Best of the Best Page 9

  “Did you get it?” Josh asked.

  Benji turned and said, “Now, how would I know? I got to play it back.”

  “Well, do it.”

  “I’m trying.”

  Benji navigated through the program, typing and clicking, until the video showed Zamboni back in the room, snipping at his toenails where they’d left him. Zamboni stopped and looked up. He just sat for a while, watching Vito until Vito walked past the screen and they could hear the sound of the door closing. Zamboni looked toward the door for a minute before getting up himself and disappearing from view.

  Josh heard the distinct sound of the door being locked and double locked. He and Benji looked at each other and grinned. Zamboni reappeared and flopped down on his bed. He reached into his pocket, removing a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches.

  “We got him,” Josh said.

  But Zamboni kept digging and came up with his cell phone. He put down the cigarettes and matches and began to dial the cell phone.

  “What?” Josh said. “Don’t even tell me he’s not going to smoke.”

  “Let’s see,” Benji said. “I wonder who he’s calling.”

  “Dad?” Zamboni said. “Yeah, it’s me…. No, I’m at the state finals down on Long Island…. Yeah. You think maybe you’ll make it down here? Oh, no, I understand. That’s okay, Dad…. Yeah, Williamsport is the big show…. That’s right, Taiwan and teams like that, but we’ll have to win this thing and then the regionals in New Jersey. Then we get to go to the World Series, and, yeah, that would be great if you could make it there…. Yeah, I know, Dad. Winners never quit and quitters never win. Thanks. Okay, well, I’ll see you.”

  Zamboni snapped the phone shut and just sat there.

  “Dude,” Benji said, moving his face closer to the screen and pointing at Zamboni’s face, “is that what I think it is?”

  Josh watched as Zamboni scooped up the pack of cigarettes, shook one out, and lighted it.

  “You got him, Benji,” Josh said, relieved that they had what they needed to keep Zamboni quiet.

  “I got more than that.” Benji pointed at Zamboni’s face. “Dude, check it out. This kid is crying.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  JOSH COULDN’T HELP FEELING bad for Zamboni. Even after touching his own face to remind himself of the shot Zamboni had given him earlier, Josh still felt bad.

  “It’s time for us to tell him about Candid Camera,” Benji said with a grin. “Man, who cares about the cigarettes? When we show him this? He’ll lick the bottoms of your shoes. You won’t have to worry about him blowing you in to your dad anymore.”

  Josh stood up and backed away. “Well, the cigarette is enough, Benji. Let’s not go there with the kid crying.”

  “Dude, look at your face,” Benji said. “It looks like you got kicked by a mule. You gotta shut him up and serve him.”

  “I don’t have to serve him, Benji. We don’t need to be like that.”

  “But you hate this guy.”

  “I know,” Josh said, “but that doesn’t matter. You just don’t do that.”

  “He’s crying like a baby.”

  “Because of his dad, Benji,” Josh said. “You never cried about your parents splitting up? When you wanted your dad to be at something and he couldn’t?”

  “Me?” Benji said, sticking a thumb in his own chest. “Cry? I’m a heavy hitter, like the Babe, Reggie Jackson, like Manny Ramirez before steroids. Heavy hitters don’t cry, Josh. They fight on.”

  Josh looked away. “I don’t want that part of it, Benji.”

  “Well, you can’t separate the two, buddy,” Benji said. “He’s got to see this if you want to keep him quiet.”

  “But I don’t want you to say anything about him crying.”

  “What, we just act like we don’t see the kid sitting there, smoking his stupid face off and crying like a total baby?”

  “Right.”

  Benji shrugged. “Whatever.”

  “It doesn’t require you to say anything.”

  “Hey,” Benji said, closing up the program, “about this not requiring ‘me’ to say anything stuff? Who do you think is going to show him the tape, anyway?”

  “Well, it’s your dad’s computer,” Josh said. “And the whole thing was your idea.”

  “Yeah, to save your butt,” Benji said. “You’re the one showing him and serving up the blackmail. I’m not doing that. It’s illegal.”

  “Illegal?”

