Curveball (4 page)

“I guess,” Eddie said with a shrug. “Everybody just seems to talk faster than I do. I mean, the words don't come out so quick with me. It's like I gotta think before I say anything, you know?”

“That's not such a bad thing.”

“I know. But guys like you and Lenny and Spencer, everything you say just seems to come out right. And quick, too.”

“You'd be surprised. It's not always that way. I get on a tough case and I have to think
real
carefully before I speak. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Sure. But it's like that with me all the time…. That's one of the things I like about writing. If it doesn't come out right, you just delete it and start over.”

Mr. Ventura laughed. “Yep, there's no delete button in real-life conversation. A lot of times we wish there was.”

He reached for his keys and unlocked the front door. “You got any appetite left?”

“Yeah. I just had a small chicken taco and some chips.”

“Let's see what we've got to eat in here. I'm about to pass out from hunger.”

“Sounds good,” Eddie said. “I burned off a lot of energy today. I can still eat plenty, believe me.”

“The Yankee game starts in twenty minutes. Do you have much homework, or can you watch it with me?”

“I've got some easy math homework, so I can do both.”

“Me, too. I didn't quite finish that memo yet. Still have some thinking to do about it.”

“Think, eat, and watch the Yankees,” Eddie said. “Sounds like a good evening to me.”

W
hen Eddie sat down to write late on Sunday evening, he realized that he had a bit of a dilemma. The Hornets had played two games since his last report—the win over Liberty had been followed by a disappointing loss to Bayonne on Friday. Did Calvin want an article on each game or one piece that included them both?

He clicked
HudCityCal
on his buddy list and fired off an instant message:

 

EddieV: u there?

HudCityCal: yeah. hey.

EddieV: played 2 games. u got room 4 2 articles?

HudCityCal: no. just one.

EddieV: ok. I'll combine em.

HudCityCal: I could run the standings if u send them 2 me.

EddieV: I got em.

HudCityCal: u email me it tonite?

EddieV: sure.

HudCityCal: ok. c u later.

 

So how should he start this one? The loss stunk, but it was the most recent news. On the other hand, the win streak had to end sometime. Coach said they were still right in the thick of the playoff race.

First thing to do was e-mail Calvin the league standings:

Calvin often used funny names for his bylines. Since he wrote nearly the entire sports section, he didn't want to have every article begin “By Calvin Tait.” So he went by Speedy Gonzalez for the track-and-field articles, Pop Fly for softball, and Bent Racket for tennis. Eddie thought hard about a funny byline for himself. Then he started writing.

That summed it up, but Eddie wasn't very thrilled with the article. It told the story, but it wasn't much fun.

One of his favorite parts of the sports articles in the daily papers were the notes and stats that were often included at the end under headings like “Knick Knacks,” “Yankee Clippers,” or “Mets Musings.” He decided to include a few of his own to liven up the piece.

Eddie filed the document and shut off the computer. His sister and parents were watching TV. Lenny had been home for the afternoon but had already taken a bus back into New York.

“Ready to join us, Eddie?” his mom asked.

“What's on?”

“A James Bond movie,” Irene said. “You already missed half of it.”

“No thanks, then. I'm tired anyway. I'm gonna shower and go to bed.”

“Don't forget your ears,” Mom said.

“What about them?” Eddie asked. How could he forget that he had ears?

“Don't forget to
wash
them. They were looking grungy the last time I checked.”

“Oh.”

“Must be from that dusty baseball diamond,” Mom said.

Eddie looked toward the ceiling. “I'll scrub 'em.”

“The dishwasher needs unloading,” Dad called.

“I'll do it first thing in the morning. Before school.”

Eddie climbed the stairs and entered the bedroom he'd always shared with Lenny. But Lenny was already a junior in college, and he hadn't spent very many nights at home in the past three years. Eddie missed him, but he was glad to have his own space.

