The Second Base Club Page 6

  “So how did it go?” Mom asked that evening. She saw that my face looked a little scuffed. “Scuffed” and “face” should never be used in the same sentence.

  I really didn’t want to talk about it, but Mom kept giving me the look.

  “School was fine,” I told her.

  “I’m glad school went well.” She leaned forward across the table, where we were seated. “How was wrestling practice?”

  “Oh, that.”

  “It wasn’t a pleasant experience. Is that what you’re saying?” We were eating some kind of salad with chicken thrown on top. I longed for pancakes.

  “I got beat up by a skinny kid.” I reached up and touched the mat burn on the side of my face. “A little more brutal than I was expecting. I guess they wanted to see what I was made of.”

  “And did you show them?”

  “I didn’t cry.”

  After dinner, I did my homework and messed around with the guitar. I was getting pretty good with “Stairway to Heaven.” When I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer, I made the couch into a bed and went to sleep.

  The next morning, I couldn’t move. My body ached all over. I hurt in places I’d never felt pain in before. I stared at the ceiling. Maybe if I started slow. I moved a toe, then a leg. . . . So far so good. I tried to sit up. Nope. Not working. I rolled out of bed and hit the floor with a thump.

  Mom came running. She stood there looking at me with her hands on her hips.

  “I don’t suppose I could stay home from school?” I gave her my I’m-in-pain look. I wasn’t acting.

  “It’ll pass,” she said. She bent down and kissed me. “Gotta run. Get up and start moving; it’s the best thing for workout pain.”

  I groaned and pushed myself up to a sitting position. A half-hour later, I was riding down Casitas Pass to meet Vern.

  “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” Vern said when he saw me, “but there’s something you gotta know.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “You look like crap!”

  “Thanks, friend.”

  “No problem.” He smiled and told me to stay with it. “I’m thinking of joining the school newspaper. I’ll come to your matches and write about them.”

  “No one writes about wrestling,” I said.

  “Exactly. You guys are unsung. The world has to know. Plus, you know what?”

  “What?”

  “Most of the Highmont Herald staff are girls. Chicks love the intellectual types.”

  I didn’t know about that. Sampson Teague wasn’t exactly known for his brain. “I’m going the jock route,” I said. “We’ll compare notes.”

  That afternoon, I continued my quest to become a jock. When I walked into the wrestling room, Coach Grogan looked surprised. He came over. “You’re back. Good. That says a lot. Mike was pretty rough with you yesterday. Sorry. I wanted to test your heart.”

  “Did I pass?”

  “You did. Welcome to Highmont wrestling.”

  I was on a team for the first time in my life. I was also in pain, but it felt good for some reason.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Turned out Mike was on varsity and was the best guy on the team after Todd Waylan. But that didn’t matter, because there were three or four JV guys who could still kick my ass. And they did. Daily. I had mat burns on top of mat burns. I got so good at doing involuntary cartwheels that I think I could have done a voluntary one if asked.

  I debated whether it was worth it. After one extremely bad beat-up-Elroy day, I went home and Googled all the monasteries in California. Might as well keep my options open. Maybe I was no more cut out for romance than I was for wrestling. But then I’d flash on those few moments I’d had with Marisa and think, yes, I’d keep at this. It was worth it.

  Mom had tons of workout advice for me, mostly about how to cope with soreness. She worked at a spa; it was her area of expertise. “The first few weeks are the toughest,” she told me. “If you stay with it, your body will adjust.”

  That was a little hard to believe, but by the end of the second week of practice, I found that she was right. I could walk without pain. I could get out of bed like a normal person. And then something else happened. Something amazing and, well, shocking.

  I was in the bathroom one morning brushing my teeth when I saw it. “Mom! Come quick!” I screamed.

  She came running. “What is it?”

  “Look.” I pointed to my bare chest. “Pecs!”

  “Where? Let me get the magnifying glass.” But she was smiling. “Looking good, Elroy. And you’re no longer sore, right?”