  “I’m sure we’re not going to get caught or anything,” Benji said. “Even if we do, we’re just kids.”

  “Which part of this is illegal?” Josh asked.

  “Well.” Benji scratched his head. “I think the taping part—I don’t think you can technically do that to someone when they don’t know you’re doing it—and probably the blackmail part, too.”

  “Oh my God,” Josh said, staring in horror at the computer. “Get rid of it.”

  “But Josh, it’ll keep him quiet.”

  “But it’s blackmail.” Josh hushed his voice into a frantic whisper. “Of course it is. That makes sense. What was I thinking? What were you thinking?”

  “Just helping you out.”

  “I know, but two wrongs don’t make a right,” Josh said. “That’s basic. We should get rid of it.”

  “Well,” Benji said, turning toward the computer, “technically, in math, if you multiply two negatives, you get a positive, so I’m not sure you’re completely correct.”

  Josh threw up his hands. “Come on, you know what I mean. Get rid of it.”

  “Darn.” Benji typed in some commands. “We had him.”

  “Did you do it?” Josh asked, looking over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, you’re sunk,” Benji said sadly. “Your dad’s gonna chew you up and spit you out.”

  “Yeah,” Josh said, lying back on his bed. “I know.”

  They stayed silent for a few minutes before Benji said, “Well, you wanna watch one of those horror movies?”

  “No, thanks.” Josh kicked off his shoes, putting a pillow over his face and closing his eyes. “I’m going to sleep. I got a horror show of my own, right here between my ears.”

  Josh drifted in and out of sleep, tired but tormented by images of his father’s angry scowl and his mother’s puffy, bloodshot eyes. Josh knew that anyone living in a nightmare like his would give almost anything to make it go away.

  When the idea came to him, he jumped up out of bed and flicked on the light. Standing over Benji, Josh shook him until he sputtered awake.

  “What?” Benji said, blinking at the light. “Who?”

  “Zamboni,” Josh said excitedly. “Benji, I’ve got an idea.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “YOU’VE LOST YOUR MIND,” Benji said after listening with intermittent yawns. “This time, completely.”

  “Why, Benji? Why won’t it work?”

  “Because Zamboni is an idiot,” Benji said. “He’s gross. He sneaks cigarettes. He called you Scarface. Come on, a guy like that? It’s hopeless.”

  “I’m going to try, Benji,” Josh said.

  “Right now?” Benji said. “It’s two o’clock in the morning.”

  “I can’t sleep anyway.”

  “Well, the rest of us can,” Benji said, lying back down and drawing the covers over his head. “Be quiet, will you? You’re seriously nuts.” Benji’s voice was muffled by the covers.

  “I’m going,” Josh said.

  “Don’t do it. You’ll regret it. I know these things.”

  “You know how to turn your best friend into a criminal.”

  “I try to help you and this is what I get. Good night,” Benji said, rolling toward the wall.

  Josh let himself out and checked both ways down the hall. All was quiet. He tiptoed to Zamboni’s room, hesitated, then knocked softly.

  Nothing.

  Josh looked around and knocked a little louder.

  Still nothing.

  He thumped the door good
this time, rapping loud enough that he was afraid he might wake the entire hall. Vito answered.

  “Vito, sorry,” Josh said. “I need to talk to Zamboni.”

  Vito shrugged and let Josh in. The light between the two beds was on. Vito climbed back into bed. Josh shook Zamboni, who groaned and swatted his hand.

  “Zamboni,” Josh said. “Marcus. I need to talk to you.”

  “What?” Zamboni said, drawing out the word. “Leave me alone. Are you nuts?”

  “You hate my dad. I saw the way you looked at him when we went to Friendly’s. And I’m not crazy about your mom, either,” Josh said, aware that Vito was looking, but sensing this was his only chance. “But we don’t have to hate each other.”

  “Right,” Zamboni said scarcastically.

  “I mean it,” Josh said. “Truce. We’re in the same situation, kind of.”

  “How are we in the same situation?” Zamboni asked.

