It's a Little Haywire (6 page)

Hadn’t thought of that.

“Could be. But why does it only happen
when I’m on the log at the creek? Why not here in the tree house,
for instance?”

“Probably because it’s not from too much
sun. I believe you’re really seeing angels, Owen True.”

“But are they real?”

“I think they are. The question is why
are they appearing to you?”

That is a good question. One we can’t
ponder for very long since Mrs. Sweet is calling Mikala from the
back door.

“Oh, I have to go.” Mikala picks up her
notebook and pen. “Promised Mom I’d watch the girls so she could go
into Edson. She’s applying for a waitressing job at a restaurant
open at nights.”

“Okay, yeah. I should help Gramps in the
garden anyway.” I tuck the books under the bench where they’ll be
safe from rain and then follow Mikala down.

I run home and I’m sweating from the
heat by the time I get there. Gramps is in the garden just like he
said he’d be. I grab the hose and turn it on, bending over the arch
of water to slurp it up.

“Hey, young man! I could use the help.
Why don’t you grab that hoe over there?”

I get water all over my shirt, but I
don’t care. Feels good.

Gramps gives me instruction and I
start hoeing, but all the while I can’t stop thinking about Mikala.
Truth is, I hate it when Mikala is too busy to hang out. More than
I should, I think. It’s not like being with Gramps is hard, just I
really like Mikala. I mean, I really like
being
with her.

Okay, well, maybe the truth is,
I
like
her.

I must be concentrating really hard
because Gramps asks me if everything is okay.

“Uh, yeah.” I wonder if I should talk to
him about Mikala. Seems like Gramps might be in the same boat with
Mrs. Pershishnick.

“Hey, Gramps, how do you know when you
like a girl, you know, more than just a friend.”

Gramps stops hoeing to eyeball me. He
cups one hand over the hoe handle and rubs the gray bristles on his
chin with the other.

“Well, I suppose you feel extra happy
when you’re with her, a kind of happiness that comes deep from the
belly, unlike any other thing that makes you happy. And when you’re
with her she makes you feel special.”

I pass the first test. Mikala does make
me feel happy from deep in my belly unlike anything else, like say
my new computer at home or even talking to my parents on the
phone.

But the second one, does Mikala make me
feel special? Does she think I’m special? I don’t know.

“Is that how Mrs. Pershishnick makes you
feel?”

Gramps starts coughing. And
chuckling. At the same time. He’s
ch
oughing.

“Ahem, well, I guess you could say that,
Owen. I mean, no one will replace your gran, but she’s gone now and
I’m getting tired of being alone. But we’re just friends.”

So, Gramps and Annabelle Pershishnick
are just friends and Mikala and I are just friends. We’re all just
a bunch of friends.

Suddenly my heart hurts a bit. And
so does my back. “Gramps,
why
do you have such a big garden?”

A miracle happens. Someone organizes a
ballgame. In the old school field in Haywire by the abandoned
school building. The mill had been dying for a while before it
actually kicked the bucket, and the town along with it. The
powers-that-be decided that there weren’t enough kids in Haywire to
merit keeping the school open, so the remaining unlucky ones have
to bus into Edson now.

At least someone had mowed the diamond
before game day. I meet Mikala at the ballpark.

“This is great!" I say. There are actual
crowds gathering, must be imports from surrounding towns. This is
the first inclination that the ball game involves outsiders. That
and the hot-dog stands that have appeared out of nowhere.

The mayor, Mr. Sanderson, (yeah, Haywire
has a mayor. He’s also the postman), is handing out free helium
balloons, and I can spot a few that have escaped from their owners,
dotting the sky. Haywire is oozing energy and excitement, and after
so much dullsville, I’m stunned by it. My mind doesn’t know how to
compute all the activity. How am I going to adjust to the high
speed pace of life in Seattle when I finally get back?

Mikala points. "The schedule is hanging
on the bulletin board over there. Let's go see what teams we're
on."

I find my name and my heart sinks.
Mikala's name isn't on my list.

"Here I am," she says. "I'm with
Mason."

I secretly moan. I want to play with
Mikala and the thought of playing against Mason Sweet fills me with
dread.

I find my team and take a seat on the
bench. The old wooden bleachers, sun-stripped and warped, are
sprinkled with “fans” eating corn dogs, drinking sodas and smoking
cigarettes. I look for Mikala and spot her sitting at the end of
the row with her team. She sees me and wiggles her fingers.

"Let's play ball!"

By mid afternoon my team has already
played two games, one win and one loss. The next team I’m scheduled
to play against is the Sweets’ team.

“Hey, Owen True!" Mikala shouts and
waves her arm.

I take my place at first base. The crowd
cheers us all on and I wave at them like a lunatic. Everyone is
pumped. So far I’m loving this day. Best day in Haywire yet. The
sun tucks itself behind the hill offering us the first bit of
relief from its glare. It smells like sweat and hotdogs and
dust.

First hit comes straight to me. Mason’s
buddy, Judd runs and I tag him before he hits the base.

“Out!”

Next Mikala is up to bat.

"Ball one." She swings her bat back and
forth a few times to loosen up. The pitcher throws.

"Strike one."

"You can do it, Mikala!" Mason shouts.
"Bring it home."

She follows through with the
bat."Whack!"

It is a grounder and it rolls straight
toward me. I scoop it up just a she slides and I tag her.

The ump calls it, "Safe!"

