The Second Base Club Page 2

  I knew I’d have to speak to her eventually but didn’t know what to say. Finally, near the end of the second week of school, I looked across the aisle and whispered, “Hey, Marisa, can I borrow a piece of paper?” In my head I kept chanting, Keep eye contact. Don’t look anywhere else. . . . Eye contact. . . . Eye contact. My eyes obeyed, I think.

  Marisa looked at me a long while before speaking. Then she said, “I take it that paper there is not in working order?” She gestured to my ring binder, where I had at least two hundred sheets of brand-new, unused paper. It was the beginning of the school year, for crying out loud. Who runs out of paper that fast?

  I grabbed the top ring of the binder and gave it a fake tug while grimacing. “It’s jammed. Won’t open.” Smooth.

  When I turned back to her, she was holding a piece of paper across the aisle to me and smiling. I grabbed the paper, told her thanks, and got to work on the problems Mrs. Dumar had passed around. But Marisa’s smile stayed with me, hovering over my page, right next to an isosceles triangle. I spent the rest of the period doodling, too distracted to tackle the Pythagorean theorem. At least I had broken the ice, I kept telling myself. I’d opened my mouth and spoken to Marisa Caldwell.

  “You talked to her?” Vern unlocked his bike and looked at me with a combination of awe and disgust. “What happened to ‘Girls like that go for the varsity quarterback type’?”

  “Thought I’d aim high.”

  Vern said he wouldn’t get in the way.

  “That is so good of you,” I said, and we both laughed. It wasn’t like he was going to strike up a conversation with Marisa Caldwell anytime soon. But, in a way, I’d issued a challenge. I’d broken the ice with someone. Now it was his turn.

  We rode home along the usual route, splitting up at the mall, and I headed down Casitas Pass. Mom wasn’t around when I got there. Just me, the deer, and the coyotes. I threw my backpack on the living-room couch (my bed) and went outside again. If I was going to woo Marisa Caldwell, I’d better start by adding some muscle to my skinny frame. I picked out an oak tree with a branch about seven feet off the ground and did a few pull-ups—six, to be exact. But it was a start. I’d wait a few days, then go for seven, and maybe throw in some push-ups here and there. I know, it was kind of a vague workout plan, but it was a step in the right direction.

  I worked at Perry’s most of the weekend, along with Vern. Not much went on. We worked, got off, then sat on a bench and rated the girls going by. Nothing out of the ordinary, although we did see a few eights.

  Monday, at school, Vern said, “What do you think that’s all about?” He pointed to the far end of the quad, where the football team usually hung out. But instead of being just football players, the group was mixed. All of them were jocks, but not all of them were from the same sport. And the football team at Highmont was notorious for not fraternizing with nonfootball athletes.

  “Not sure,” I said.

  There were a few swimmers, three baseball players, a gymnast, and a tennis player—even Todd Waylan, the best wrestler in the school, all rubbing elbows with the varsity football players. A lot of high-fives and laughter. Something was going on.

  “We need to keep an eye on this . . . situation,” Vern said.

  “What situation? Maybe they’re just enlightened. Accepting others is a good thing.” I was joking. Last year, when Vern got his head flushed, it was the football team doing the flushing.

  “The football team, enlightened? That would be a miracle,” Vern said. “There’s no such thing as a miracle.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Seven and a half pull-ups. Thirty-two push-ups. Nineteen sit-ups. I was looking good. Sore, but looking good. Actually, I didn’t notice a difference yet, it being only a few days into my workout regimen, but I felt more muscular, even if the world could not yet tell. And even if it wasn’t exactly a regimen.

  It had been a couple of days since I talked to Marisa, and I didn’t want to wait too long before I did it again. I’d lose my momentum and have to start over. I had asked her for paper, and she had smiled. Maybe you didn’t have to be the varsity quarterback to get to second base with her.

  To be honest, I was a little vague on the whole bases thing. I was pretty sure I’d been to first before. Making out with Jenny Brockmire had to be first base. And I had a good idea what a home run was. But I was a little confused about what went on in the middle. What did second and third base mean, exactly? And would I have the guts to go there?

