Dad grins. He’s never been
married and I don’t think
he has any kids. I hope not.
“Ha-ha. No. I mean . . .”
I glance over my shoulder
to make sure Will’s not lurking.
“He’s kind of a loner.”
He has friends, doesn’t he?
“He used to. But I’m not
sure the people he hangs
out with are really his friends.”
As Soon as the Words
Leave my mouth,
I realize they’re true.
If he had real friends,
we’d see them once
in a while. We never do.
And just because he leaves
the house doesn’t mean
he’s chilling with buddies.
“He wasn’t very excited
about the rafting trip.”
I noticed. My guess is
he’s afraid of getting hurt.
“But if little kids can do
it, and if Will wears a helmet,
it’s probably safe, right?”
For the most part. That’s why
we chose this one in particular.
Of course, any physical activity
carries some amount of risk.
But I wouldn’t put your brother
in harm’s way, and I’m hoping
the experience will help him find
a little self-confidence again.
I hope so, too.
I still want the old Will back.
But It’s the New Will
Who rides along to my game.
Dad insists that he come,
even though he doesn’t want
to, and that makes him mad.
Stop being so belligerent,
Dad finally tells him.
Little League games stink.
You’ve seen one, you’ve seen
them all. Not even real baseball.
That stings. “Little League
is too real baseball.
Like you’d know, anyway.”
How are you going to play
without a mitt? Will sneers.
“I’ve got a glove. Not that
you care.” I struggle
not to call him a thief.
That’s enough, Will.
Trace works hard to be
the best he can at this game.
The least you can do is support him.
This is not how I want
to spend my Saturday.
I Want to Yell
Want to tell him
watching him play
football was never
my idea of a fun
Friday night.
Want to tell him
high school football
is nothing like real
football, and real
players never get hurt.
Want to tell him
I’m sick of
his meanness
sick of
his lies
sick of
his self-pity
sick of
him
telling Dad
telling Mom
telling me
we don’t deserve
his respect
his trust
his love.
Instead
I clamp my mouth shut.
Stare out the window.
Watch the blur of sky to mountaintops.
Tune out my dad, who’s doing his best
to make me know he’s proud of me.
We bump down the road we drive on
almost every day, sometimes twice.
The neighborhoods, stores, and
churches and schools look the same.
Beyond them, the same desert
stretches to familiar hills and peaks.
For as long as I can remember,
this place has been my home.
I’ve never felt unsafe biking these
streets or walking on these sidewalks.
But I’m scared for my brother.
Problem Is
Too much thinking
messes up my focus.
Coach Hal’s pep talk
goes in one ear,
straight out the other.
I try to find it again
by concentrating on
the feel of my new
used glove. It’s like
it was made for my hand.
Worse, I think my focus
problem is contagious.
Coach Tom started Cat on
the mound. She’s pitching
wild—in the dirt, past
the catcher. The other team
scores three runs in the first.
Second inning, she loads
the bases with no outs.
Coach Tom waves me in,
and as he starts walking
toward the mound,
there’s no way to miss
Will, yelling from the stands.
What’s wrong with you?
Stupid girls can’t pitch!
Every head snaps
in Will’s direction.
Coaches. Players.
Parents, siblings,
random others.
That includes my dad
and Mr. Cobb, who’s sitting
a few seats away.
Also, Cat’s father,
her brother, and a lady,
not Victor Sánchez’s
personal assistant,
who’s right there with them.
I want to give Cat a hug,
but before I can even reach
the mound, she stomps
toward the dugout,
more angry than hurt.
At least that’s what her
body language screams.
I should go get in Will’s face.
Should ask what’s wrong
with him, and why he always
has to be so awful. Should tell
him Cat has more talent in
her little toe than he ever did.
But Coach Tom
Is calling for me to pitch.
Coach Hal has convinced Cat
to catch, and sent Bram
out to play first base.
Meanwhile, Dad is hauling
Will out of the stands,
which is probably good,
because Victor Sánchez
looks ready to do it for him.
And I don’t blame him.
We desperately try to get
back in the game, but
there’s no possible way
that will happen.
I pitch okay, but the three
on-base runners all score,
and it’s six to nothing.
The other team either
feels sorry for us or their
focus is broken, too,
because they don’t extend
their six-run lead.
We manage to score two,
and that’s the game.
We high-five the other team,
and Coach gives us the ol’
“you can’t win ’em all” speech.
Then I go over to Cat, who
still looks shook. “I’m sorry
about my brother. He can be
a real jer—”
It’s not him. She sounds
like she’s going to cry.
“T
hen what is it?”
She wags her head toward
where her family is sitting.
My mom got here last night.
My brother was with some bad
people and got arrested.
Mom wants Dad to pay for
a lawyer to get him out
of jail, but Dad doesn’t want to.
“Why not?”
He says Mateo needs to learn
a lesson so maybe he’ll turn
his life around and do better.
Whoa
Seems kind of harsh.
I wonder if it’s the right
thing to do.
“What do you think?”
I don’t know. Mom and Dad
argued about it for a long
time, so I heard both sides.
I kind of think Dad’s right.
It’s not that I want Mateo
to stay in jail, but if he keeps
going in a bad direction,
who knows what he might do?
“What if jail just makes
him worse?”
You sound like Mom.
That’s exactly what she said.
“What did your dad say?”
He said it would be hard
to get worse than carjacking.
“What’s that?”
Stealing cars when their drivers
are still sitting in them.
Oh. Like in the movies.
Sometimes the bad guys
grab the drivers and yank
them right out of their cars.
Sometimes . . . “Mateo
didn’t use a gun, did he?”
No. But he had one.