Now normally I would've gotten mad and
argued the call. But it’s Mikala. She flashes me a big smile and I
feel that deep happiness from my belly that Gramps talked
about.

The next batter strikes out. Mikala
steals second.

Mason Sweet picks up the bat.

“Ball one."

"Ball two." Our pitcher is tiring
out.

Mason swings hard at the next pitch and
"smack" hits it clear out to left field. I hold my breath hoping
Mason’s other buddy, Everett, will catch it, but no luck. Mason is
off and running. Mason gives me a mean shove as he runs past first
base. For reasons I can’t fathom he still doesn't like me. I
thought for sure he’d warm up after I’d saved his sister, but the
chip on his shoulder is as big as ever.

Finally three players strike out and
it’s our turn to bat. Mikala takes third base and, oh no, Mason is
pitching. Somehow I know there will be trouble.

We have one man on base and two have
struck out. It’s my turn to bat. I haven't struck out yet this
tourney and so my team is cheering extra hard. If I don't pull
through, the inning will be over and we'll lose 2-0.

"Go Owen, you can do it!" I hear my
Gramps’ strong voice in the crowd. I feel good. Then I see Mason’s
face. He glares at me and spits on the ground.

He pitches. I miss.

“Strike one."

Mason grins. “Go home, city boy,” he
says just loud enough for me to hear.

He pitches again. I miss again.

"Strike two."

My stomach’s rolling with nerves. I
can’t strike out. My team is depending on me. Besides, I wouldn’t
mind showing Mason a thing or two.

Not. Gonna. Happen.

The next thing I know, I’m on the
ground. Mason had pitched a hard ball and it hit me in the stomach.
I’m drawing in my knees and gasping for breath. When I look up I’m
encircled by the sweaty faces of my teammates peering down at me.
"Owen, are you okay?"

Mason did that on purpose! He’s a good
pitcher and had never hit anyone before. Anger rises up in me from
deep inside. This is the last straw. I've had it with Mason Sweet.
I recover from the blow enough to rise to my feet.

"You did that on purpose! He did that on
purpose!" I see that satisfied glint in Mason's eye. I rush at him
and push him in the chest. "You jerk! What did I ever do to you?!"
I push him again. He pushes back.

We begin swinging punches and I wrap my
arm around his neck. He wrestles out of my grip easily and then, a
blast of pain-filled heat as Mason’s fist connects with my face.
Fury trumps the pain and I lurch on top of Mason, knocking him to
the ground.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I can
hear Mikala screaming. “Mason! Owen! Stop it.”

She called me Owen. Not Owen True. The
steam of the fight begins to fizzle for me. I relax my grip as the
umpire pulls us apart.

Then I see Gramps. His wrinkly tan face
is flushed red, and I’m afraid he’s over-excited. “Owen! What has
gotten into you?”

I can’t see. My right eye is swelling
shut. Gramps grabs my arm and leads me to the bench where the first
aid crew fusses over me. Faster than you can shake a stick, Mason
and I are suspended from the rest of the games.

Everyone else starts playing again like
nothing has happened. In fact I think we added some excitement for
the sun-weary onlookers. To everyone, that is, except my Gramps.
I’ve humiliated him in front of the whole town. And Mikala has her
hands firmly on her hips as she shakes her head.

I think I have a thing or two to learn
about impressing girls.

CHAPTER NINE

Owen True – The Philosopher

“IT’S A BEAUT.” Gramps hands me a damp
cold cloth to put over my black eye. Then he sighs. “I suppose we
should call your parents.”

“Why? It’s just a black eye. I’m not
dying or anything. By the time Dad comes to get me in two weeks,
I’ll be good as new.”

It’s hard enough being exiled by your
parents. You don’t need them to be angry too. Besides, the fight
wasn’t my fault. Mason started it. He’s the one with issues
here.

At least Gramps doesn’t ground me like I
know Mom would’ve. But he does give me two extra rows to weed. With
only one good eye, my depth perception is off and I miss as many as
I grab.

The next day, I head to the tree house,
hoping Mikala is there. She’s not. A hollow pit thumps in my
stomach. Please, not another oh- so-boring day in Haywire.

Mrs. Sweet is in the yard watering pots
of wilted flowers when I walk back to the road.

“Hi, Owen,” she calls out. “Can you wait
a minute please?” She turns off her hose and comes over. She bends
down to examine my eye. “That’s quite the shiner.”

“Uh, thanks?” Mrs. Sweet is a skinny
lady with long hair pulled back in a pony-tail and if it weren’t
for the puffy rings under her eyes, she’d be kind of pretty.

“I apologize on Mason’s account. I know
he started the fight with you, Owen. He’s got problems. Not to
excuse his behavior, just...”

“It’s fine, Mrs. Sweet. I’m fine,
really. It’s just a black eye. It’ll be gone in no time.”

She smiles weakly. “If you’re looking
for Mikala, I sent her to Don Chan’s.”

My legs automatically take me in that
direction. I spot Mason and his posse, but circle wide. No need to
set him off again with my mere magnificent presence. Plus I need my
one good eye. He ignores me anyway, like yesterdays’ fight is
passé.

I see Mikala just as she’s leaving the
store, a bag in each hand.

“Hey, Mikala, wait!”

Her face is blank, but at least she’s
not scowling anymore. Her lips pull down as I get closer and she
gets a good look at my eye.