The Distance to Home (15 page)

It never crossed my mind that Mom would want to come. “Isn't this store the best?”

I head straight for the baseball equipment. The new metal bats are shiny and in all kinds of colors: silver, neon green, white, gold, maroon. I run my hand over them as we make our way to the gloves. So many different shades of brown and black leather. I want to sniff them all.

“Gosh, there're so many. How do you know which one is right?” Mom asks.

I pull one off the shelf and slide my hand in. “You kind of have to go with how it feels.” I point out a glove that's obviously too tiny for my hand. “You don't want one that's too small. But you don't want one that's too big, either, 'cause then it could fall off. It would really stink to make a great catch and then have your glove fall off with the ball in it.”

Mom nods. “Makes sense.”

A dark brown glove with a red star on it catches my eye. I reach up for it and slide my hand in. My fingertips don't quite hit the end. There's still room to grow.

I put the glove up to my face and breathe in.

“You have to sniff it?” Mom asks.

“Definitely.” I grab one of the bigger gloves off the shelf and hand it to Mom. “Try this one.”

“I don't know. I wouldn't know how.”

“If you put on gloves in the winter, you can put on a baseball glove.”

She slips her hand in and flexes the glove. “It's not very soft.”

“You have to break it in, Mom.”

She purses her lips. “Okay, okay.”

After one more sniff, I say, “I think this is the one.”

While we're waiting in line for the register, I trace the stitching on my new glove. “Hey, Mom?”

“Mmm-hmm?”

“Why did you and Dad decide to do it? To host a baseball player this summer?”

“Your father and I thought…well, we thought having one of the Bandits around all summer might help you realize how much you missed playing baseball. You and your sister, you were never ones to do things when we pushed them. You're so alike in that way.”

As Mom steps forward to pay at the register, a tiny smile spreads across my face.
They were on my team the whole time.

While we're leaving the store, I decide to tell her: “You know my friend Hector, the pitcher?”

Mom nods.

“He's been meeting me at the park. When I went with Brandon, it was really to meet up with Hector, to work on my pitching. I need to practice a ton if I want to be on the Panthers next year. Especially since I missed this whole season.”

“I know, Quinnbear,” Mom says.

My feet catch on the mall floor. “You know?”

“Do you think you'd convinced me and your father that you and
Brandon
were hanging out at the park?
The
Brandon Williams?”

“Brandon told you?”

“Let's just say your father and I aren't as clueless as you think we are.” Mom laughs. “Come on, let's get you and your new glove home so you can try it out.”

When we're rounding the corner to walk back to the parking garage, I see Hector's friend, the shortstop, José, waiting in line at the pretzel shop with a girl, and I know what I still have to do.

It's been almost a year since Zack was last here, in Haley's room, with me and my sister. He's standing in the doorway now, but this time it's with just me.

“It's okay,” I say. “Really. I'm not going to throw anything at you. Promise.”

He laughs. It's a little laugh, not at all like how he used to laugh with my sister.

The window over Haley's bed is wide open, and the curtains move with the breeze. Sunlight streams in. It's not a cave anymore. The floor is covered with boxes of her belongings, divided and labeled by Mom so it won't be hard when it comes time to donate what's left over. For the past couple days, Haley's friends have been stopping by, looking in the boxes and taking things that make them think of her.

I hop over a few boxes and sit down on the bed. Zack follows me into the room, but with slow, carefully thought-out steps.

“No one took any of her DVDs,” I say. The DVD shelf next to her desk stands completely full.

Zack steps around a few piles of clothes to get there and pulls out one DVD. His hand is shaking.

There's a lump in my throat that I'm not sure will ever go away unless I say something.

“Hey, Zack?” I say it quietly, but he hears. He turns his head and looks at me. He isn't crying, but his face looks like it hurts somehow, like how Hector looked after he got hit in the face by the baseball. Like the shock of Haley dying has never left.

“I'm sorry I didn't give you much of a chance last summer. I was a little quick to judge and…anyway, you didn't ever do anything to deserve how I treated you. I didn't get that before, but I do. I do now, and I really am sorry.”

He nods his head slightly and puts the DVD back, his hand a little less shaky.

“I should've come to see you in the hospital last summer.” It comes out louder than I intend, but maybe he'll understand that I really mean it.

“It's okay,” he says. “You know, I thought about giving you a call or sending you a card. But I didn't know what to say.”