  “Right.”

  I still had the mental humiliation of getting my ass kicked on a daily basis, but at least I felt good physically. And I looked better. Now, if only I could get someone to notice. I began wearing tighter shirts and putting my pecs out there for the world to see, especially during fourth-period math. Someone had to notice. They had to!

  I wasn’t the only one looking good. After practice on Friday, I rode over to my dad’s studio apartment. I wouldn’t have to start worrying about making weight for a while. Bring on those carbs—I was looking forward to a weekend of pancakes.

  I carried my bike up the stairs to the apartment door and knocked. No answer. The lights were out. “Dad? You there? It’s Elroy.”

  I was about to get out my cell phone and dial Mom when Dad showed up. Actually, he jogged up. He was in shorts and had on running shoes, an iPod strapped to his arm. He pulled out the ear buds. “Hey, Elroy. Want to compare abs?”

  “I’d win,” I told him.

  “Probably, but I’d give you a run for your money.”

  He looked good. In fact, he looked great. The best I’d seen him in a long time. And it wasn’t only physical. It was the way he carried himself. Confidence? I don’t know, maybe he was just . . . happy. “Looking good, Dad.”

  “It’s all part of the plan,” he said.

  We went inside, and Dad started mixing up the pancake batter for dinner.

  “What plan is that?” I asked.

  “Changes, Elroy. Just making some changes. How’s your mother?”

  “She’s doing okay. How are things in the wild kingdom?”

  “Another day, another pit bull. I have a few other irons in the fire, though. At least mentally.”

  I looked over at his whiteboard. It was still just an empty rectangle.

  Dad saw me looking and said, “Not all of my thoughts are visible to the human eye, Elroy.”

  I nodded. “I guess that’s a good sign. I’d be worried if the contents of your brain could be contained on this board.”

  “Me too.”

  Still, a blank whiteboard didn’t give me much to go on.

  Dad finished mixing the batter and walked over. “Just to set the record straight, working for Animal Control is not permanent. I have a new venture in the works.”

  Even with his off-kilter nose, he was a good-looking guy. And now, as he talked about his future, his eyes were ablaze with hope. It was hard not to believe in him. The only thing that made me doubt was his track record. He’d failed three times in the restaurant business, and here he was, talking about throwing his hat in the ring again. Maybe not the restaurant ring, but some ring. Some soon-to-be-named ring.

  I looked at the empty rectangle, trying hard to read between the horizontal lines. “Dad, Mom’s not too keen on your business ventures.”

  “I know that, Elroy. This time will be different. I won’t go forward unless it comes together. I’ll know when it’s right.”

  “So what’s the idea?”

  “You are on an as-need-to-know basis,” he said.

  “I need to know, Dad. I really do. Your future and mine are kind of linked, you know?”

  He nodded. “I’ll fill you in soon. I promise.” He headed to the bathroom. “Now, go make us some pancakes. I’m going to get cleaned up.”

  I cooked while Dad took a shower. After dinner, we got out the Scrabble
. He took the first game, but I paid him back on the second. Triple word score for oxen. And in between, he filled me in on how to catch a raccoon, while I filled him in on my latest—actually my first—foray into sports, high-school or otherwise.

  “Okay, let’s not compare abs,” he said.

  We did anyway. He lost.

  The next night, I worked at Ernesto’s along with Juana Maria.

  “Hi, Elroy. How’s it going?”

  “Great,” I told her.

  She had on her off-the-shoulder blouse, along with her peasant-girl skirt, and a yellow flower in her hair. It was another busy night. Juana Maria helped out making salads here and there, but mostly she helped me (or I helped her) seat customers.

  Things started to slow sometime after nine, and we stood together near the entrance and wrapped silverware in cloth napkins. It felt good not to be in a rush for a change. And having someone to talk to wasn’t too shabby either.

  “So what kind of music do you like?” she asked. She pulled the fake flower from her hair and tossed it on the lectern.

