A Stitch in Time Pt. 05

Chapter 19

It is simply a fact of life that nothing is going to get accomplished on the first Monday after spring break. Everyone has to tell all their friends where they were and who they saw and who said what to whom and why all of this was just sooo important. The teachers usually just give up. Mr. Kennedy spent the first half of Government, in fact, quizzing Jesse and Hal Stonerider and me about the results of our baseball tournament.

When I wrote that the teachers usually just give up, of course, you knew that I didn't mean to include Mrs. Palmer. Mrs. Palmer collected all of our essays at the beginning of class, and then started a discussion of Captain Ahab. It quickly became clear from the sighs throughout the room that a number of my classmates weren't in complete accord with Mrs. Palmer's views of the captain, and were now wishing that they had written their papers on some other subject. Apparently, they hadn't yet figured out that Mrs. Palmer only cared if it was well-written.

In Religion, Mrs. Jenkins announced that there would be another test on Friday, when we would end our study of the "historical" books of the Old Testament. On the following Monday, we would begin the "prophetic' books, beginning with Isaiah. As I was writing myself a note to remind myself to let Tanya know about the test and the new assignment, I became conscious of a sort of buzzing in the classroom. I looked up and saw people trading excited whispers as Mrs. Jenkins finished writing the assignment on the blackboard. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out why.

We had a baseball game that afternoon against Garden City, one of our toughest opponents. At least that's what Coach claimed. On the bus trip there, he tried to motivate us by telling us that the Gardeners were still stinging from the beating we gave them in last year's league playoffs, and that they were loaded for bear this year. We really didn't hear anything after "Gardeners," though. The final outcome demonstrated, better than anything else, that we weren't quite prepared to take the "Garden City Gardeners" seriously. Particularly once Matt asked them if they had a lot of hoes at their school. It was hard to imagine that they hadn't heard it all before, but it still riled them up. After they scored four in the bottom of the first and two more in the bottom of the second, Cary Roberts sat down next to Matt and told him in no uncertain words to shut the fuck up. It was too late. We scored a few runs ourselves, but Matt and Eddie combined for three more errors and we ended up losing 12-4.

The bus ride back home was a sort of surreal experience. The second tournament game was the only sporting event in my life that I had any memory at all of losing, and I had reacted by ripping Matt's television cord out of the wall of his motel room. But we'd all gone back to our rooms after the brief trip to the motel, so this was really the first time that I had seen how the whole team reacted to adversity. They reacted pretty much the same way that they had to success. The bus trip back from Bishop Connor two weeks ago had been full of guys laughing, rough-housing, and bragging about girls they had never gone out with, The bus trip back from Garden City was full of the same guys, who appeared to have forgotten the game as soon as it was over. There were a few exceptions, of course. Cary sat up front with Jesse, going over the pitches that they'd been successful with and the ones that hadn't worked out quite as well. Coach sat in front with his assistant, Coach Craig, as if they were resigned to a season of games like this. Tommy and Rabbit were off in their own little calculus world, quietly trying to figure out something their teacher had stumped them with earlier in the day.

Maybe this was how it always worked. Forget the loss, concentrate on the next game. So I just sat next to Bobby Bunt as he dozed off. I still took pride in the fact that after thirteen innings I had an earned run average of zero. And hell, we were still 4-2, although that came out to 2-1 in league play.

I called Tanya that evening, and we traded stories on what had happened while she was out of town. It was a very one-sided conversation. After she told me about visiting her grandmother, we were quickly into re-runs on her network. I told her about my SAT score, and she shrieked with delight, particularly since my highest score had come on the writing portion for which she had been my ostensible tutor. I told her about Jill, which also pleased her. And I told her about our ball game, which she quickly dismissed as an aberration. Then I told her about Religion, about the test and the assignment, and I asked her if she had any idea why the book of Isaiah would cause such a stir in Religion class. She just sighed.

"Tanya?"

"It's just I wish we were starting with another book. The Christian gospels are all written to treat Isaiah as a sort of prediction of the coming of the Messiah. Have you ever listened to the Messiah?"

It sounded like opera, and the answer, in any event, was definitely no.

"Well," she said, "it's loaded with passages from Isaiah, to give the idea that Jesus' arrival as the Messiah was all pre-ordained. So I just have the feeling that next week I'm going to be a very lonely voice in a very loud crowd."

