?” he asked Cat. “About the baseballs? I couldn’t even sleep last night, worrying.”

  Cat clenched her fists. “I wish that stupid stepfather of mine . . .”

  “Don’t go there, Cat.”

  “Okay, you’re right.” Cat’s frown rebounded, and she held up a finger. “Hey, a dealer. We can sell them at that memorabilia shop in Valhalla. We can take the train down after school and be back before dinner and your game.”

  “I didn’t think of that. But do you think they’ll give me a hundred apiece for them?”

  Cat set her jaw the way she did when she was lining up a penalty kick. “There’s only one way to find out.”

  12

  THE TRAIN RIDE DOWN AND back to Valhalla got Jalen only five hundred dollars, and the sports memorabilia dealer, a heavy blond hairy guy chewing on a green unlit cigar, told Jalen he was lucky to get that. They rode in grim silence back to Rockton until Daniel said, “Can you believe that guy sells dirt?”

  “Yeah, but think about what happened on that dirt.” Cat’s voice was low and serious. “Rivera’s six hundred and second save? Jeter’s three thousandth hit? Teixeira’s eleventh-inning homer in game two of the ALDS? How about Matsui’s six RBIs and the Yankees winning their twenty-seventh title? It’s not something my stepfather would pay for, that’s for sure, but I can’t say I wouldn’t love to have some. . . .”

  “Yeah . . .” Daniel got a faraway look as he stared out the window. “Like your own piece of history, right?”

  Jalen didn’t join in. He couldn’t even think about it. He was too dejected about the fact that he was still $490 short for his travel team.

  His friends sensed his mood, but when they stepped off the train at the Rockton platform, Daniel clapped his hands together one time like a firecracker. “I got it.”

  “You got what?” Jalen couldn’t believe how glum he felt for a kid with a fat roll of twenty-dollar bills in his pocket.

  “Coach Gamble loves to win, right? I mean, he’s all about winning.” Daniel nodded, urging them to follow along.

  “No doubt about that,” Cat said.

  “Like a dog loves a bone,” Jalen said. “Like a pirate loves gold.”

  “So, amigo, you gotta shine tonight like you never shone before.” Daniel clapped a hand on Jalen’s shoulder. “Make him hungry to get you on the Rockets. Make him desperate. Make him—”

  “Give you a price break.” Cat snapped her fingers and looked from Jalen to Daniel. “And people say you’re not smart.”

  “What? Who?” Daniel asked.

  Cat ignored him. “This could work. I’m sure they build some fat into those entry fees, keep a rainy-day fund or something. But it’s true, you gotta make Mr. Gamble hungry.”

  “How?” Jalen asked, even though he thought he knew.

  “We gotta beat their pants off!” Daniel pumped a fist into the air.

  Jalen’s face sank. They stood as much chance of winning as Jalen did of having his long-lost mother show up out of the blue.

  “No.” Cat shook her head. “You don’t have to beat them, but Jalen has to beat him.”

  Jalen knew exactly who she meant.

  The best pitcher Rockton Little League had seen in three decades.

  He had to beat Chris.

  13

  THE ONLY THING LONGER THAN Coach Winkman’s mustache was his hair. He wore a faded SAVE THE PLANET T-shirt, jeans, and Birkenstocks. The only thing suggesting he was a baseball coach was the bright-orange cap he wore, just like his players, with a fat green gator’s face on it. Jalen heard the owner of Zappa Home Insurance was a bonkers University of Florida fan who had insisted they use his team’s colors and mascot if he agreed to be a sponsor. And the team played as horribly as they looked.

  Thankfully, it was Jalen’s turn this game to play shortstop. Daniel, their best pitcher by a landslide, was stuck out in right field and batting ninth, despite going yard more than any kid in the league. Jalen huffed at the thought, but as he jogged out onto the field, he comforted himself with the notion that with Bobby Reynolds on the mound, he was apt to have a lot of action in the field. Behind his back, the rest of the kids called him Bobby Meatball. That’s what he threw. Meatballs. The last time he pitched, the game got called either for darkness or the mercy rule—Jalen had never gotten a straight answer from their coach—but they lost 23–1.

  With balls flying around like mosquitoes, Jalen felt sure he’d have a chance to make Coach Gamble drool, and he didn’t have to wait long. After Reynolds walked his first two batters, the third A’s player flubbed a pop-up that was going to drop nearly on top of the pitching mound. When the ball reached its high point, Jalen realized Bobby Meatball wasn’t moving on it, but instead was watching like it was some shooting star. Jalen bolted toward the mound and scooped the pop-up with a shoestring catch.

