Lost Boy (23 page)

“Second.” RJ offered Ryder a smile and a nod.

Ryder could barely breathe. He thought about his mom, lying in that hospital bed, and all those machines. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Okay, let's get this show on the road,” the official said. “Batter up!”

Ryder took a few practice swings and stepped up to the plate. His mind spun with images of his mom and the man who had to be his dad. If he won this, he could bring them back together. Maybe not forever, but most importantly, he could save his mother's life.

The green light flashed. The machine whirred and clunked and the pitch came at him in a blur.

Ryder swung and nicked it.

“Did he hit that?” someone from the audience called out.

“Yes.” The official held up a thumb. “Any contact counts. Those are the rules. RJ, you're up.”

Ryder took a deep breath and let it out slow as he stepped back.

RJ bounced into place and gave the official a nod.

The official pressed Start, the machine clunked and spit, and RJ swung.

POP.

A solid hit and people clapped.

Ryder looked around. Mr. Starr sat looking through the mesh of the metal fence just outside the door. RJ's stepdad stood not too far away, but between and all around them was a crowd of people, young players and parents alike eager to see
the tiebreaker between two sensational batters.

Ryder stepped up and connected with the ball. Mr. Starr barked and cheered and the audience clapped for him as well.

“Nice one.” RJ Leonardo stepped up.

POP.

Applause.

Ryder's turn and just as the machine clunked, something stung in his eye. He blinked and swung, but missed.

The crowd groaned.

Mr. Starr held the ball against the fence. His mouth worked open and shut without words. Ryder stood back and took a deep breath. RJ had an easy stance as he slipped into place, as if nothing of any importance were on the line.

The machine whirred and clunked.

The ball screamed across the plate.

CRACK.

The net jumped, so did RJ Leonardo.

The crowd cheered.

The sound might as well have been Ryder's spirit breaking. He was destroyed. Tears sprang up into his eyes and a sob wrenched free from his gut. He looked back at Mr. Starr, who still held the ball against the fence and whose cheeks each bore the glittering tracks of tears. RJ Leonardo burst out of the cage, slapping high fives with his stepdad and little sister and the perfect strangers who clapped his back.

Ryder slipped out too and tugged Mr. Starr through the parting crowd without a word.

Mr. Starr made a choking noise. “I should have had you hold it.”

“That wasn't it, Mr. Starr.” Ryder tried hard to keep his voice from quavering.

“What was it, then?” Mr. Starr sounded so bitter. “Tell me?”

“I got something in my eye . . . I . . .”

“
That's
luck! Bad luck, a speck in the air gets in your eye at just the wrong moment.” Mr. Starr laughed bitterly. “I knew better.”

Ryder thought about the moment when he pulled away from his mother on the sidewalk, something as tiny as a speck. He had luck all right, and all of it was bad.

Now that they were away from the crowd, Ryder felt alone and exhausted. He wheeled Mr. Starr into the parking lot, headed for the bus stop just down the road. They were halfway across the lot when someone shouted his name.

“Hey! Ryder Strong!”

Ryder turned.

“Who's that?” Mr. Starr struggled in his seat, unable to turn.

“It's . . . it's RJ Leonardo and his stepdad.”

“Wait up!” the stepdad called as they hurried toward Ryder and Mr. Starr, weaving through the parked cars.

The little girl bounced up and down on the stepdad's shoulders. Her blond hair glinted in the sunshine and her giggling filled the air.

“Let's just go,” Mr. Starr grouched. “What could he possibly have to say to you?”

Ryder didn't move. It wouldn't be polite, and his mother had taught him better.

RJ and his stepdad came to a stop in front of them.

“Hey, name's Rick Bernard, RJ's stepdad,” the stepdad said. “That was some hitting. You were great.”

“RJ was better. Congratulations. I . . . we just . . . had to get going.”

“Oh, don't worry about that.” Rick Bernard waved a hand through the air. “Look, I saw how upset you are and we don't need that gift certificate. You're welcome to it. You deserve it. I mean, really, it
was
a tie. Right, RJ?”

RJ grinned and nodded and held out a Sports Authority gift certificate for five hundred dollars. Ryder looked at Mr. Starr.

“You think this boy is crying over money?” Mr. Starr sounded mean. “You think he's some spoiled brat who cares about a new pair of shoes?”

“Mr. Starr, please don't.” Ryder couldn't help the scolding sound in his voice.

“Please.” Mr. Bernard never stopped smiling. “We didn't mean anything bad. We're just happy to—”

“Charity? Since you're so rich?” Mr. Starr seemed madder still at the sight of Mr. Bernard's smiling face.

