High and Inside (9 page)

White had only thrown a couple of pitches to the first Churchill batter when the commotion started. Matt could hear a dog going crazy, barking and yelping and straining at his leash. Matt realized it was Joker. It wasn't at all like Officer Peters' dog to be this undisciplined, but Joker was going absolutely nuts. He was trying desperately to get into the dugout, and he seemed to be intent at reaching the pile of Stingers' equipment bags lying in the corner.

Steve White stopped pitching and the plate umpire called time. Everybody on the diamond and those in the stands who had the right angle were watching as Joker pulled Officer Peters right into the dugout. The dog was now rooting amongst the equipment bags, dead set on getting to something. Joker suddenly settled on one bag, then sat there and looked up at Officer Peters, as if he was waiting for something.

“Joker!” Officer Peters was yelling a command at his dog in a booming voice that Matt had never heard before. “Heel!”

As the dog moved away, Matt realized that Joker had been sitting on his equipment bag. What was the dog so interested in, he wondered? He noticed Officer Peters bending over to examine the bag. Then in a few seconds his neighbor was gone. “Come on,” Officer Peters chided the riled shepherd. “I'm taking you home now. You've already created enough racket here.”

Parents and students in the stands laughed and the players smiled as Officer Peters looked at the umpire and apologetically shrugged his shoulders. Now that the distraction was over, the game could resume.

And what a game it turned out to be. As expected, Logan and White dueled each other all the way to the end, with neither giving up a run in the first six innings. In fact, Logan had surrendered just a single hit, a sharp double to Jake in the fourth inning, and he had walked just three batters. White had been slightly more human, allowing a pair of hits. But he had six strikeouts, one for each inning worked.

Once again, Coach Stephens had used Matt as a replacement at second base for Kevin Archibald, who moved into the outfield in the top of the fifth inning. Matt hadn't been up to bat yet, though, nor had anything been hit his way in the infield.

Sid Logan was up first for the Bulldogs in the seventh and final inning. Although he was a star pitcher, the towering eighth-grader was clumsy with the bat. White had him whiffed on three straight pitches as the dark-haired, swarthy Logan swung from the heels on each one. Matt couldn't help but think Logan would belt it into another time zone if he ever managed to connect.

White got the next Churchill batter to fly out to Jake at shortstop. That left just one Bulldog hitter, catcher Jimmy Flynn, whom Matt remembered as the point guard from the Churchill basketball team. Steve White was still throwing hard, but Flynn managed to slice a fastball, chopping the ball hard toward second base. Matt had to move quickly to his right, but he stabbed his glove skyward and grabbed the ball as it ricocheted off the clay infield. He wheeled and threw to Dave Tanner for the out, retiring the side.

White trotted over to give Matt a high five, clearly happy at the defensive play that helped preserve seven straight scoreless innings.

The South Side pitcher was obviously proud of himself as he sauntered off the field to cheers from the home crowd. He even doffed his cap to the stands, which seemed to Matt to be a bit much. Regardless, it felt good to help out a teammate, even if White wasn't his favorite teammate.

Tempering that feeling, though, was the Stingers' batting order. Matt knew he was up third—that meant there was no way to avoid facing the fireballing Sid Logan. The butterflies were already building up in his stomach.

Dave Tanner was first up, and although he was usually a pretty reliable hitter, the big first baseman went down swinging on four pitches. Next came Howard Berger, who grounded out weakly to short. Matt already had his batting helmet in hand, and Charlie was handing him his favorite bat. It was too late to back out now.

“Remember what we worked on,” Charlie said quietly, out of earshot of the rest of the Stingers. “Just think of Logan as a gigantic pitching machine. He's not throwing any harder than what I gave you on Saturday.”

Matt strode to the plate. With two out, everything was riding on his shoulders. If he didn't keep the inning alive, they would have to go to an extra frame. Steve White's arm looked like it was tiring. This was South Side's best chance for the win. He had to help make it happen.

Matt eased into the batter's box, tapped his bat on the plate and cocked it up behind his shoulders. He could feel his arms shaking slightly. Was that nerves or fear? He didn't have time to think about it. In a blur, Logan released the ball. It whizzed just inches past his nose, high and inside. Ball one.