Lenny was eight years older, so Eddie had always been the little kid in the house. He'd been in awe of his brother—especially at sports events when Lenny was a key player. In elementary school, Eddie had felt the prestige of having a brother (and later, a sister) who was a high-school sports star. But now, nearly a teenager himself, Eddie was feeling the pressure of needing to assert himself on the field as well.

He knew that he didn't always live up to the play-by-play he heard in his head during the games. He wasn't quite as calm or as skilled or as powerful as that “announcer” made him out to be. But he was going to be. Someday.

Eddie loved to compete, and he didn't mind hard work. And he truly enjoyed playing baseball—the strategy, the tension, the excitement. It was definitely his favorite sport.

The bedroom was full of trophies and plaques and team pictures—most of them were Lenny's, but a small number belonged to Eddie. Lenny had been a strong player on the Hudson City soccer team, and he had also wrestled and run track. There were blown-up photos of Lenny being inducted into the National Honor Society and posing with his girlfriend at the prom.

Eddie's contributions to the walls were mostly team photos, and certificates for taking part. No championships yet. Certainly no MVP awards.

Across the hall, Irene's walls had pictures of her performing at piano recitals and competing for the high-school debate team. There was also a framed article from the
Hudson Dispatch
highlighting her as the newspaper's athlete of week last January for her outstanding performance on the basketball court.

Lots of great things had happened to the kids in this household. So far, Eddie was still the quiet one.

The quiet one with grungy ears. He stuck a finger in one and twirled it around. He looked at the finger. It was dirty.

So he grabbed some clean clothes and headed for the shower.

T
he talk on the bus ride to Memorial that Wednesday was about the latest article in the school paper.

“‘My Way'? Where is Calvin getting this stuff anyway?”

“He told me he has a ‘confidential' source on the team.”

“Must be some bigmouth, huh? Somebody who doesn't know when to shut up.”

“That would be Spencer.”

“It ain't me. You think I'd make fun of my own socks?”

“Maybe it's Miguel.”

“Maybe it's Coach Wimmer.”

“Not me. I'm the one who thinks I belong in the Hall of Fame, remember?”

“‘Major Talent'! What kind of a name is that?”

Eddie squirmed a bit in his seat, but he could tell that no one was angry. In fact, everyone seemed pretty amused by the whole thing.

“We can probably rule out Flem, Willie, and Ramiro, since they were the butt of the jokes,” Miguel was saying. “And Jared's not clever enough….”

“Am, too!”

“So it
is
you?”

“Nah. But it
could
have been.”

“Lamont maybe.”

“I still think it's Jared.”

David Choi elbowed Eddie. David had easily figured out that Eddie was the source, but he didn't realize that Eddie was actually writing the articles, too. And Eddie knew David would keep the secret. He'd let the other guys figure it out for themselves.

A good idea had struck Eddie, though. In his next article, he'd be sure to make fun of himself in his “Hornet Hammerings.” That would make him less of a suspect, wouldn't it?

The bus squeaked to a stop next to the Memorial field, and the excited Hudson City players quickly forgot about the newspaper.

“Back on track!” Spencer said. “That loss to Bayonne was, like, forever and three days ago, boys. The playoff run starts
today.
Every game from here on out is huge!”

 

Memorial was also in the running for the playoffs, so the game was hotly contested from the start. First the Hornets scored, then Memorial got two runs of their own. The lead seemed to change every inning.

“What do you think, Miguel?” Coach Wimmer said as the Hornets came off the field after five innings. Hudson City was protecting a 5–4 lead, but Miguel had walked two batters in the fifth. “How's the arm?”

“Arm's good,” Miguel said.

“You seem to be losing some of your control.”

“Been pitching a lot lately.” Miguel looked toward home plate, where Spencer was taking a few practice cuts. “Whoa, I'm on deck!” He leaped up and grabbed a bat, heading out of the dugout.

Coach Wimmer shook his head. “His arm's turning to spaghetti,” he said aloud to no one in particular. “He'll walk everybody in the ballpark if I leave him in there.”