  I didn’t know. I just knew that I had to speak up in the very near future if I was going to have a chance to find out. I found my opening when Mrs. Dumar handed back our quizzes.

  I’d scored a 93 percent. Looking across the aisle, I noticed that Marisa had a big fat “75” on the top of her paper. Obviously, she needed help. Maybe a tutor or something. A fellow student lending a hand. I put my paper on the edge of my desk, in plain view, then looked over at her.

  “How’d you do, Marisa?”

  She held up her paper, kind of embarrassed. “Starting off with a bang here.”

  I nodded. In my head I went through a dozen possible phrases to keep the conversation going: Need some help? My tutoring services are available. Have you ever made out for more than four minutes and twenty-one seconds?

  I settled for short and sweet. “That sucks.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  It was the chance I’d been waiting for. She came right out and asked me to tell her something. I showed her my paper. “We should study together. I’m pretty good at math.”

  She went silent on me. Damn! I was too obvious. She was going to laugh.

  The silence went on and on. Maybe I should take it back, just smile and tell her I was joking. But before I could get the words out, she beat me to it.

  “Yeah, Elroy, that would be great. I need help, and you’ve got the brain power.”

  “I can’t believe you,” Vern said later that day, as we unlocked our bikes and headed home.

  “What do you mean? Why would I lie?”

  “I mean, it’s great, but I still can’t believe it. First asking for a piece of paper, and now you’re her tutor.”

  “Yep. If all goes well, I’ll have a date for Homecoming.”

  Homecoming was a pretty big deal at Highmont Ridge. Part of it was that our football team was nationally ranked, and one of our players, Sampson Teague, was an All-American. He played quarterback. Sportswriters were calling him the best thing to come out of California since John Elway. Not too shabby, since Elway was now in the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

  So Homecoming was no small affair, and I had connections, if all went as planned with Marisa.

  I didn’t sleep much that night, partly because I had Marisa on my mind, and partly because I did a gazillion push-ups before I went to bed. Kind of hard to wind down after that.

  The next day, I wore a tighter shirt than normal, in case my pecs wanted to show themselves. They hadn’t in the past, but you never know. Then I sat in geometry, not exactly sure how to proceed. Marisa had agreed that she needed help and that I was the one to do the helping. Why was this so difficult? We’d had two conversations. I had to go for a third. But maybe she’d back out. Maybe she found someone smarter. Maybe—

  The bell rang while I was maybe-ing myself to death, and I suddenly realized that Marisa had gathered her books and was now standing beside me. I looked up. Wow. She was still hot, even from new and unusual angles.

  “So,” she began, “another quiz on Friday. Did you mean it when you said you’d help me?”

  “Absolutely.” I grabbed my books and stood up. We were about the same height. She had a single curl of light-brown hair hanging along the side of her face. I had the sudden urge to yank on it, see if her bangs would part. Instead, I asked, “So—are you a study-at-the-library type, or do you do better at home?”

  She pulled out a little scrap of paper and wrote on it. “Here’s my address and cell-phone number. Why don’t you come over aroun
d four.”

  I looked at the address. She lived on the hill above the junior college. Cute and rich. It occurred to me that she was out of my league. After all, I lived in a trailer in a canyon. I forced myself not to think about it.

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Vern said as we rode home.

  I wasn’t sure what he wouldn’t do—or what he’d done, for that matter. But I decided I wasn’t going to rush things. Seemed like a good plan. If she wanted to be more than student/tutor, I’d make sure my lips were in the vicinity.

  I went home, had a snack, then headed to Marisa’s house around three-thirty. The junior college wasn’t far away, but I was traveling by bike. I needed the extra time, and I didn’t want to arrive sweaty and gross. If I got there early, I’d circle the block a few times.

  Her place stood near the end of a cul-de-sac, one of the biggest houses on the street. I did get there a little early, so I circled for a while in the street, until she opened the front door and waved me over.