“Good eye, Matty!” It was Charlie, standing at the edge of the dugout. “Way to stand in there.”

Matt suddenly realized that's exactly what he had done. Sid Logan, the biggest, meanest pitcher in the league had just delivered him some chin music and he hadn't ducked away. He suddenly felt a lot more confident.

The next pitch was just as fast and it nicked the outside corner of the plate. Matt let it go by. “Steeerikke!” the ump called. It was 1 and 1. Logan aimed for the same spot on the third pitch but missed by a few inches. On the next pitch, he was inside once more. Matt was up 3 and 1 in the count.

Matt knew the Churchill pitcher would have to offer him something good this time. And sure enough, Logan delivered a blistering fastball across the middle, letter-high. Matt swung with all his might, but just missed the pitch, ticking it foul down the third base line.

It was full count. The fans in the stands and players in both dugouts were on the edge of their seats. Logan wound up and his arm shot forward. The ball was headed inside, but not enough to let go. Matt swung hard. Crack! The ball took off like a jackrabbit, bounding between first and second. He ran as hard as he could to first base and easily made it in time. It was a clean single. He had kept the inning alive.

Matt glanced at Charlie by the dugout. A huge smile broke out across the manager's face and his brown eyes lit up. Matt had never seen him look so happy. He saw Charlie turn to Coach Stephens in the dugout and high-five him.

Kevin Archibald was up next for South Side. He was a red-haired, freckle-faced ninth-grader who never said much but played steadily both in the field and at the plate. Nothing seemed to rattle “Archie” much, which is likely why he started at second base ahead of Matt.

Logan bore down against Archibald, grunting as he delivered the first pitch. It was wild and to the outside, passing the Churchill catcher. Matt shot off first and made it to second standing up. He was in scoring position now.

Archibald managed to work Logan to a full count too. On the deciding pitch, the big Churchill chucker put a fastball across the plate right at the Stinger hitter's knees. Archibald responded, stroking the ball into right field. Matt was off like a shot with the hit, eyes on third base where base coach Pete Winters was waving him on. He rounded the bag on the outside and headed full steam for home, just as the Bulldogs' right fielder pivoted and delivered the throw.

Matt and the baseball converged on home plate together. Six feet out, Matt went into the slide they had worked on in practice. As the ball sailed into Jimmy Flynn's glove, Matt was sliding underneath the Bulldog catcher's legs. “Safe!” yelled the umpire. The stands and the Stingers' dugout went nuts.

Matt was elated. He jumped off the ground and ran toward his teammates, getting a high five from each of them. Coach Stephens met him at the dugout steps. “You showed me something today, Matt,” he said. “I think Charlie's pretty happy too.”

Matt looked at Charlie in the dugout. He was already gathering up the stray equipment. Matt ambled down the stairs to help him out. It was the least he could do for a kid who had helped him so much.

chapter twelve

After showering and changing into a pair of shorts and flip-flops, Matt headed home. The feeling in the Stingers' locker room had been worth savoring, but he wanted to get back to his house as quickly as possible and share the news with his mom—about South Side's big win and about his big breakthrough at the plate.

By the time he was a half-block from home, Matt could see her green Toyota Camry was already in the driveway. But there was another vehicle in front of his house too. It was a white and blue city police cruiser. Matt's heart leapt into his throat. What was going on? Was Mom okay? Was it Mark? He sprinted to the house and up the front steps.

Throwing open the screen door, Matt called out, “Mom? Is everything okay?”

“We're in here, Matt.” The voice came from the living room. But it wasn't his mother's. It belonged to Neil Peters. A wave of relief ran through his body. So that's why the police car was here.

“Hey, Mom,” he said, entering the room. “You should have seen our game…” Matt stopped in mid-sentence. He could tell something was wrong. Both his mother and Officer Peters looked serious. Neither one was smiling.

“Matt, come over here and sit down,” Mom said firmly, patting the sofa beside her.

This couldn't be good news, he thought. And he was right.