  “Neither of us wants our families messed up,” Josh said, “but they are. Both of us are mad, but we don’t have to be mad at each other. That’s kind of stupid, really. We can work together. Look at what we do in baseball.”

  Zamboni wore a look of doubt. “You mean work together, like I don’t let your dad know you started a fight that got you kicked out of my room?”

  “You started—”

  Josh stopped talking. He knew where things would go if he took that path. They’d go back and forth, blaming each other forever.

  “It doesn’t matter who did what,” Josh said, pointing to the red mark on his face. “You punched me. Forget it. We got separated as roommates. Forget it. Let’s stop fighting each other. Let’s just play baseball and try to win this thing.”

  Zamboni crossed his arms stubbornly. “It’s not easy to just forget.”

  “I could help you, Zamboni,” Josh said. “Like I did with the underhand toss, stuff like that. You’re already getting better. And what about your dad? I know you want him to see you play in Williamsport, right?”

  Zamboni seemed to consider it, then glanced at Vito. His mouth turned down and he said, “Keep your underhand toss. I’m good enough without your help.”

  Josh thought about the Skype video and decided to take a chance.

  “Right,” Josh said, “it’s not easy to forget about your mom and my dad and me being wedged into this team at the last minute, but it’s also not easy to forget about you smoking in the room all the time, something that would make Vito’s dad kick you off this team quick as a hiccup.”

  “Too bad I don’t even smoke,” Zamboni said, glancing at Vito, whose head suddenly appeared from beneath his pillow.

  Josh grabbed Zamboni’s bag off the dresser, dug in, removed Zamboni’s cigarettes, and said, “Oh, really? Then how do you explain these?”

  Vito sat up straight in his bed, his eyes widening at the cigarettes.

  Zamboni narrowed his eyes at Josh, and Josh knew that right then, it was all or nothing.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  JOSH AWOKE EARLY THE next morning and hopped up out of bed, mindful of his promise. He dressed quickly and slipped out of his room. Zamboni was waiting for him in the hallway with his bat bag. Josh nodded to him, and Zamboni followed him down the back stairs and out into the early dawn light, where only the birds were awake.

  “You can’t use this all the time,” Josh said, “but it’s a weapon every serious baseball player needs to have.”

  “I never saw you do it,” Zamboni said suspiciously.

  Josh nodded his head patiently, intent on being nice, telling himself that if he could just get past some rough spots, Zamboni might relax and not sound so nasty.

  “I’ve done it,” Josh said, “and I can do it, if the coach After showing Zamboni where to stand with his back to the brick wall, Josh knelt down. He picked up a rock and scratched out home plate and a batter’s box on the blacktop. Then Josh handed Zamboni his own bat.

  “Hold it loose,” Josh said, taking it to demonstrate. “Yeah, that’s it. Good. Now, you step like this.”

  Josh showed Zamboni how to step across the plate and drilled him on it again and again.

  “When am I gonna bunt it?” Zamboni asked.

  “Basics,” Josh said, thinking of his father’s words.

  “Footwork is the key,” Josh said. “You gotta have good footwork, or the rest can’t follow. You want to be able to lay it down on the third-base line. Come on, give me ten more. Keep the bat loose in your hands. You want it to absorb the force of the ball—that’s what dribbles it.”

  Zamboni did ten more steps and then Josh took a ratty ball he didn’t care about from the bottom of his bat bag, pulled on his mitt, and walked out into the parking lot.

  “Okay,” Josh said. “I’m gonna pitch it. As soon as I get into the back of my windup, you step. Then watch the ball and just move the bat in front of it. You want to connect with the bottom half of the bat. That drives it down. You don’t want to pop it up.”

  Josh threw one in. Zamboni stepped in front of it and the ball hit him square in the gut.

  “Ooof,” Zamboni said, the air escaping him. “Hey.” He raised his bat at Josh, snarling.

  “Relax, Zamboni,” Josh said. “I’m not trying to hurt you, just give you a good look. Here, I’ll toss some so you can get the idea better.”

  Josh closed the gap between them and began tossing the ball up. Zamboni missed three times.