He goes back to looking at the DVDs, one after another. Turning them over in the palm of his hand to look at the back.

“Hey, Zack?” He doesn't look up when I say it this time. But that's okay. All that matters is that I say it. “Haley really liked you.”

“I know,” he says, looking right at me. “I loved her.”

“She loved you back.”

I stare out the window. Dad is mowing the side yard, and Mom is busy working in the garden. The cornfields are flat and dry, which means there are only a few weeks left in the baseball season.

I turn around to see what Zack is up to. He's sitting on the floor, going through a box of random stuff from Haley's desk. Her friends have already taken a lot from that one. He picks up a glow stick from Haley's last Fourth of July.

“How did you get to be friends with Hector?” I ask.

Zack grabs some photos from the box. “He and a couple of the other players came to my band's show back in June. He liked our music and asked if we could jam sometime. I lent him my spare keyboard.”

“Oh.”

“You know, he misses you coming to the ball games. You're like Hector's personal mascot. I mean, in a good way. The season's almost over, and then everyone will leave.”

“Is Hector leaving?”

“Everyone's got to go back home when the season ends.”

“Right. Why'd you decide to work at the stadium?”

“I couldn't imagine being back…working at the camp…without her.” Zack fiddles with his lip ring. “They were hiring at the stadium, and I thought it might be nice to do something different for a change.”

He goes back to flipping through the contents of the box, pulling stuff out until he has a little pile on the floor. I look through a magazine on Haley's nightstand. One of the ones with all the quizzes and dating advice. I stop at the article “How
Not
to Break Up with Your Man.”

“Zack?”

He looks up, and I can tell that he'd probably like for me to leave the room and stop talking to him while he goes through Haley's belongings. But this is important.

“When I sent you that message—the breakup one—why did you write back ‘Okay'?”

He keeps staring at me, but it's more like he's looking through me.

“I wish I hadn't. Those days, when you were still on your trip, when I could've talked to Haley every night—I wish I could have them back, you know?”

I nod. I know exactly.

“But when I got the text, it took me by surprise so much that I didn't know what to say.”

I shift toward the edge of the bed and kick my legs against the side.

“I mean, I eventually figured out it was you. Because of the typo—how you spelled
break
wrong. But at first it didn't occur to me that someone else sent it. And then once she thought that I was okay with the idea of breaking up, she thought it meant I didn't really care about her. And I did. I liked her so much. I just…”

“She was so mad at me. She didn't talk to me for the whole rest of vacation.” I stop kicking my legs against the bed.

“When we were in the car…” He covers his mouth with his hand and takes a deep breath. “After the accident, it took me so long to remember that car ride. But then my memory came back.”

I bite my lip. My heart beats faster as I wait for him to continue.

“She said she was so glad I came over. She hated being mad at you, Quinnen. But she didn't know what else to do. She wanted for you to come with us, instead of going to the Bandits game.” He takes in another deep breath and squeezes his eyes shut. “I'm so glad you weren't in the backseat.”

“I'm sorry, Zack.”

“Me too,” he says.

“O
w, ow, ow!” Casey shouts, after biting into a slice of pizza at Abbott Memorial Stadium before the game.

“Not again, Case,” I say.

“Yeah. Again. They shouldn't give out pizza when it's still so hot you can burn the roof of your mouth. They should wait a minute.”

“Or
you
could wait a minute. Like me.” I blow on my slice of pepperoni pizza and then take a huge bite, chewing loudly to make my point.

We finish our pizza at one of the picnic tables and head to our seats behind home plate to watch the end of batting practice. I look toward the dugout for Hector, but I don't see him. I wonder if he thinks I'm never going to come back.

“How long do you think we'll get free pizza for?” Casey asks.

“I don't know. Why?”

“It's a pretty sweet deal. I was hoping Zack felt bad enough that he would give you free pizza for life.”

“It's not like that, Case. And anyway, Zack's not really a bad guy.” I picture him playing his guitar along with Hector on keyboard. Maybe they'd let me watch them play sometime. “He's actually kind of cool.”

“Do you think I would look cool with a lip ring?”

I almost choke on my soda. “No.”

“Come on.” Casey pinches his lip with his thumb and pointer finger. “I think it looks pretty cool.”

“Then you need to look in a mirror.”

