Rivals (2010) (4 page)

“I WAS WRONG,” JADEN
said with a worried look. “You’re not the favorite team to win anymore.”

“What,” Josh said, chuckling, “your numbers weren’t right? That’s no big deal.”

“
We’re
no big deal,” Benji said, sulking.

“What do you mean, ‘We’re no big deal’?” Josh asked.

“
SportsCenter
? Batman and Robin? Poof,” Benji said. “Up in smoke.”

“Enough with the riddles,” Josh said, “and tell me what you’re talking about.”

“Mickey Mullen Junior,” Jaden said.

“Mickey Mullen? Who, the baseball player?” Josh asked.

“No. The former Boston Red Sox Hall of Famer, three-time Cy Young Award winner, star of
Baseball
Nights, Crossfire
, and
Bloody Monday
Mickey Mullen,” Benji said. “
That
Mickey Mullen.”

“But who’s Mickey Mullen Junior?” Josh asked.

“He’s not so junior,” Benji said. “He’s as big as you.”

“That’s the story,” Jaden said. “It’s Mickey’s son. I never even knew Mickey Mullen had a son who played. The team’s from LA.”

“And they’re the last team from the West Coast you were talking about?” Josh said.

“Right,” Jaden said.

“Yeah, they won some tournament championship game in Newport last night,” Benji said. “And now this guy’s stealing our thunder.”

“Still,” Jaden said, “you have to admit, it’s pretty exciting. I mean, you get to go up against a guy whose dad is a legend. They say Mickey Junior is following right in his footsteps, too.”

The bell rang for class. Josh felt his mouth drop open as that sinking feeling returned.

When Josh got home, he found his father under the kitchen sink, banging on the disposal with a wrench.

“I swear,” his father said, wriggling out of the cabinet and struggling to sit up. “I can’t wait. Hey, killer. How’s the face?”

“Hurts,” Josh said, setting his backpack down on the kitchen table and puffing up with pride. His dad had never called him “killer” before, and Josh suspected it
was because of how he was handling his injury. “Can’t wait for what?”

His dad raised an eyebrow. “Oh, nothing. Hire a plumber, I guess.”

“Why don’t you?” Josh asked.

His dad shrugged. “Oh, you know. Being careful is all. Don’t worry, we’re fine. It’s just that you don’t get to save up too much money playing in the minors. That’s why—even though she
is
overreacting about this surgery thing—your mom’s right about college.”

Josh nodded and took the milk out of the fridge to pour himself a glass. A plate of his mom’s oatmeal cookies was sitting on the table.

“Hey,” Josh said, “did you hear about Mickey Mullen?”

Josh’s dad scooped up his tools and dropped them noisily into his metal toolbox.

“Oh, that,” he said. “It might make the tournament like this grease on my hands—messy, but we’ll get the job done. You gotta be confident. Besides, it’s a good thing for the tournament.”

“Why?” Josh asked, taking a cookie.

“Money makes the world go round,” his father said, drying his hands. “That’s why.”

Josh set the cookie back down on the plate and said, “Money?”

“A tournament needs sponsors, like Nike and Pepsi, and a TV contract with ESPN,” his dad said. “That’s the real world.”

His father stared at him for a moment, seeing if he got it before he said, “The organizers are trying to make this the biggest thing in Little League Baseball—bigger than the Little League World Series, bigger than the Junior Olympics—and they’re on their way, so a guy like Mickey Mullen shows up with his son? Please. That’s a no-brainer.”

“I don’t know why you’re so casual about it,” Josh said. “I thought we really want to win this thing.”

“Of course I want to win.”

“And his son’s supposed to be good,” Josh said. “Benji said he’s as big as I am.”

At nearly six feet tall, Josh had only heard of one other twelve-year-old bigger than he was, and that kid played basketball for Bishop Ludden, the Catholic school on the west side.

“He is,” his dad said, turning his back to Josh so he could wash his hands in the sink. “Supposed to be a heck of a player, too. Pitcher, like his old man.”

“You think they could beat us?”

“Anyone could beat us,” his dad said, “but if we’re the best, we’ll win. I told you before, you can’t be afraid of a good rival, and this Mickey Junior may be the best rival you’ve ever seen. You should be chomping at the bit to step up to the plate against this guy. You’ll have to be at your best.”

“I am chomping at the bit,” Josh said. “I’m having the operation, aren’t I? I have to do this.”

His father studied him for a minute before he said, “You don’t
have
to, Josh. Don’t think that. You never
have
to play. That’s the beauty of sports. You play because you
want
to. You love to.”

“I do,” Josh said.

“Good,” his father said with a nod, picking his tools back up.

“Where you going?” Josh asked.

“The roof,” his dad said, “to start getting some new shingles put on before dinner so we can lose that blue tarp. I’ve got practice right after we eat.”