  “Make sure you call for those.” Coach Winkman spoke in a loud but polite voice and clapped his hands enthusiastically. “Jalen? You need to call for it if you’re going to field someone else’s ball.”

  Jalen tried to keep his blood from boiling; he wanted to shout that if Bobby hadn’t stood there like a statue, he would have been happy not to bust a gut to make the play. Of course, Jalen would never do that. First, it would be mean. Second, he was glad he’d gotten to make a play like that.

  When Chris stepped up to the plate as the cleanup batter with two on, Jalen saw his stance and moved so close to second base, he could smell the tuna fish on the runner’s breath. Jalen glanced at the dugout, worrying about Coach Winkman moving him back, but the coach was looking at his iPhone.

  Bobby lobbed the ball over the plate, and Chris smashed it. The frozen rope nearly took Bobby’s head off, but luck and just the hint of a reaction saved his hash. Jalen launched himself into the air, snagged the liner, and darted at the runner, tagging him and turning two before the kid could even start heading back to the base.

  Jalen trembled with joy as he jogged to the dugout. Daniel caught up to him and slapped him silly. “You da man!”

  Jalen brushed past his friend, embarrassed that the small crowd was clapping for him. He did look up, though, to catch Cat’s eye in the stands. They pointed at each other the way they always did, her to let him know she was watching, and him to let her know he appreciated it. His other teammates clapped his back as well, and even Coach Winkman knew enough about baseball to be impressed. He wiggled a pinky finger in his ear and chuckled. “Wow. Some play. And you weren’t even in the right place, Jalen. Heh-heh, better to be lucky than good, right?”

  Jalen bit his lip. He couldn’t even explain how he knew that ball was going down the middle of the field, he’d just known that it was. Something about Chris’s feet? His posture, maybe? His grip? Maybe all of the above? Jalen didn’t know how he knew the things he knew about the game, only that he knew them, and he was rarely wrong.

  He pushed that from his mind and turned his attention to the gunshot cracks of Chris’s pitches hitting the catcher’s mitt. Chris threw mostly cheese with his big arm, but even Jalen had to admit that the kid had a heck of a three-finger changeup. On his last warm-up pitch, Chris threw a curve that dropped right over the lower corner of the plate. After it hit Dirk Benning’s catcher’s mitt, Chris smiled at the A’s dugout, and Jalen saw Coach Gamble, a bear of a man, standing there with his arms crossed, giving his son a big thumbs-up.

  Jalen swallowed hard. Most pitchers didn’t throw a curve in Little League even if they could, but Chris was so big, Jalen had to wonder if the normal rules didn’t apply. Either way, it’d be hard to do what Cat said. Making plays in the field was one thing. Defeating a pitcher like Chris was a whole other level.

  Chris sat the first three runners down with just ten pitches, then Jalen and his team watched Meatball give up three runs before they could end the inning. It was the bottom of the second inning when
Jalen stepped up to the plate. He was really nervous, more than normal, more than he should be without knowing why. Chris gave him a mean smile.

  Jalen knew what was coming before it came. It was why he’d been nervous. Still, he had a hard time processing it because he didn’t think it was possible, even as Chris went into his windup.

  When Jalen saw the ball coming at him, he knew—possible or not—it was true.

  His heart froze.

  14

  JALEN HIT THE DECK.

  Chris had thrown what was meant to be a bean ball right at Jalen’s head.

  Because he’d known it was coming, Jalen saved himself a concussion. The ball went over Dirk and the umpire as well. Jalen was facedown in the dirt.

  “Hey!” the umpire shouted, and pointed at Chris. “Another one of those, and you’re gone!”

  “It was a wild pitch!” Coach Gamble burst from the dugout, his twisted face as red as a fire engine. He was a bigger version of his son. Same three prominent moles on his face. Same huge frame slumped and long-armed like an ogre, only much hairier than Chris. His roar was impressive, but the ump didn’t back down.

  “You know and I know your son doesn’t throw wild pitches.” The umpire glowered.

  Jalen heard Dirk snickering at him from behind his catcher’s mask, but he got to his feet and dusted himself off. “It’s fine. I was crowding the plate.”

  The adults both looked at him in surprise.

  “Uh . . .” The ump lost some steam.

  “See?” Coach Gamble pointed at Jalen. “He was crowding.”

  “Okay, well.” The ump adjusted his mask. “I don’t want to see it again. I’m serious.”

  Coach Gamble looked at Jalen with just a flicker of appreciation before he shouted to his son, “Keep it down, Chris!”

  Chris couldn’t help smirking, but he covered it quickly with his glove and nodded that he understood. Jalen stepped into the batter’s box and knew he’d see a fastball, right down the pipe. He did, swung, and missed.