  “Loosen your shoulders a bit,” Josh said.

  Zamboni nicked the next one.

  “That’s it,” Josh said. “Now you’re on it.”

  Zamboni’s face flickered with a smile that quickly went out.

  “Okay,” Josh said after Zamboni began to hit it consistently. “Now let me back up.”

  Josh backed up and began to lob them at the plate. Zamboni missed the first few again but started to connect. Josh repeated the process twice more, finally moving far enough away to mimic a Little League pitcher. Zamboni didn’t get it the first day, but they kept at it and four days and four games later, the night before they were to play in the state finals championship game, Josh declared Zamboni ready to bunt.

  “All right,” Zamboni said, “good.

  “One thing I wanted to ask you,” Zamboni added as Josh held the door for him to go inside.

  “What’s up?” Josh asked.

  “Call me just Z, will you?” Zamboni said. “I’m not crazy about Zamboni. Z is kind of cool, though.”

  “Well,” Josh said, “I’ll try.”

  Zamboni nodded, then asked, “You really think I can bunt tomorrow?”

  “I think you can do it, Z,” Josh said, “but it’ll have to be at the right time. You don’t want to go out there every time and try or it won’t work, but if we need it, you’ll know you’ve got it in your back pocket.”

  “How will I know if we need it? Coach Q?”

  “Naw,” Josh said. “But don’t worry. If we need it, I’ll tell you.”

  The next day, in the last inning of the game that would either send them home or on to the regional finals in New Jersey, they needed it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  THEY WERE DOWN BY two runs and it was the bottom of the sixth. Zamboni winked at Josh and stepped into the batter’s box. Josh gave him a thumbs-up and took a deep breath. A slight breeze lifted Zamboni’s hair from his collar. Benji stepped up next to Josh and leaned close.

  “Dude, this guy is killing us,” Benji said. “What’s he batting? One hundred? If he’s lucky.”

  “I think he’s gonna get one now,” Josh said.

  “God knows we need it. Two runs down? We need two of these mopes to get on base and then you get up and do your thing, right?”

  “I hope so,” Josh said, “but they’re not mopes, Benji. Geez, they’re our teammates.”

  “You know what I mean,” Benji said. “I’m saying it with affection. You’re a mope half the time and we’re like brothers.”

  Josh smiled and nodded toward Zamboni. />
  “I told him to bunt.”

  “Bunt?” Benji said. “To get on base?”

  “You don’t see a runner to sacrifice over, do you?” Josh said.

  “Does he even know how?” Benji asked.

  “I taught him.”

  “What? When?”

  “We’ve been working on it,” Josh said.

  “You hate that guy.”

  “I don’t hate him,” Josh said.

  “You don’t like him,” Benji said.

  “I told you. It’s part of our agreement. That’s how you win, Benji. If you have differences with your teammates, you put them aside. That’s how you win championships.”

  The pitcher wound up and Zamboni stepped across the box.

  “There he goes,” Benji said.

  The ball came fast. Zamboni nicked it perfectly, dribbling it into the no-man’s-land between the pitcher, the catcher, and third base. All three defenders ran for the ball and Zamboni took off. The pitcher and the catcher got there at the same time and bumped into each other. The catcher came up with the ball and fired it to first, but not before Zamboni strode over the bag, smacking it with his foot.

  “You did it!” Benji said, slapping Josh on the back.

  Josh grinned and said, “Actually, he did it.”

  “Now we got a shot,” Benji said. “We really got a shot at this. We’re at the top of the lineup. One more runner gets on and you can save the day.”

  “Sure,” Josh said, “all I have to do is put it out of the park.”

  “That’s what you do.”

  Josh studied the sky and said, “Well, Benji, nothing like a little pressure on a sunny day.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  ZAMBONI TIPPED HIS BATTING helmet to Josh from his spot on second base. Josh adjusted his own batting helmet and returned the gesture, aware that the dreams of the entire team making it to the World Series depended on him. After Zamboni got on base, two batters had struck out before Camren Fries drilled a grounder between the first and second basemen to put himself on first as well as advancing Zamboni to second.