Soar (18 page)

I NEED SOMETHING
else to focus on, and Donald Mole still needs help. He's trying so hard; he's just . . .

“Stiff,” says Danny. “I mean, he's got to move more out there.” We walk over to Donald, who is tying his shoe. Danny says, “Mole. We gotta talk. We can make you into a great baseball player.” Donald looks up, surprised. “All you gotta do is one thing.” Danny holds up one finger. “One.”

Mole waits to hear the thing.

Danny looks at me; he's moving around a little. “It's about energy, Mole. It's about—”

“Hustle,” I say.

“You leave it all on the field, every ounce you got.” Danny puts his hand on Donald's shoulder. “You gotta practice it, not just on the field, but everywhere. Hustle.”

“Hustle,” Donald says flatly.

“Mole . . .” Danny makes a strange face. “We've gotta make a change. You can't half-hustle. You need a little sauce. Here's what we're going to do. Your name, Mole? In Spanish it's
mo-lay
. Same spelling. But it's not an animal that digs underground—no offense. It's the sauce of my country. It's got some bite, some heat. From this day forward, you're not Donald Mole. Okay? You're Donald
Mo-lay
. And you've got bite and heat.”

This might be more than Donald Mole can handle, but suddenly his eyes light up. He stands a little straighter. “That's good,” Danny tells him. “Walk around. Get used to it.”

Donald tries this.

“Mo-lay, listen. You let this go down into your heart, now.”

It's clear that Danny Lopez is going to be a great coach someday. Now I see El Grande walking toward us, smiling. He gives a thumbs-up. I think we've got a game!

The team gathers round. El Grande waits to speak. Then . . .

“In four days, we're playing the Millville Marlins.”

What!

“I worked it out with their coach. This will be our
last game this season. League championship games start next week.”

We didn't play enough games to qualify for that.

“The Marlins are a serious team,” Terrell says.

“So are you.”

El Grande looks toward the horizon. Actually, it's the parking lot, but you get the idea.

◆ ◆ ◆

I know this much: we need support! I walk into the school office. Dr. Selligman, the principal, is talking to the lady at the desk.

“The Eagles have one last game to play,” I explain. “Will you come?”

The lady at the desk looks like she'd rather do almost anything than that. But Dr. Selligman grins wide.

“Jeremiah, I promise you I will bring people to that game and we will cheer so loud, you might be embarrassed.”

DR. SELLIGMAN IS
good on both her promises.

1. She comes to our game and she brings people.

2. She totally embarrasses me.

Picture this: Dr. Selligman and her people sitting in the bleachers. So far, so good. Until . . .

Everyone in that group holds up little grinning eagle stuffies and makes them dance in the air. Not proper eagle stuffies with the power of Baby—miniature ones that look like chickens.

But the Millville Marlins have no one in their section holding up fish stuffies with long bills. They have nada for a mascot. They don't have a rabbi, either. And I can tell, they're nervous.

There's no prayer to begin this game, but Sky goes
over to where Rabbi Tova is sitting. He leans down and asks, “Would you . . . you know . . .”

She nods.

“Don't forget the umpires.”

“Play ball!”

And it's like everything we've ever practiced—all the drills, all the fundamentals—never happened. The Eagles mess up again and again. I can't believe what I'm seeing!

Franny strikes out twice. Sky's slider gets hit again and again. He walks two batters. The Oxen keep running into one another and can't catch a thing. At the bottom of the second inning, it's 4–0.

We're the zero.

“Just kill me now!” Danny shouts.

El Grande is saying, “It's okay. We got a little rusty. Remember the fundamentals: Eye on the ball. Don't swing at junk. Patience. Tire that pitcher out. Make him sorry you're at bat.”

This pitcher is so glad we're at bat! I can feel the energy leaving us. What do I say to them?

And then the words of the coach-speech-I-want-to-give-someday come back to me. I put it together last year from inspirational coach sayings. I practiced it
in front of the bathroom mirror with hand motions. I practiced it in front of Jerwal. It's the only speech I've got. I call a time-out and gather the team around me. I stand with my feet apart like coaches do, fold my arms across my chest, and drop my voice.

“Look, guys, I know you've worked hard. It hasn't been easy. But you've become—I've seen it—you've become a family. You look out for each other, and you don't sweat the small stuff.” Everyone looks at Danny.

“Hey, come on!” he says. “I care!”

Back to me: “You haven't had a lot of chances, I know, but I also know you've got what it takes to win. You're Eagles, the kings—”

Franny glares at me.