"Don't worry," I assured her. "I'll be there for you."

"I know it," she sighed.

To be honest, it didn't sound as if she knew it. At the moment, though, I had more to worry about than whether Tanya thought I was going to take the Christian side in Religion class next week. For example, I still had a Religion test this week, and the A, rather than the A-plus, I had received on the first test we had taken, was still on Mrs. Jenkins's book. I knew that I had to buckle down and study for this test, so that's exactly what I did, pretty much to the exclusion of anything else.

Excluding Tanya didn't turn out to be that hard. I had sort of forgotten that her other set of friends — the ones we'd had lunch with oh so many months ago when she'd first rescued me from Coventry in the cafeteria — were all yearbook types. It turned out that Tanya was actually the editor of the faculty section. And as the editor of the faculty section, she was going to be busy every afternoon that week with final preparations for getting the yearbook to the publishers. From my standpoint, though, she couldn't have picked a better week. She was happy in her world; I was cramming like hell in mine. The thought of what another A on a Religion test would do to my quest for UVA was enough to overcome, temporarily at least, my other obsession. We did make plans to go to the hastily scheduled choir concert on Saturday evening. Mr. Collins was apparently so taken with the success of the tour that he decided an immediate performance was needed. Ann O'Hara was fully recovered, of course, and would perform her duet. But Jill was going to be in the Three Little Maids.

Excluding the non-Tanya aspects of my life was not that hard, either, although in retrospect, I would have been better off with, say, a slightly wider focus. For example, I really didn't pay sufficient attention to the third round of tryouts for "The Sound of Music." I had no intention of trying out myself, of course. My knowledge of "The Sound of Music" was limited to the movie, and Julie Andrews' freakishly high singing voice. From what I knew of the characters in the movie, the only one I was qualified to play was the goat. And he was a puppet.

Originally, of course, there weren't supposed to be any more tryouts. Jeanne had tried out at the first set, three weeks ago now. Then there was a second set, on the following Tuesday. Mr. Collins was supposed to announce the cast after we came back from spring break. Instead, while Jeanne and Jill and I were doing dishes together on Monday evening, Jeanne had glumly informed us that there was a new sign posted outside the music room, indicating that yet another round of tryouts was to be held the following afternoon.

"Why?" I asked.

"I don't know," Jeanne answered. "Do you think he's unhappy with who tried out? Like, what's the point of more tryouts?"

Jill grabbed Jeanne's arm, nearly quivering with excitement.

"You mean I can try out?" she asked, her eyes alight. "Oh, god, I could be, like one of your daughters."

"What daughters?" I asked.

"You know," she dismissed the question. "When that nun chick —"

"— Maria," Jeanne interjected.

"— marries the old guy —"

"— Captain von Trapp."

"— she gets like ten kids."

Jeanne was smiling now, too.

"That would be cool," Jeanne said. "You could be Liesl, the oldest one. She and Maria have a duet together. Or the Mother Abbess. She and Maria have a duet together, too."

"Wait a minute," I asked. "This is another mother?"

Jeanne sighed at my ignorance.

"The head of the convent," she told me.

When that didn't make any obvious impression, she tried another idea.

"The chief nun."

"Aaah," I nodded.

"Of course, that is supposed to be Ann's role," Jeanne mused.

"Yeah, and I think she'd make a better nun," Jill laughed.

"Wait a minute," I said. "This is Ann O'Hara?"

"Yeah," Jeanne agreed.

Jill was right. Ann would make a better nun. She was just a little chunky. Putting a body like Jill's in a nun's outfit would be a crime against humanity. Well, a crime against men, at any rate.

"Okay," I said. "Help me out here. This is Ann O'Hara who's in my class, right? So if she can sing duets in French and all, how come she's not going to be this Maria?"

Jeanne smiled.

"It's tradition," she explained. "You get your big role in eleventh grade and then in twelfth grade you sort of mentor the next girl coming along. So last year Ann was Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, and this year she's supposed to be the mother abbess. She has some really great songs. She sings 'My Favorite Things' with Maria and then she sings 'Climb Ev'ry Mountain.'"

Jeanne launched into the last two lines of "Climb Ev'ry Mountain," — "Follow ev'ry rainbow, 'tiiiiiiiil yoooouuuu fiiiiiiind yooooour dreeeeeam" — and then burst into laughter.

