It wasn’t true. Kellogg’s practices were boring, and he really didn’t coach. Most guys wouldn’t care when they heard he was leaving.
His eyes went sad. “That’s the hard thing about moving on. Cutting those bonds. You tell the guys that I’ll miss them.”
“Sure.”
An awkward silence followed before he spoke again.
“Did you hear you’ve got a new principal at North Central?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Mrs. Park. And she’s not a big fan of team sports. She had me give her the number of kids who participated in the baseball program, and asked about the cop thing at Oak Tree Cinema. Then she started going on about how intramurals get more kids involved.”
I didn’t understand why he was telling me all this, and my confusion must have shown. “Long story short. Mrs. Park wants to eliminate the baseball program and use our field for Ultimate Frisbee, kite flying, rocketry. With me gone, she’ll get her way.”
My blood ran cold. “You mean North Central won’t have a b-baseball t-team next year?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.” Then Mr. Kellogg leaned toward me and spoke in a whisper. “But Laz, North Central dropping baseball could be a good thing for you.”
I felt dizzy. “How? If there’s no t-team, I’m done.”
He slid his chair closer. “There’s a rule about this. If your high school doesn’t offer a sport, you can go to any Seattle high school and play for them. Broadview High is closest, but they’re no good. Laurelhurst High is only a mile farther away. I called their coach and told him about baseball being canceled at North Central. At first he was bored, but that changed when I mentioned your name. A parent who coaches a select summer team had told him about you. The point is—Laurelhurst wants you.”
I swallowed. “M-Me? They want me?”
Kellogg’s smile grew wider. “Yeah. And they don’t mess around. They’ve got an off-season program that starts soon. I checked on the buses. One goes down Thirty-fifth right after school lets out, so getting there will be easy. I don’t know how you’ll get home afterward, but you’re a North Central kid, right? North Central kids figure out a way.” He paused. “Interested?”
I was so excited my voice squeaked. “Yeah. I’m interested. A-And thank—”
He cut me off. “Nothing to thank me for. North Central wasn’t doing right by you, not with the talent you have. I’ll call their coach tomorrow and tell him you want in.” He looked at the clock above the main desk. “I need to go. My wife and I are going to her parents’ for dinner.”
He stood, shook my hand, and headed out. “Coach—” I called out before he reached the door. “Way to go. With the baby I mean.”
He laughed. “Thanks, Laz. I appreciate it.”
I stood stock-still for a long moment, until I remembered the driving range. As I hurried to work, the excitement slipped away and fear took its place. The Laurelhurst kids would have designer clothes and smartphones and money in their wallets. Some would have their own cars. Even my duffle bag would suck compared to the ones they had. I wouldn’t know anyone, so my words would get stuck. I could see my head tilting sideways as I repeated some sound three, four, six times while the Laurelhurst players exchanged half-hidden smiles.
Going alone would be miserable, but I’d be okay if Antonio tried out, too. He had the talent to make the Laurelhurst team; all he had to do was put in the effort. Yeah, he was skipping out on Leskov’s games. But Laurelhurst was different. It was a real team—he wouldn’t be ashamed to play for them. He’d be in my corner, and I’d be in his, and together we’d show them.
Twenty
Once Curtis moved in, he was after Antonio to do things with him, but Antonio always put him off. Can’t—going to Green Lake. Can’t—meeting friends at the arcade . . .
Finally, one morning in late August, Curtis laid a Mariners schedule in front of Antonio as he was scarfing down a bowl of Cheerios. “You point to a day you can go to a Mariners game and I’ll buy tickets. And once I buy them, you’re going. No backing out.”
Antonio looked to Mom, and she looked right back at him. “Laz is coming with us. Right?” he said.
Curtis didn’t even glance at me. “Sure, Laz can come. Now pick a game.”
Antonio looked at the calendar. “Tonight’s fine.”
* * *
The Mariners were playing the Angels. Curtis tried to get Antonio talking as we drove to T-Mobile Park, but all he got were grunts and a few yeahs and nahs and maybes.
Curtis had used StubHub to get the seats, and he hadn’t cheaped out: third level, right behind home plate, four rows up. Antonio tried to make it so I’d be sitting in the middle, but Curtis didn’t let that happen.
In the early innings Curtis would say normal stuff to Antonio. Trout has one sweet swing . . . The air is dead in this park . . . You got to wonder if the Mariners will ever make it to the World Series.
Antonio gave him nothing back.
“Give the m-man a break,” I whispered to Antonio in the bottom of the fourth.
He got up. “I’ve got to take a leak,” he said as he pushed by me.
Half an inning went by, then an inning. Curtis kept looking at the aisle. Finally he stood and scanned the entire area. “He didn’t get himself lost, did he?”
I shook my head. “N-no way. We’re directly behind home p-plate.”
Right then he spotted Antonio working his way toward us. “Here, Son,” he called out, waving his hand. It was the first time I’d ever heard him call Antonio Son, and Antonio flinched.
The Mariners rallied to win on a two-out ninth-inning hit by some guy just up from Triple-A. Around us, fans went crazy, but the three of us were zombies. We returned to the car in silence.
As Curtis drove back to Jet City, I could feel his fury building. I was waiting for him to lash out at Antonio, but instead he went after me. “Laz, has your mom ever told you about your dad? How he ended up in prison?”
My throat went dry. I hadn’t known my father was in prison.
He chuckled. “She hasn’t, has she? It’s some story. Your old man stole something like thirty-eight dollars from a 7-Eleven over in Spokane. When he came out with his loot, he discovered that his partner had panicked and driven off. So your genius dad decided to—”
“Stop it,” Antonio interrupted.
“What?” Curtis said.
“Leave Laz alone. He hasn’t done anything to you.”
There was a long silence, and then Curtis spoke in a steely voice. “All right. You don’t want me to talk to Laz, then you talk to me.”
“Okay,” Antonio said. “I will.”
And he did. For the rest of the ride home, they talked about the game, about Jet City, about movies and food and Husky football. “Was that so bad?” Curtis asked when he pulled up in front of the trailer.
“No,” Antonio said as he opened the door and stepped out. “It wasn’t.”
Twenty-One
Our last summer game was on August 31 against the Green Lake Gophers. Leskov spread the word that after the game he’d pay for us to go out on paddleboats in Green Lake and then have a pizza lunch, so everyone showed up.