“Sorry. The kings
and
queens of the sky. We're playing Marlins—big fish with long noses. You play your game, not theirs. Do you hear me? You give your best to this team and to this game we all love.” I add, “This is your time.”

Danny looks like he might start crying. This is the kind of emotion a coach hopes for. Too bad he can't play.

“This is your win,” I tell them. “Now get out there and take it.”

I step back. They look at one another and do the
eagle screech. They run on the field, except for Franny. “Fry those fish!” Danny shouts after them.

Franny looks at me. “I've heard some of that before, Jeremiah.”

“I adapted it. Okay?”

She runs to first base. I have to sit down and stay sitting. But my Eagles keep the Marlins from scoring in the third inning. I'm clapping. “All right now!”

Fourth inning—we get one run when Franny homers on a three-two pitch.

“That's the way Eagles play!”

The Marlins get a run, too.

It's 5–1 heading into the fifth.

We hold the line, but so do the fish.

It's the sixth inning—Rabbi Tova stands and shouts, “Be aggressive!”

Now everyone in our section is standing. Every eagle stuffy is raised. Hillcrest parents are cheering. I look at Walt, who has one arm in the air and the other one around Dr. Dugan.

Everyone is shouting, “Eagles, Eagles!”

Mr. Hazard stands with his eagle arms in the air.

Hargie Cantwell's dad locks arms with four Hornets players and they holler, “Go Eagles!”

Yes!

“Eagles! Eagles!”

And then it really hits me. If we lose, we let everyone down.

And then we'll really seem like—

Wait a minute! That's not right!

I holler, “Eagles, remember who you are! Play your game!”

The Oxen raise their gloves.

Jupiter throws a two-two slider and strikes the batter out.

Aiden catches a fly ball, and his brother lets him do it.

Franny fields a grounder and gets the third out at first base.

The cheers are rocking this place.

Our turn at bat.

“You already know how to connect with the ball,” El Grande tells them. “Don't tell yourself you don't. Hit the ball. Get on base.”

Danny is standing on the bench, waving his arm that doesn't have a cast. “We can do it! We can do it!”

Jupiter's up, drags a bunt, and gets on first!

Yes!

That surprises the Marlins pitcher. He throws balls after that. Benchant moves to first on a walk. Two men on.

Terrell takes a full count, then hits a grounder to the shortstop. Jupiter is out at third, but Terrell is safe on first. Benchant is on second.

One out, people. Only one out!

“Eagles! Eagles!”

I can tell the noise is getting to Benny. He's covering his ears and rocking. I smile at him.
Hold on, Benny.
I motion for him to come sit with me. He does. “Good game,” I say.

That's when Benchant makes a tear to third base and steals it!

I'm not kidding!

He's teasing the pitcher a little, too—jumping half on, half off the base. I hope his dad is here.

Okay, okay, okay . . .

Aiden walks past us to take his turn at bat.

“No,” Benny says to me. He points at Donald, sitting on the bench.

“What do you mean?”

“Him.”

“Donald?”

Benny nods.

“Benny, why?”

He can't tell me, but I can see in his eyes he knows something. And I've read about these things, when a coach has to make a hard decision on the spot. El Grande's been listening. He nods and says, “Aiden, come back. We've got a substitution. Donald. You're up.”

Donald looks surprised, the team looks surprised, but Benny smiles. Danny hollers, “Olé, Mol-ay!”

Donald takes a couple of swings, adjusts his batting helmet, crouches to hit. On the first pitch, he slaps one deep into center field for a double!

I stand up. “Yes!”

Benchant scores easily. Terrell tears around the bases and slides into home under a high throw to the catcher.

“Safe!” the umpire shouts.

We are now, people, 5–3! With one out! Danny's dancing.

“Talk to me, Benny!” I can see he can hardly hear with the noise. He's covering his ears.

“Eagles! Eagles!”

Franny's up.

Benny studies her. “Pow,” he says.

“Yeah, we want that, Benny!”

He looks at me. “Franny mad!”

“No, she's not mad.”

Franny puts her batting helmet on.

Wait a minute. Benny is pointing at Franny. “Franny mad!”

I look at him. “You mean . . . Franny hits better when she's mad?”

She does, all right. But who's going to get her mad?

Benny stares at me.

Okay, okay.
I raise my hand, make the time-out sign, and walk to her.

I've got one-tenth of a second to say something that will totally enrage her.

She looks at me. “What is it?”

Here goes. “Don't play like a girl.”