Coach looked toward the bench, and his eyes settled on Eddie. “Ventura, you bat ninth this inning. Take Flem out behind the dugout and warm him up.”

Jimmy Fleming picked up a baseball and said, “Let's go!” A relief pitcher, he'd been the forgotten man in the lineup lately as David and Miguel had thrown a couple of complete games. It looked like he'd be taking over for Miguel this afternoon.

So Eddie and Flem threw the ball back and forth outside the fence.

“Not so hard yet,” Eddie said. “Give your arm time to get warm.”

“My arm is on fire!” Flem replied. “I haven't pitched in almost two weeks.”

“Still,” Eddie said. “Get loose. You've got time.”

Fleming was a newcomer to Hudson City; he was just getting to know the guys. Like Eddie, he was a left-hander. And, like Eddie, he was usually pretty quiet.

“You ready, Flem?” Coach Wimmer called a few minutes later.

“Definitely.”

“Go ahead in.”

So Flem and Eddie jogged onto the field together. Bottom of the sixth, Hudson City still ahead by a run.

Miguel had shifted to third base, sending Ryan Grimes out of the lineup.

“Heavy phlegm alert!” Spencer called as he noticed that Flem had taken the mound. “Preserve that W, man! Shut 'em down.”

At first base, Eddie took a deep breath and focused on the batter, ready to react to a line drive or a grounder. A one-run lead was thin as can be.

Lots of tension on that field right now,
came the play-by-play voice in his head.
This is where the experience of guys like Ventura and Lewis really makes a difference. The standouts always react well to the pressure.

Flem was fresh. That was obvious from his first two pitches, which blazed by the batter for strikes.

He's got his stuff today. Smooth and fast.

Eddie relaxed a little. Maybe Flem did, too, because his next pitch was a gift to the batter. Straight down the middle, nothing on it, and the Memorial hitter lined it deep into left-center. It bounced hard just before the fence and smacked back onto the field, sending Willie and David scrambling.

The batter had rounded second before Willie finally came up with the ball. His throw to Miguel was on target, but the batter slid under the tag for a triple. He popped up and brushed the dirt from his pants, grinning widely.

This is trouble. Nobody out and a man on third.

Miguel frowned and tossed the ball back to the pitcher. This had been a troubling pattern when Fleming pitched. Brilliant one moment, vulnerable the next. He'd blown a couple of games during that early losing streak.

Second batter. Again, two pitches, two quick strikes. And then the batter hit a bullet, a line drive up the middle that looked like a certain run-scorer.

Somehow Spencer got to the ball, extending his glove and making an incredible diving catch. He fell to the dirt, rolled to his knees, and fired the ball to Miguel.

The Memorial base runner was caught off guard. He'd streaked toward the plate, assuming the ball would land safely. But Spencer had caught it on the fly. Double play!

“Yeah, Spencer!” Eddie yelled, as loud as anything he'd said all season.

Now
that's
Major League ability! Unbelievable play. This entire Hudson City infield—from first base all the way to third—has been spectacular lately.

Lamont trotted over and slapped hands with Spencer. On the mound, Jimmy Fleming raised his fist and pumped it.

The stunning double play seemed to take away all of Memorial's energy. Jimmy struck out the next batter.

And after the Hornets picked up another run in the top of the seventh, Jimmy put Memorial down in order, sealing the 6–4 win.

 

All of the talk in the locker room after the game was about Spencer's big play.

“As if this kid needs any more fuel for his ego,” Coach Wimmer said with a laugh. “If his head gets any bigger we'll need to special order his caps.”

Spencer shook his head with an embarrassed smile. “All in a day's work,” he said. “Whatever I gotta do, I do it.”

Eddie looked over at Spencer. It was true—the kid talked nonstop, especially about himself. But he backed it up, too. You couldn't argue with that. Baseball, football, basketball—Spencer was always right there in the front line, battling with everything he had. You had to admire a guy like that.

He'd certainly earned it today.