“You mean
we’ve
got practice,” Josh said.

“No, not we, I,” his dad said. “You’re not going.”

Josh felt his heart skip a beat. “Why?”

“Your face,” his dad said. “It looks so bad it’s hurting me.”

“Gee, thanks.”

His father grinned. “I’m kidding. I don’t want you even around a baseball until it’s totally safe. You just take it easy, we’ll get this operation behind us, you’ll heal up, and we’ll go win that thing.”

“You really think we can win it?” Josh asked. “Even against the LA Comets with Mickey Mullen’s son pitching?”

A worried look passed across his father’s face like the shadow of an airplane before he said, “I told you. You gotta be confident to win.”

JOSH HAD HIS OPERATION.
The healing process seemed to take forever, especially with him having to watch practices from behind the backstop until the stitches could come out. On the Saturday morning the week before the tournament, he finally had the stitches removed. His dad took him out to their practice field, only not with the rest of the team. It was just the two of them. From his duffel bag, Josh’s dad removed a dark blue foam mask that looked like something a hockey goalie might wear.

“Here,” his dad said, “try it on.”

Josh gave him a quizzical look.

“It was part of the deal I cut with your mom,” his dad said. “You get to play, but only if you wear the mask. Don’t even start with me. She’s worried about you. That’s why we love her.”

Josh put on the mask and tugged his cap down, then
stepped up to the plate. His father carried a basket of balls to the mound.

“Okay,” his dad said. “Let’s make sure you’re over it.”

“I am, Dad,” Josh said, huffing. “I told you a hundred times.”

“I know what you said,” his father said, “but you took a heck of a shot. I want to make sure you can stand there and read a pitch. Your vision is your gift. There aren’t many players who can see the ball the way you can, but getting hit like that can be a distraction, even to a major-league player.”

Josh nodded and readied his bat. His father—who had pitched for thirteen years in the minor leagues—wound up and let one fly. Josh blinked and lost it. He swung and missed. The ball clanged into the metal backstop.

“You okay?” his dad asked.

“Fine,” Josh said. “Just pitch it.”

His father threw three more pitches, and Josh missed them all. His eyes began to fill with tears. He brushed one back and ground his teeth. His father left the mound and put an arm around his shoulder.

“Relax,” he said. “You’re trying too hard. It might take some time.”

“No,” Josh said, wagging his head angrily. “It can’t. I’m ready. Give me another, Dad. Please.”

His father sighed, but returned to the mound. When Josh stepped into the batter’s box, his dad wound up again.

JOSH WIDENED HIS EYES,
forcing them to stay open. He concentrated so hard that the pitch passed him by without him even swinging.

“What happened?” his father asked.

“I’m okay!” Josh shouted. “I saw it! I didn’t swing, but I didn’t blink, either.”

“Good,” his father said, grinning wide.

Josh nicked the next pitch, dribbling it to the mound, then lit into the one after that, driving it into the hole between first and second. The next one he hammered, sending it over the fence. His father grinned and kept them coming. Pitch after pitch, he threw and Josh hammered them all. When the basket of balls was empty, his father jogged to home plate, hugged him, and swung him in the air.

“You did it, Josh!” his father said. “You’re ready.”

When they got back home, Josh’s parents took his little sister, him, and his friends to Green Lakes State Park for the afternoon. They took over a picnic table and spread a big blanket out on the grass overlooking the aqua green water that sparkled like a gem under the hot sun. Josh’s dad played
The Eagles’ Greatest Hits
on their boom box while he drank a soda and flipped sizzling burgers on the iron grill.

Josh’s mom took his sister down to the water while Josh lay between his two friends, looking up through the orange glow of his eyelids at the sunspots drifting across his vision. His skin baked comfortably, cooled from time to time by a fretful breeze. Jaden started chattering about Mickey Mullen Jr., a topic she’d been on all week, and one he didn’t relish hearing about.

“How do you know he’s so good?” Josh said. “You keep talking about his statistics, but you haven’t actually
seen
him play. He might not be so great. He might just be playing against easy teams.”

That seemed to quiet her down. Josh gently dabbed at the gauze his mom had insisted on taping to his face to protect the healing wound from the sun, even though it was pretty well healed. Jaden’s silence on the subject of Mickey Mullen Jr. and the comfort of lying in the heat made Josh sigh. Laughter and music from the crowded park around them blended into a lulling
symphony; Josh thought he might even fall asleep.

That’s when Benji’s stomach gurgled.

“Can’t wait to tear into those burgers,” Benji said dreamily.

“Hey Jaden,” Josh said, his own eyes still closed. “You think I can keep my batting average up over five hundred in this tournament?”