"Those are the only lines I know. I've sort of been practicing Maria's songs," she said shyly before she turned to Jill. "Anyway, it's tomorrow after school. I'll come with you. You just sing that French song."

So we had a plan.

In addition to the musical, I didn't pay enough attention to Astronomy. During Wednesday's lab, Cammie asked me what time I wanted to get together on Friday night.

I looked over at her. Why would I want to get together with Cammie Rowe on Friday night? I mean, other than the obvious. More important, why would Cammie Rowe want to get together, or even be willing to get together, with me on Friday night? I hadn't skipped any more time, had I?

She sat there, waiting for an answer, and I finally blurted out, "seven-thirty?"

"Seems kind of early, don't you think? I don't think the sun sets until almost eight."

"Eight-thirty?" I asked.

"Okay," she said as the bell rang to signal the end of class. "Don't make me call you this time. This is your project, remember?"

Oh, shit.

Needless to say, that killed any spare time I had for the rest of the week. As much as I was motivated by getting an A-plus in Astronomy, I suspect that there was also a part of me that didn't want Cammie to think of me as any more of a fuck-up than she already did. So I ended up dividing my time on Wednesday and Thursday nights, as well as Thursday study halls, between studying for the Religion test and setting up a schedule for my observations on Friday evening. There was a chance of rain on Friday night, which would make visiting the observatory a little pointless, but I wasn't going to count on that. I stayed up until one o'clock on Wednesday night, but I could only make it to midnight the next night.

I was very happy with my performance on the Religion test. As far as I could tell, I nailed every question. Astronomy didn't go quite as well. Cammie had to correct a few things I had done. But she was okay with that. We were lab partners. That was what lab partners did for each other. And she was impressed with my preparation, particularly the little grid that I had copied from her. Finally, at eleven-thirty, we were done.

"God, I'm exhausted," I slumped back in my chair as Cammie handed over the observations that she had recorded.

"Fortunately, it's the weekend," she said.

"For you," I laughed. "I got a game tomorrow."

"Oh, that's right," she smiled. "A big one, right?"

"They're all big, kid," I said, standing up and stretching.

"Asshole. Rabbit says that Montgomery's supposed to have a good team this year."

"Yeah, but I'll be pitching," I winked at her.

"Asshole. You know today's Friday the thirteenth, don't you?"

"Are you serious?"

"Why?" she laughed. "Don't tell me you're superstitious. Oh wait, you are. Jeanne told me she had to park in the same space when you took your SAT last time."

She was having a good old giggle at my expense.

"Very funny. So you coming to the game?

"I don't know. The Red Sox are on the Game of the Week tomorrow afternoon. That'll probably be a good game."

I opened my mouth and then closed it again. I couldn't call Cammie Rowe an asshole no matter how much she deserved it. My obvious frustration just made her laugh all the harder. We turned off the lights, locked the door, and walked to the parking lot together.

"See you tomorrow, Cammie. Thanks for coming."

"You turned out not to be such a bad partner after all, Sterling."

"Thanks, Cammie. Thanks for taking the chance."

She gave me a nice smile, and then finally got into her car.

Despite her threat, she was there the next afternoon in time for the 1:30 start of our game. The rain had come through overnight, and left behind it some unseasonably warm weather for the beginning of April. It produced a very large crowd, with a lot of young kids. Tanya was there, too, with her parents, all of them dressed very appropriately this time. Jeanne and Jill were there, with a very smug-looking Sammy Houghtaling sitting between them.

Tommy plonked himself down on the bench next to me.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, fine," I said automatically. "I mean, you know, I didn't get enough sleep last night, but yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"'Cause you keep looking at your arm, and moving it around like that," he pointed to my arm as I was doing a very slow impersonation of a windmill.

"It's fine," I said.

"You know, I'm gonna have to tell Coach if you aren't throwin' right."

"Look. It's not sore or anything. It just feels, I don't know, heavy."

"Heavy? You mean like stiff?"

"No. Just heavy. I'll be fine.

He got up and gave me another look.

"Really, man, I'll be fine."

The top half of the first inning was over almost as soon as it started. The first guy up popped the first pitch to Mo, and the second guy struck out on three pitches. The third guy also swung at the first pitch, and popped it foul. Tommy made an excellent catch for the third out.