  “What are you waiting for?” she asked.

  I pulled out my cell phone and looked at it. “It’s not four yet. Thought I’d cram in a little exercise.”

  She laughed.

  I parked my bike and walked up to her. She had changed into shorts and a tank top. Okay, yes, I looked at her chest for once. I don’t know if it was just seeing her outside of school or what, but she looked hotter than normal, and I couldn’t help wondering where we’d be studying—the dining room, on the back patio, her—gulp—bedroom?

  Marisa seemed totally at ease, though, which made me realize she had nothing on her mind but math. I followed her inside and closed the door behind me. The floor was some kind of black-and-white marble. I looked around at the curved staircase, the massive portrait of her family on the far wall. Her father looked a little chubby, but her mom was a forty-something version of herself. Hot with a few more wrinkles. Marisa also had what looked like a little brother and a cat.

  A chandelier hung above us. I had visions of its crashing down on me for thinking about sex when I should be thinking of math. And that’s when I smelled it. Popcorn. We went into the dining room, where there was a table that could easily seat twenty people, a far cry from my table for four back home in the Airstream. Her math book lay opened to the proper page, and right next to it was a gigantic bowl of popcorn.

  I grabbed a handful, stuffed my mouth, and mumbled, “You really know the way to a man’s heart.” Or a boy’s, for that matter.

  “I love popcorn,” she said. Then she sat down and motioned me to the chair beside her. “Shall we?”

  “Sure.” I sat and grabbed a pencil. “May as well get our homework out of the way first.”

  She agreed, and we began working. I don’t mind saying I was distracted. Guys like me are not used to girls like Marisa giving us the time of day. Even though I knew I was just there to teach, I kept thinking that if I was totally repulsive to her she wouldn’t have invited me. Which meant there was hope.

  But, like I said, I was distracted. At one point she let her knee rest against mine. My first impulse was to flinch and pull back, but I kept it there just to see if she realized our bodies were touching. Our bodies were touching!

  “Are you okay?” she asked after a while. “I mean, you’re sweating.”

  Was I okay? I wasn’t sure. Part of me said, Yes, I’m much better than okay. I was hanging out with the prettiest girl in school. The other part of me said, Don’t make more of it than it is, big guy. You’re a tutor, nothing more.

  I dabbed my face with my sleeve and said, “Sorry, math makes me sweat.” Also, were you aware that our knees are touching? “My brain isn’t used to working.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  We finished our homework and started doing some extra problems. Congruent triangles. Side-angle-side. Protractors and compasses. Before we knew it, it was six o’clock. The popcorn was gone, and it was time to leave.

  “Thanks, Elroy,” Marisa said as we headed for the door. “You’re a good guy.”

  “I had fun. Math is easy, once you know the rules.”

  “Same time tomorrow?”

  Whoa. She wanted to see me again! Maybe just to do math, but still.

  “Sure.”

  I stood there for a few seconds, lingering, in case she gave me her makeout face. Or in case her lips did anything resembling a pucker. Nope . . . nothing. I turned around, jumped off her porch, grabbed my bike, and took off.

  I couldn’t help smiling. We’d worked on some math, shared a meal, and gotten to know each other a little better. Dad had said it wasn’t love unless you know the person. I was on my way.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Okay, her knee was bare, and I had on long pants. We didn’t actually touch, not skin to skin anyway. Still, I’ll never wash that knee again, I thought as I rode away from Marisa’s house. Even though I’d made out a few times with Jenny Brockmire, knee touching with Marisa was more exciting. I guess it all depends on the girl and how much you like her. And I liked Marisa. She was more than just a pretty face—along with other attractive areas. She was interesting, friendly . . . and she told me I was a good guy.

  I kept repeating her words as I pedaled down the street. “You’re a good guy.” Which could be interpreted as: Want to make out? Want to be my boyfriend? What’s your policy on slumber parties?

  When I reached the Highmont Ridge Mall, I pulled into the parking lot. I had to celebrate—not just that Marisa and I had touched knees, but that the whole situation had potential.