  “I like anything musical.”

  “How about narrowing that down a bit?”

  “Current stuff. Old stuff.”

  She tapped me on the head with a spoon. “Thank you, Mr. Vague. Details, man.”

  “Rock and roll, mostly. Some pop and R & B. I just have one criterion when it comes to music.” I plopped a rolled napkin on the stack and reached for the silverware.

  “And that is?”

  “It has to sound good.”

  “You’re smarter than you look, Elroy.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “What about you? What kind of music do you like?”

  “I like country music.”

  I shot her a look. “Country? You mean like Shania Twang?”

  “It’s not all twang.”

  Maybe not, but I sure wouldn’t listen to it. “Would it be okay if I made fun of you for the rest of the night?” I asked her.

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  “You like country. Need I say more?”

  She made a fist and held it up. “And you’re begging for a charley horse.”

  After the last customer left, Ernesto poked his head out of his office and told us we could take off anytime.

  “Walk a girl to her car?”

  “Sure.”

  I grabbed my sweatshirt and pulled it on as we went outside. It was colder than I was expecting—we could see our breath—but I knew I’d warm up on the ride home.

  She turned and faced me once we reached her car. “You know something, Elroy?”

  “What?”

  “You have the strangest-looking acne I’ve ever seen.”

  “They’re mat burns,” I said. “I’m on the Highmont wrestling team.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “You look more like the bowling-team type.”

  Why did people keep saying that? I had the sudden urge to rip off my shirt and show her I had more than a bowling-team body. “You haven’t seen my pecs.”

  “Please. I just ate.”

  I stood there a moment, trying to come up with a good comeback. Finally, I grabbed her car keys, chirped the alarm, and opened her door. “Get home safe,” I told her.

  “A gentleman,” she said as she got in. “You just scored points.”

  “That was the plan.” It wasn’t really. But I liked being called a gentleman by a cute girl—a very cute girl. A very cute girl with a psycho for a father, but still. . . .

  “Really?” She looked up at me, smiling. A guy could get used to a smile like that. It was a darn shame about her father. “What plan is that?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “No plan?”

  I pointed to my chest. “Completely planless here.”

  “Jeez, Elroy. I think I’m insulted.” She laughed. Then she drove off, leaving a hint of her perfume behind.

  I was still sitting on the other side of the room from Marisa in math. I willed myself not to look her way, but I couldn’t help myself. Every molecule in my body ached with what-could-have-been and what-almost-was. I had no idea how to move past it. Focus on something else, I figured.

  I now sat across the aisle from Carol Ann. She wasn’t exactly a Marisa Caldwell, but she was not bad-looking at all. I thought of various break-the-ice lines: Isn’t this the best triceps you’ve seen in a while? Wanna see my abs? In case you’re wondering, this isn’t acne. But they all seemed lame.

  Once again, I decided to be direct. No-frills flirting. Say something and see where it leads.

  I faced her. “How was your weekend, Carol Ann?”

  She turned and looked at me, then glanced to either side of her, as if there could be two people in the room with that name. She wore her hair short and didn’t overdo the makeup. A clean look and, like I said, not bad.

  “It was good,” she said finally. Then, after a pause, she added with a smile, “Thanks.”

  It was a start, I figured.

  I met up with Vern at lunch. He was sitting with Tuck Mayfield at our usual spot in the quad. Tuck held out a fist, and I smacked it with mine.

  “Fire up.”

  “So, Tuck, what’s the deal? First you sit with us at the assembly, and now you hang with us at lunch. Aren’t you usually with the other cowboys?”

  “Taking a break,” Tuck said. He crossed his booted legs and yanked off his John Deere hat. “Also, I’m trying to kick the chewing-tobacco habit. Need to watch who I hang out with.”

  “Good idea,” I said.

  “Yeah, but I really miss the spitting.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I was on my back. Some guy was on top of me, his armpit covering my face. He must have been boycotting deodorant, and I was pretty sure he hadn’t showered in the last year. If I inhaled, I was a goner. If I didn’t breathe, I wouldn’t survive. What to do?