“Fine, fine.” He munches on his crust. “Free pizza for life, though? That would be cool.”

We talk about which food we'd want to have for free for the rest of our lives if we could choose (pizza wins, but ice cream is a close second) and then what one thing we would like an infinite supply of (baseball tickets, obviously), and before long batting practice is over and the players are all warmed up and the announcer is reading today's starting lineup.

“And pitching this afternoon for the Tri-City Bandits…Hector Padilla!”

Hector jogs out to the mound. I keep watching for him to check my spot. To see that I came back. I missed the last four games, but I came back in time for Hector's start.

“Yeah, Hector!” I yell.

“Woo-hoo!” Casey screams.

Hector throws his warm-up pitches to the catcher. He still doesn't see me.

I stare out at the mound as Hector fingers his cross and looks up to the sky. Then he throws the first pitch.

“Striiiiike one!” the umpire yells.

Hector doesn't hesitate. He winds up and throws again: a wicked fastball.

“Striiiiike two!”

“Geez,” Casey says. “He's got his good stuff.”

I stand up and yell, “You've got him right where you want him!”

Hector looks into the stands, sees me, and breaks into a smile. He winds up again. The catcher doesn't even have to move his glove an inch. The ball hits the mitt with a hard smack as the batter swings and misses.

“Strike three!”

The batter walks away, shaking his head. He can't argue because he knows Hector got all those pitches in there just right. Every single person in the stadium is clapping.

But nobody is clapping louder than me.

Hector hangs in there through the seventh inning, but the manager sends out a relief pitcher for the top of the eighth.

“What are you waiting for?” Casey says. “Just go talk to him.”

“It's complicated.”

“Why?”

I fill him in on the pact I made with Hector and how I attacked Zack when he was dressed up as a pizza.

“I can't believe you took out a pizza,” Casey says. “That's so funny.”

“It didn't feel that way. Trust me.”

“But you and Zack are okay now, right? Forget about that other stuff. Tackling a pizza in front of an entire stadium of people is awesome.”

I had kind of forgotten about how many people saw me do it. Hiding my face behind my new glove, I say, “Do you think they'll remember me?”

Casey clears his throat. “Oh, no. Something like that? It's not memorable.”

So not convincing, Casey.
“Right.” I get up from my seat when the top of the inning is over and walk over to the Bandits dugout. I tap my fingers on the hot metal dugout roof. “Hector?”

When he doesn't pop his head out, I crawl out onto the roof and wait for him to show his face. But he doesn't. Somebody else does, though. The manager.

“Get off that thing, Quinnen! Sheesh! You're going to get yourself hurt.”

I scramble off it. “Sorry.”

“Hector's in the bathroom,” he says. “I'll tell him you're looking for him.”

I head back to my seat and get lost in the game. The Bandits are two outs away from their first shutout in a month and you can feel it in the crowd. There's a runner on first base and everyone in the stadium is on his or her feet. Fingers crossed, arms crossed, prayers said.

They all want this one for the team. But me? I want it for Hector. This was his best start since he got hit in the face. A win for Hector.

“Come on,” I whisper.

I watch as the batter makes contact with the ball. Good contact. The kind of contact that could send the runner all the way to home. But the left fielder makes a great play on the line drive and cuts the ball off, then quickly throws it back in. Still one out, but runners now on first and second.

“You've got it!” I shout. “Shake it off!”

“You want to come over to my house after the game?” Casey asks.

“Maybe.”

The next batter swings at the first pitch and hits a slow roller down the third-base line. He's safe, and now the bases are loaded. I swear the whole stadium groans at once, but we're still standing, because that's what you do when you're a Bandits fan.

The pitcher takes his cap off and puts it back on—like that will suddenly make his pitches land where he wants them to?
Good luck with that.

Someone walks down our row and stands next to me, not even asking if the seat is taken. I turn my head to see who could be that rude.

I almost drop my glove when I see that it's Hector.

“Why aren't you in the dugout?” I ask.

“The manager says it's all right. Game's almost over. My job is done.”

“Right.”

We watch the game in silence as the pitcher works to an 0-2 count.

“I'm sorry I left during your last game,” I say.

Hector shrugs. “It's no biggie.”

“Yeah, it was. To me.”

“You came today. You saw me pitch well. You helped me.”