At least, the cops found
one under the seat.
He swears it isn’t his, but . . .
That’s what they all say.
Just like in the movies.
Bram is sitting nearby,
close enough to have
overheard our conversation.
He’s shaking his head in a slow
back-and-forth roll.
That’s pretty much how I feel.
And all I can say at this point
is “Sorry, Cat.”
Yeah. Me, too. Better go.
Thanks to Will
I’m riding home with Mr. Cobb.
When he sees me looking
around for Dad, who’s nowhere
in sight, he waves me over.
Your father thought it best
that he and your brother leave.
You don’t mind coming with me?
“No. Why would I?”
Some people think old farts
like me can’t drive very well.
“Guess I’ll find out.”
Guess you will.
I follow him to the parking
lot. I have no idea what
he drives. His car is always
parked in his garage, and
I never see him go anywhere.
Over here.
“No way! That’s your car?”
You ever ridden in a Corvette?
“Uh, no.”
Well, get on in. This baby
is a 1972 classic, and boy,
does she get up and go!
“Don’t get a ticket, okay?”
He laughs and we buckle up.
The car smells like old leather,
though it isn’t cracked or anything.
He must take excellent care of it.
When Mr. Cobb starts the engine,
it growls to life, then rumbles.
“Have you had her for a long time?”
Since she rolled off the line.
Becky is the love of my life.
Well, there was one other.
I wait for a minute, but
when he doesn’t offer more
info, I go ahead and ask,
“Who was the other one?”
My wife. Leona and I were
married forty-four years.
She’s been gone for three,
and I miss her every day.
Together we drove ol’ Becky
here all around the US of A.
Mr. Cobb
Doesn’t drive fast enough
to get a ticket. For a while.
You in a hurry to get home?
“Not really. It’s probably
pretty tense around there.”
Ahem. Well, if you don’t mind,
I’d like to take Becky for a run
on the freeway. She needs
to sprint every now and again.
“Cool.”
As in super cool.
Moth wings flutter in my stomach
when he merges onto the interstate,
takes a deep peek in his rearview mirror.
Hang on to your hat!
We accelerate like a bullet.
Two seconds takes us from sixty mph
to . . . I have no idea. I steal a glance
at the speedometer.
70
80
90
100
Mr. Cobb lifts his foot.
That oughta do it. Gotta blow
the garage sludge out of her pipes.
She wasn’t meant to retire.
Makes her downright testy.
That was the most thrilling
few minutes of my whole
life! I wonder if . . .
“Hey, Mr. Cobb. Did you ever
raft the Colorado River?”
Sure. Three times. Why?
I tell him about our summer
plans. “I’m excited, but also
a little worried. Do you think
it’s okay for Will?”
Leona and I did the whole length
of the canyon, and there’s a lot
more whitewater upriver from
the stretch you’ll be on.
Accidents aren’t impossible,
but they’re rare, especially on
the powered rafts. The guides
know their stuff. He’ll be fine.
We Exit
The freeway and Mr. Cobb zigzags
through the surface streets,
observing the speed limits.
Still, heads turn when the cherry-red
’Vette drives by, and it sort of feels
like being a celebrity or something.
Like Victor Sánchez.
Like Rory Davis.
Like Serene Etienne (aka Mom).
The last thought makes me
shrivel inside,
a worm on hot asphalt.
“I wish we would’ve played
better today,” I say.
All teams have off days,
and considering your start,
you didn’t finish so bad.
“Yeah. Poor Cat. She’s usually
a great pitcher, but bad stuff’s
going on with her brother.
She was kind of distracted.”
Ah. And how about your brother?
“You got a hint today.”
Did you talk to your dad
about your concerns?
“A little. And my mom, too.
They mostly think
it’s regular teenager stuff.”
Well, maybe it is, and maybe
it’s more, but at least
you tried to let them know.
He turns into his driveway,
opens the garage door
with a remote in the car.
Mind helping me wipe her off?
“Not if I can have another
ride in Becky sometime.”
We use special dusters.
Then Mr. Cobb puts Becky
to bed (that’s what he calls
it) beneath her custom cover.
“Thanks, Mr. C. I’ll come over
tomorrow and weed your ivy.”
Thanks for your company.
It gets lonely around here.
I understand. I get lonely, too.
Home Again
And when I open the door,
I hit a wall of silence.
I expected maybe yelling
or hardcore lecturing
at the very least.
“Hey! Where is everyone?”
Dad stomps into view in the hall.
Grab a shower and dress nice.
We’re going out to dinner.
“With Lily?”
No, just you and me.
“What about Will?”
He went out the window
right after we got home.
“Did you give him his keys?”
Nope. He left on foot, unless
someone picked him up.
“So why are we going dinner?”
Because you didn’t escape
through the window, and
because I don’t feel like cooking.
Dad Lets Me Choose
Where I want to eat.
I could say Steak ’n Shake,
but I’m in the mood
for something else.
“Can we have sushi?”
Your choice, like I said.
We go to our favorite
place, and Dad lets me get
the all-you-can-eat. I’m not
so big on straight raw fish,
but I like the rolls a lot.
“We lost the game,” I say.
You had a rough start.
“Yeah. Cat couldn’t focus.
She found out her brother
is in jail for carjacking.”
Dad whistles quietly.
That’s tough. I’m surprised.
He comes from a good home.
“Yeah, well, so does Will.”
I hope so. I try to do right
by you boys. This isn’t all
Will’s fault, though. He—
“Stop making excuses
for him. It’s his choice
to get into trouble.
It’s his choice to drive
too fast or to ditch school . . .”
Oops. I never mentioned
that to Dad.
What do you mean, ditch?