  Somehow I got to my stomach and began to crawl for the door. He was on top of me trying to pull me back, but I was on a mission. I needed air, and maybe I just had to admit to myself that wrestling wasn’t for me.

  “Where are you going, Elroy?” Coach Grogan yelled.

  I reached the door and stood up. Then I looked at Coach and at Smelly Armpits, both of them staring at me like I’d lost my mind. Nah . . . I’d finally come to my senses. I could find a better use for my time. I liked having pecs and abs, but I’d have to find a way to keep them without sniffing armpits.

  “Sorry, Coach,” I said, and to Smelly Armpits I added, “It’s nothing personal.” I headed for the locker room.

  “You quit?” Vern asked the next day.

  “I didn’t say I quit.” But I was thinking about it. Seriously.

  “Well, you played hooky right in the middle of practice.” Vern thought for a second. “Is there such a thing as AWOL in high-school sports?”

  I didn’t know, and, frankly, I didn’t care how you labeled it. I was just tired of getting my ass kicked for the sake of something that might never happen. The only thing that stopped me was the Second Base Club. Obviously, the sports angle worked for them.

  “What are your parents going to say?” Vern asked.

  That was a good question. I think my sporty mom liked the idea that I’d finally found a sport, that I was part of a team and working out. She wouldn’t make quitting easy.

  “I was going to write about you for the Herald.” He made quotation marks. “ ‘Elroy Gets Thumped.’ ”

  “Yeah, I don’t want to miss that.”

  “Neither do I. Your fifteen minutes of fame—and mine.”

  I kicked around the idea of quitting for the next couple of days. Meanwhile, I went back to practice. Coach didn’t look happy.

  “What was that about yesterday?” he asked me.

  “I’m not sure,” I told him.

  “I’ll give you one of those, Elroy. Just one. If it happens again, don’t bother coming back.”
>
  That was fair enough. You couldn’t very well run a team if there was no consequence for going AWOL. Still, I didn’t know what to do. How could I quit and hold my head up? More important, how could I get anywhere in the girl department without going out for a sport? Wasn’t that the whole basis for the Second Base Club? They were all jocks, united with one purpose. I racked my brain, trying to come up with an answer.

  And then it came to me.

  I met up with Vern and Tuck in the quad at lunch. “I’ll wrestle one match,” I said.

  Vern and Tuck exchanged a look. “What?”

  “I’ll wrestle one JV match. Then I’ll quit. You can still write your article, Vern.” I made quotation marks. “ ‘Elroy Thumps.’ ”

  Vern and Tuck nodded.

  “I can live with that,” Vern said.

  “I’ll be there too,” Tuck added. He pulled a can of Skoal out of his back pocket.

  “I thought you were giving that up,” I said.

  “I am.” He opened the can and held it out for me to see. It was filled with little candies. “Mint?”

  Vern and I grabbed some.

  “If this was filled with tobacco, I’d be thrown out of school. Contraband, you know? And you know what else? Girls don’t like kissing a guy who chews tobacco. It’s—”

  “Like licking an ashtray?” I asked.

  “Worse.”

  And so that was my plan. I’d stay with wrestling until my first match, one I hoped to win, then I’d move on. Continue with the real quest.

  Along that line, I had three more chats with Carol Ann in math. I also struck up conversations with Cynthia in biology and Tess in history. Putting all of your eggs in one basket was always a bad idea.

  Meanwhile, I kept an eye on the Second Base Club. Maybe I could pick up a pointer or two, or just absorb some of their confidence and swagger. Actually, I’d been practicing my swagger when I thought no one was looking. After a while I gave it up. It was exhausting. I was self-conscious enough as it was. I didn’t need to be thinking about how I was walking all the time. Besides, Juana Maria once asked me why I was limping. Clearly, my swagger was sending out the wrong message.