“Matt, you probably noticed Joker going crazy at your game today, right?” Officer Peters said, looking him directly in the eyes. “Do you know why he did that?”

Matt shook his head. He wasn't sure what Officer Peters was getting at.

“Joker is specially trained as a drug dog,” the officer continued. “He only reacts like that when he's sniffed out something, like marijuana or cocaine. When he stops and points at something or barks like crazy, like he did today, that means he's found drugs.”

Matt didn't understand what Officer Peters was saying. Why was he talking about drugs? There weren't any drugs in the South Side dugout.

“I checked, Matt, and Joker was pointing at your equipment bag,” Officer Peters said. “Is there anything you want to tell us?”

Matt felt himself growing hot and confused. Tell them about what? He had absolutely no idea what his neighbor was talking about.

“No way,” he cried out. “You don't think I had drugs in my bag, do you?” He stared at Mom, pleadingly.

There was a worried look in her brown eyes. “Matt, we're not going to be mad at you if you want to tell us the truth,” she said softly.

“But there's nothing to tell,” he insisted. “Joker must have been wrong. Mom, I don't know anything about any drugs. I sure didn't have any in my equipment bag.”

Matt still had the long black bag draped over his right shoulder. “Look,” he said. “There's nothing but baseball gear in here.”

He dumped the bag on the living room floor. His brown leather mitt, black cleats, dirty socks, Stingers uniform and batting glove spilled out. Tears were welling up in Matt's brown eyes. He tried to stifle them, but he couldn't.

“I was just out watching your game today, Matt,” Officer Peters said. “So technically, Joker and I were off-duty. I've talked to your mother and I'm not going to do anything with this. But I'm always around if you want to talk. You know that, right?”

Matt nodded silently. But he couldn't help feeling angry with Officer Peters for suspecting him. He was even mad at Joker. What a stupid dog. This was brutal. Both his mom and his neighbor were taking the word of a German Shepherd over him.

Officer Peters walked to the front door. “Gail, I'm around if you need help,” he said to Matt's mom. “And, Matt, remember that goes for you too. Especially for you.”

The officer cast a long look at Matt, as if searching for some sort of clue within his eyes. Then he waved and walked out the door.

Matt approached his mother, palms outstretched. “Mom, I swear, I've got no idea what this is all about,” he said, desperate for her to believe him.

“Okay, Matt,” she said. “We'll forget about this for now. But if you do want to talk about something, anything, you just ask, all right? I get worried about you growing up so fast.”

With that, she reached out and grabbed her son, pulling him toward her. Even at twelve, going on thirteen, her hugs still felt good. But once they had separated, Matt began to fixate on the mystery of Joker and the equipment bag.

He went upstairs to his room and flopped onto his bed. He pulled out his iPod Shuffle, flipped in the ear buds and put it on random. The Black-Eyed Peas blasted out from the tiny music machine. He always found that listening to loud music, alone, was the best way to think something through.

Matt was reeling. Now both his mom and his neighbor—not to mention Joker—suspected he had something to do with drugs. But he had never so much as even tried marijuana. Matt knew many of the kids at South Side had, even some of the seventh-graders. Even Jake had tried it. Mom might be surprised to hear about that.

Then it hit him. Jake! Jake's red jacket had been in his baseball bag at the start of the game this afternoon. He must have left something in his pocket from the night of the dance. That's why Joker had gone nuts sniffing out Matt's bag. Matt had returned the jacket to Jake, but not until after the game in the locker room. That explained everything. Everything, that is, except what to do now.

Matt could easily clear himself, make Mom and Officer Peters stop worrying about him, if he just told them about the jacket and Jake smoking pot with his cousins. But that would also get Jake into a ton of trouble with his parents, not to mention Coach Stephens. Still, if Matt didn't tell his mom, she was probably going to think it was him, maybe even think that she couldn't trust him anymore. That was no good, either. This was completely unfair. Jake had made the wrong choices here but Matt was the one paying the price.

That night, as he tried to go to sleep, Matt wrestled with what he should do. There was no easy answer. Somewhere in the strange space between consciousness and sleep, a gigantic, pointy-eared Joker was following him around his house, sniffing him and growling every time he moved.