“You don't need my help,” I say. “I looked up the score. After the storm, you came out and pitched the rest of the game. The whole thing! A complete game? That's huge.”

“Even when you weren't there, I still heard it in my head.
Mofongo.
Like how you say it.”

“Mofongo,”
I say.

He repeats it back to me. It always sounds better when he says it. “When I hear
‘Mofongo,'
it makes me think about my home. I left my home to make my family proud, but really, I came to America because I love playing baseball.
Mofongo
is always waiting for me back home. Right now is time for baseball.”

Suddenly everyone is cheering and fireworks are going off overhead. The game is over. We weren't paying attention and missed the ending. I usually hate missing the endings, but this time it doesn't bother me.

Hector asks if we'll wait for him to get his stuff from the locker room. He wants to take us both out for ice cream. Casey checks in with his mom, who's been sitting over with her friends, to make sure it's okay, but she doesn't mind.

We're halfway to Gracie's when Hector takes a left instead of a right. “You're going the wrong way,” I say.

“I forgot,” he says. “We have to stop for something.”

He takes another turn up at the next light.
Wait a second.
I know where we're going.

I haven't been this way in a whole year, but I know this route by heart. I look at Casey, but he shakes his head. “I don't know anything,” he says.

Hector pulls the car into the parking lot at the old ball fields.

I don't know what to say.

“You never told me what really happened,” he says. “So I asked some people.” I look back at Casey. Casey could never keep quiet about anything. But maybe that's okay. “Zack told me about your team and what happened with your sister.”

“He told you?”

Hector nods. “You and Zack, you both lost the same person. You have something in common, you know?”

Hector's right.

“Zack told me you were the star on your team. He came to one of your games, right?”

I nod. “But I left them. I ditched my team. I left them when they really needed me. I blew it.”

“No,” he says. “You're wrong. You didn't blow it. I called your coach. Napoli? It's too late to be on the team for this season, but he says you can still come to practice. Play with your team again.”

That's them out on the field. The Panthers. Katie Miller, and Jordan, and Coach Napoli. Even Jaden and Andrew. All of them. My old team.

“What do you say?” Hector asks. He's holding out a baseball. For me.

There's a lump in my throat all of a sudden, but I swallow it down. I take the ball from Hector's hand and place it in my glove.

I give it a squeeze. “Okay.”

There's this feeling in my belly that's both strange and not strange. Like I felt it once before, but a long time ago.

All I know is that the feeling makes me want to move, so I lead Hector and Casey out to the field. The ground feels different under my feet and suddenly I realize what's different. I'm not wearing my cleats. I'm not even sure if they fit anymore.

And that's when it clicks—what this feeling is. It's the feeling that I always got right before I pitched in a game. Some people call it butterflies or nerves, but Haley and I, we had our own made-up word for it: the rumbles. My insides were all rumbling around with excitement and the littlest bit of fear.

It's just practice,
I tell the rumbles.
You can calm down.

Coach Napoli waves when he sees me. He doesn't have a beard anymore. The Panthers must not be as good this year.

“We've missed you, Quinnen,” he says.

“I'm sorry about last season. I—”

He cuts me off. “No worries, QD. I'm not gonna lie; we've missed your arm this year. You want to toss a few pitches from the mound?”

Of course I do. I jog to the pitcher's mound. Katie is still behind home plate. The only girl on the team. For now, at least.

“Hey, QD,” she says.

“Hey, KM,” I say back.

The ball that Hector gave me is still in my glove. I take a deep breath, stand up straight, and grip the ball with my right hand. The rumbles quiet down.

“Yeah, Quinnen!” Casey yells from the sidelines.

“You can do it!” Hector says.

And I hear one more voice.
You've got this, Quinnbear.
Only I hear her in my head. When I close my eyes, I can see her, sitting in that rainbow-striped folding chair on the sidelines. Her sandals off, bare feet in the grass. My sister, Haley. She's still here. In the air, in the dirt, in the grass. In my heart.

And I think she'd agree with Hector.
Now is time for baseball.

I take another deep breath and open my eyes. I focus in on Katie—no, on KM—crouched behind home plate, her glove in position, ready to catch my pitch.

And then I throw.

The baseball flies from my fingertips. I track its path with my eyes until KM catches it in her glove.

It's a ball. A little bit high. A little bit outside.

It's not my best pitch. Not by a lot. But I'll get there.

I wind up and throw again.