"Okay," he laughed as we sat down together on the bench. "You're fine."

Rabbit walked with one out in the bottom of the inning and I singled him to third, but Mo's double play ball sent us back to the field. I struck out two, and the last one grounded to Rabbit. In the bottom of the inning, we put together a little rally for a 2-0 lead.

When we returned to the dugout for the bottom of the third inning, things had gotten weird. For one thing, nobody would sit next to me. When I flied out for the second out, I sat down next to Tommy. He got up and moved down the bench to sit next to Jesse Trasker, of all people. And they both sat there, staring into space, not saying a word. Mo flied out for the third out, and we were back on the field again.

I threw the first pitch over the heads of Tommy and the umpire, all the way to the backstop on a frozen rope. As I expected, Tommy leaped from his crouch and called for a time-out.

"What the hell was that?" he asked as he neared the mound.

"What the hell is that in the dugout?" I countered.

He glanced over nervously at the dugout and back at me.

"What?"

"Oh, don't give me that crap. Why is everybody suddenly treating me like I smell like I had a fight with a skunk?"

"We're not," he protested. He was looking past me, at Rabbit, at Matt, anywhere but at me.

"You are so," I insisted.

"Let's go, boys," the umpire shouted from behind home plate.

Tommy left, and the batter hit my first pitch on the ground to Rabbit. The ball hit off of his glove and popped into the air, but Rabbit snatched at it with his bare hand and fired it to Mo to beat the guy by a mere half a step. I watched them throw it around the horn, taking in the anxiety on the faces of all four of my infielders. This time I called "time."

I had a grin on my face when Tommy approached this time.

"This is some superstition thing, isn't it?" I asked. "They haven't touched me yet, and Coach told you not to talk to me."

"Yeah," Tommy admitted. "It's supposed to be bad luck."

"Yeah, but look at these guys," I indicated the whole infield. "Even Rabbit looks like a —"

"Rabbit?"

I started to laugh.

"Seriously," I tried to maintain a straight face. "Mattie and Eddie are probably peein' in their pants."

"Probably," Tommy tried not to look at them.

This time the umpire walked out to join us.

"All right, boys," he said. "That's all you get this inning. You call time once more, and I gotta give the batter first base."

I motioned him closer.

"Does that count as a hit, sir?"

"A hit, son?"

"Yes, sir. If you give the guy first base, does that count as a hit?"

"No, I think it's charged as an error on you, son," he said with a grin.

"And I still get the time?"

"You get until I'm finished arguing with your coach about the call," he winked at me.

We all went back to our positions, I called time, and the umpire sent their number eight hitter down to first. Coach burst from the dugout and, with a worried glance at me, started arguing with the ump. I called the infielders in.

"All right, that's an error on me, guys, so there's no perfect game, and I don't care how many fucking errors you guys make for the rest of the game. Is that clear?"

Rabbit and Mo grinned, and Matt and Eddie broke out in big smiles. The next guy grounded into a perfect 6-4-3 double play, and we returned to the bench. I still had my no-hitter going, and my teammates still wouldn't get near me, but I was a lot more confident now that most of them would actually be more of a help than a hindrance. So I pulled a cell phone out of my bag and text-messaged Tanya, "cool huh".

I watched as she heard her phone go off, and then read the message. Laughing, she showed it to her father. Mr. Szerchenko reacted with horror, grabbing the phone from her and shoving it deep into his pocket. I couldn't help but laugh at the expression on their faces as they looked down at me in the dugout. Tanya waved, and Mr. Szerchenko grabbed her arm and yanked it down.

The fifth inning: a strikeout; a grounder through Matt's legs, another strikeout, and an unassisted force at second by Rabbit.

The sixth inning: two quick strikeouts and a fly ball to the outfield, the first one of the day. Hal made an easy catch, and we only had one inning left. By then we were ahead 5-0, and I went out for the seventh inning determined to enjoy this feeling as much as I could. I was apparently the only one, though. Normally, Rabbit was the only infielder who tried to stay on the balls of his feet right before a pitch. Now, all four of them were practically bouncing up and down. Even the outfielders were nervous, although they'd only had one ball hit to them all day. Still, the next ball could come their way. Tommy was the only one who appeared calm, although his mask made it hard to tell.