“Maybe. Who knows?” Jaden said, yawning and nudging him with an elbow hard enough to make him sit up. “Hey, put some on my back, will you? I’m turning over. Time to get some work done.”

Jaden handed him a bottle of lotion and scooted her butt around on the towel, holding the wild shock of hair up off her back so he could spread the creamy lotion on her bronze shoulders. Josh stole a look at Benji, who was grinning up at him, puckering his lips, and winking. Josh shook his head and lathered her back up anyway.

“What work?” Josh asked as Jaden opened the school backpack she’d brought along with her.

“This,” she said, removing several books that he recognized as biographies on Mickey Mullen, “and this and this.”

She added several magazines to the pile before taking out her notebook and pen, adjusting her white plastic sunglasses, and then settling onto her stomach.

“I get
SI for Kids
,” Josh said, sitting up and shading his eyes from the sun. “But
Teen Beat
? What’s that got to do with baseball?”

“Background for Mickey Junior,” Jaden said somberly. “There’s articles on him in both of them.”

“What, like dating Taylor Swift?” Benji said, grinning and slapping his round belly.

“No, they’re just friends,” Jaden said, opening one of the magazines.

“Wait,” Benji said, sitting straight, “you’ve got to be kidding. You’re not serious.”

“That’s the headline. ‘Mickey Jr. and Taylor, Just Friends.’”

“I’m barfing,” Benji said. “Better slow down on those burgers, Mr. LeBlanc. I am so sick of hearing you talk about Mickey Mullen and his mullet-head son.”

“Mullet head,” Josh said, laughing. “That’s a good one, Benji.”

“Why’s he a mullet head?” Jaden asked, casting a fiery look at Benji and then Josh.

“Because he is,” Benji said, lying back and stuffing a pair of mirrored sunglasses on his face.

“Maybe he wouldn’t be such a mullet head if we didn’t have to hear about him twenty-four seven,” Josh said.

“Hopefully I’ll get to ask him about Taylor Swift myself,” Jaden said, biting down on her pen and nodding, obviously choosing to ignore Benji and him. “I put a request in through the newspaper to their PR person to sit down with him. I should be hearing back anytime. Think how big that would be!”

“Oh, right,” Benji said, staring up at the sun and speaking in a tone of complete boredom. “Like they’ll talk to you.”

“They might,” Jaden said without looking up at Benji. “I already heard back from the tournament’s PR person, and she said the Mullens are going to be giving the media all kinds of access during this thing, even the local media. That’s me, right? So…”

Benji whipped off his glasses and fired an annoyed look at Josh.

Josh shrugged, screwed on the cap to the suntan lotion, and lay back down. He listened to Jaden snapping through her pages and to Benji’s increasingly hostile stomach until his dad said the burgers were ready. His dad put the burgers out in the middle of the table with everything else before he went off to retrieve Josh’s mom and sister.

Jaden jumped up and slipped on her sandals before putting on a big T-shirt to cover her pink bathing suit.

“Where you going?” Benji said.

“You ever hear of washing your hands, Lido?” she said before marching off toward the bathrooms.

“Your hands don’t get dirty if you don’t read those trashy magazines,” Benji called after her.

“Forget it, Benji,” Josh said. “Let’s eat.”

“She gets me so crazy with all that Mickey Mullen
junk
,” Benji said, picking two burgers off the plate with
his bare fingers and slapping them down on a bun. “Aren’t you sick of it?”

“Kind of,” Josh said, watching Jaden disappear among the crowd. “Actually, yes. A lot, but I guess she’s just excited about writing the story.”

“You notice how all of a sudden she’s not so interested in your game?” Benji said, slathering ketchup on his burgers, capping them off with the top bun, and raising an eyebrow at him before taking a huge bite. “I mean, you ask her about your batting average and all she can do is have you rub suntan oil on her back.”

“Kind of.”

“Yeah, why?” Benji said through his food. “I’ll tell you, because she’s in love with this Mickey Junior. It’s not the
story
and her Pulitzer Prize. She thinks she’s Taylor Swift.”

Anger and resentment swirled in Josh’s stomach, but he said nothing.

“Hey,” Benji said, letting go of his burgers and fishing his cell phone out of his bathing suit pocket. “Didn’t Jaden say her dad had to work, like, some twelve-hour shift? I got an idea. How do you block the number you’re calling from?”

“Dial star sixty-seven, then the number,” Josh said, watching Benji dial.

“Remember that voice you’d make when we made fun of that mean bus driver we used to have?” Benji asked.

“Sure,” Josh said. “Remember we fooled her own husband with it?”

The muted ring from Jaden’s phone sounded off from inside her backpack beside the picnic table’s leg.

“Okay,” Benji said, handing Josh his phone, “use that voice. I’ll tell you exactly what to say.”