  I locked my bike to a pole outside the food-court area and went inside. The place was fairly crowded. I ordered an iced mocha at Jake’s Coffee Hut, found a vacant table, sat down, and checked out my surroundings. For some reason, I was in no mood to rate girls, and Vern wasn’t around, which generally made it less fun. No one to compare tastes with. A bunch of ladies pushing strollers meandered here and there. Elderly couples were scattered throughout, sitting at tables. Laughter and conversations echoed off the high ceilings.

  Some laughter rose above the rest, and a couple of voices sounded familiar. I scanned until I found them. Sampson Teague was there, surrounded by his minions. About eight or nine of them were seated at a table at the far end of the food court, and once again it wasn’t just football jocks. A couple of baseball players, a swimmer, and a track star were included in the mix. What was going on?

  I decided it was time to find out. I stood up and headed in their direction. They were too into themselves, and whatever they were up to, to notice me. I was glad to be anonymous. I’d never had my head flushed, but I wouldn’t put it past them to try.

  The table next to them was empty. I grabbed a chair and sat down. Though I was facing away, I was all ears.

  “Quiet, guys,” Sampson Teague was saying. He hit the tabletop with what sounded like an empty soda cup. “The Second Base Club is called to order.”

  Second Base Club?

  A few people snickered. Someone said, “Personally, I’m going for a home run.”

  The cup hit the table again. “Yes, of course, Jerry, a homer is the ultimate goal,” Sampson said. “But we have to call ourselves something. Now, listen up, guys. The point system goes like this. One point for second base, two points for third, and five points for a home run.”

  “Lady-killers unite.”

  Everyone laughed.

  So that was it. They were keeping track. I wondered where touching knees would rate on their scale. Probably a bunt and getting thrown out at first.

  I finished my mocha and went back outside. I didn’t want to overstay my welcome. Didn’t want to be recognized. You know what they say: Curiosity flushed the sophomore. As I was bending down to unlock my bike, I noticed a sign at Ernesto’s Fine Mexican Food—Help Wanted. Come to think of it, Perry’s Pretzels was getting a little old. And didn’t you get tips working in a restaurant? And didn’t I have a potential girlfriend? And didn’t dating someone cost
money?

  You could enter Ernesto’s from inside the mall or from the parking lot. I didn’t want to face the Second Base Club. I walked over to a car and used the side mirror to check my teeth for any pieces of popcorn stuck between them. Then I shoved my hair to one side and went inside. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. When they did, I walked up to the hostess. She was dressed like some kind of Mexican peasant girl, with a white shirt that hung off one shoulder and a skirt that reached just past her knees. It was a pretty nice look, if you were into hot Mexican peasant girls.

  “I saw the sign outside,” I said, jabbing a thumb over my shoulder. “I’d like to apply for the job, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course. You’re the first one.” She grabbed an application and handed it to me along with a pen, throwing me a pretty terrific smile.

  Don’t get distracted, Elroy, I told myself. You already have a potential girlfriend.

  I filled out the application and handed it back to her.

  “The general manager isn’t here right now, but I’ll pass this along. It’s not a bad place to work. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.” Then she laid one of her smiles on me again.

  I fumbled for something to say. When a girl smiles at you, it’s important to say something witty or charming, possibly humorous. “Uh . . . I won’t have to dress like a peasant girl, will I?”

  She laughed. “No, only if you want to.”

  “Good. I think I’ll pass.”

  “That would be my advice. I’m Juana Maria, by the way.”

  “Elroy. I’ll keep my fingers crossed too.”

  I told her good-bye and went outside. But I have to say, her smile kind of stuck with me. Maybe I had a thing for Mexican peasant girls and didn’t even know it.

  The sun was going down, and it was cool on the ride up Casitas Pass. It felt like fall, finally. I pulled to a stop next to the Airstream. Mom was home, doing something at the stove when I went inside. It smelled good, whatever it was. My knee was completely back to normal; time to start thinking about my stomach.