“I'm sorry.” Mr. Bernard lowered his voice and Ryder felt like the man must be some kind of an angel not to get mad right back. “Is there anything we can do? I just sensed something bigger is going on here . . . just from Ryder's face. He didn't look like he lost a contest. He looked like . . . well, like someone died or something.”

Ryder felt fresh tears in his eyes. “I just . . . we need to go. Thanks anyway.” Ryder turned to leave.

“I'm sorry. I'm right, aren't I? Something is very wrong. Come on, how can we help you?”

“You really want to help?” Mr. Starr raised his voice.

“Yes,” Mr. Bernard said. “We really do.”

“Let Ryder be the batboy for the Braves. That'd help.”

Ryder could tell by the look on RJ's face that it was the last thing he expected . . . and the last thing he wanted to do.

Mr. Bernard's smiling face fell, and his eyes hardened.

“Well, that's kind of why RJ did this whole thing.” Mr. Bernard struggled to regain his smile.

“Of course,” Mr. Starr said.

“I understand why you're bitter, sir,” Mr. Bernard said.

“You understand nothing.” Mr. Starr's eyes burned.

“We have box seats right behind home plate,” Mr. Bernard said. “You could be our guests if you'd like.”

“Ryder
needs
to be the batboy,” Mr. Starr said. “That's the problem with people like you. You want to go through life, regifting the ugly sweaters or neckties someone gives you at Christmas and expecting people to think you're a saint. You're not a saint. You're just like everyone else, so you can stop smiling and holding the door for people, thank you.”

Mr. Bernard huffed. He glanced at his son and shook his head. “I can't believe this.”

“Ryder's mother is
dying.
It's a long and incredible story, but if he's the batboy, it could save her life,” Mr. Starr said.

Mr. Bernard laughed in disbelief. “I don't think so,” he mumbled.

“That's right. It's crazy,” Mr. Starr said, “but it's true. I won't bore you with the details. That way when you say your prayers tonight, you can ask God to watch over the crazy guy in the wheelchair with that kid who you
tried
to help by giving a five-hundred-dollar gift certificate. That'll be a good prayer for you. Come on, Ryder, get me out of here.”

Ryder took hold of the chair. His face burned with embarrassment and he couldn't look either RJ or his stepdad in the eye as he started to push away.

“Wait.” Mr. Bernard put a hand on Ryder's shoulder and gently turned him around. “Is this really true?”

Tears streamed down Ryder's face and he bit hard into his lower lip to keep quiet as he looked at Mr. Bernard and nodded his head. “I think Thomas Trent is related to me. My mom needs an operation, like, right now. I think if I can talk to him, he'll help. That's why being batboy is so important. It's a way for me to get close to him.”

Mr. Bernard read Ryder's face, and his own face softened, just like his voice. “Well, then. You can tell your friend that he's very wrong about me
and
my son.”

“Dad? What are—” RJ cried.

Mr. Bernard turned to RJ. “I have an idea,” he said, taking the envelope from RJ's hand.

“What is it?” Ryder asked.

“It's the paperwork for being batboy,” RJ's dad said. “You
got to fill it out and bring it with you. There's a PR guy you're supposed to call in the morning, Ethan Kupec. The instructions are here on where you have to go and everything. Now, it's a doubleheader, so I'm going to propose that we meet at the PR offices after the first game. This way, RJ can be the batboy for the night game. Would that work?”

Ryder grinned so hard he couldn't speak, but only nod his head.

“All right,” Mr. Bernard said. “I'll take care of all the details with the Baseball World people and the team so they'll be expecting you tomorrow instead of RJ. Good luck, Ryder. I hope this helps your mom.”

“Me too,” RJ said. “See you after the first game.”

Ryder took the envelope and spoke in a whisper. “Thank you so much.”

Mr. Bernard mussed his stepson's hair and grinned at Ryder and they turned and walked back across the lot, accepting congratulations from random people headed for their cars.

Mr. Starr sighed. “I told you it was meant to be.”

“Mr. Starr . . . you didn't say thank you.”

“Don't worry.” Mr. Starr's voice was quiet and calm. “
He
knows.”

“What should we do?” Ryder asked.

“Do?” Mr. Starr harrumphed. “Get me back to the hotel. We'll get some barbeque at the Bull Pen and plan our attack. Then we'll get some sleep so you're ready for tomorrow. You're gonna be the Braves' batboy, and you're gonna meet your father.”