Her eyes blaze. Now her face has splotches, which is very good. She screams, “Step away, Jeremiah, and let me hit the ball!”

Happy to do that. I go back to my seat. Benny is smiling. “Franny mad!”

She's mad, all right. She might never talk to me again.

The first pitch is junk. She waits. The second is right down the middle, and the crack of her bat is pure power. Franny Engers hits it like a girl, and that ball is outta here! Donald Mole scores. Franny runs the bases, happy but furious.

I go up to Franny. “Good one! That was awesome!”

“Do not talk to me, Jeremiah! Go somewhere far away!”

“I did it on purpose! I just wanted you to use all your—”

“Far away,” she says.

This is what it means to take one for the team.

The scoreboard reads: 5–5.

We've got to push ahead. No one is sitting.

Handro's up at bat. He hasn't looked sharp today; he's been swinging at everything.

“Take your time, son,” El Grande tells him.

It's a full count; then he gets hit by a pitch. The umpire calls, “Take your base,” and he trots to first, rubbing his shoulder. El Grande sends me to coach first base. Logo's up. He hasn't had a hit yet.

I tell Handro, “This guy's a right-handed pitcher. His back's to first base. Are you getting this?”

Handro says, “Yeah.” He takes a big lead off the base. The second pitch bounces in the dirt, Handro tears to second, and he's safe!

Lightning shoots across this place as Logo steps back into the batter's box, but he strikes out.

We didn't need that. “Keep that energy!” I shout.

Alvin is up. He gets three balls, then connects with a real pitch and hits it over the first baseman's head. It rolls slowly down the line, and Handro dashes to third. I shout, “Go home!” He makes a tear for it.

“Safe!” the umpire shouts.

6–5.

We are the six!

“Eagles! Eagles!”

Rabbi Tova screams, “That's the way!”

The Marlins don't like that call; their coach makes a protest.

Please. He was safe by a mile.

A Marlin parent starts screaming at the umpire. The Marlins change pitchers as the screaming parent storms off. It takes time for their new pitcher to warm up. We've got to keep the momentum going.

“Keep it running in your head,” El Grande says.

It's too much for Benny, who runs to his mom and
buries his head in her arms.
You did so good for the team, Benny!

The new Marlins pitcher throws three fastballs in a row and strikes Alex out. He walks away from the plate, head down.

The final inning. If we can hang on to the lead, we win, but anything can happen, and does in baseball. We take the field. Donald has replaced Aiden in right field. Jupiter Jetts runs onto the mound. He strikes two Marlins out in a row. Then a high fastball—the batter swings and hits a long fly ball to deep right field. This is bad—that's at least a double!

Alvin's too far away in center to reach it. Donald scrambles to get underneath it.

And, yes, there are miracles.

Oh, yes, there are!

Mole makes a two-handed catch, trips, and falls—but he never lets go of the ball.

We win!

Danny runs out to the field.

Mr. Hazard swoops in a circle. Benny runs under the stands! The Eagles run everywhere.

I look to Walt, who is hugging Dr. Dugan as eagle stuffies dance.

El Grande slaps me on the shoulder, and we head to the field to shake the Marlins' hands and say “Good game.”

“You guys were awesome,” their second baseman says.

“You guys, too.”

Benny is still under the stands, hugging his knees and rocking. His mother goes to get him. Benny is waving his arms as he talks to her. He's wearing his glove.

The Marlins clear the field. Then Mrs. Lewis takes Benny by the hand and walks him over to us.

“Benny wants to ask you something,” she says. Benny shakes his head and pushes his mom forward. “I guess Benny wants me to ask you.” She looks down at him, smiling. “Benny would like to play catch with the team.”

Terrell grabs the baseball—“Come on, big man”—and runs out to the field with Donald, Benchant, and Roy. The Oxen race after them, and Logo and Handro follow with Sky and Jupiter. Franny shouts, “Close in, guys!” The Eagles form a circle.

“Come on, Benny!”

Benny takes time to adjust his glove. He takes it off, puts it back on. Then he smiles and runs out to
the field with his head down and gets close to Franny.

“Big throw, Benny.” Terrell tosses an easy one at Benny, who drops it. “That's okay. Throw it back.”

Benny throws it not close to anyone. The Oxen run to get it, jabbing one another along the way.

Alvin gets close and plops the ball into Benny's glove. Benny laughs as he puts his hand over it and twirls around like it's the best day of his life.

Anyone want to tell me that baseball doesn't matter?