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“So, Ben,” Sam begins, trying to ease his way into a conversation with Riverside High’s nervous pitcher as they walk to practice together. “Do you live around here?”
Blinking in surprise, Benjamin stutters back, “Uh, um, yeah, why?”
“Pleiades Prep is way up north, so I was wondering how you got to school. Would your dad drive you on his way to work?”
“No, I stayed with family. They had a spare bedroom not being used, so it worked out okay, I think.”
Must be his grandparents’ house; Benjamin had mentioned before that his grandpa owned the prep school, so it’d make sense if they lived in the area. “Is it a big place?”
“I guess… It’s in an older residential area, so it has two stories, and a backyard – oh, and a pool.”
“Huh?!” A house like that up there would cost…
“I-I’m sorry!” Benjamin yelps at Sam’s surprised exclamation.
“Woah, chill, dude,” he reassures the pitcher. “I’ve just never been to a house with a pool. Not that it matters, since I don’t even know how to swim…” Embarrassed by the turn in conversation, Sam scratches his cheek. “Is that weird…?”
Benjamin’s expression turns anxious and he glances to the side, chewing on his words.
“Hey, I’m waiting for an answer over here!” Sam ribs during the resulting silence.
“Sorry, I was just, thinking, about how I haven’t been back to visit since school started, so…”
“What, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how to swim?”
“Oh, I sure hope not!” Shoulders sagging, Benjamin continues, “It’s just that, when I go back, they’re going to ask how things are here, and I don’t know what to tell them.”
“Dude, what’s the problem? We totally slayed in that practice match, and you brought us the dub!” Just remembering their win makes Sam pump a fist in the air.
A wobbly smile rises to Benjamin’s face. “Ah, I didn’t do anything – but you, you were great out there!”
“Knock it off…” Sam’s cheeks burn from the unexpected compliment. “… But do you really think so?”
“Mhm. You were in the majors during little league, right?”
Their conversation lasts all the way to practice, with Benjamin jogging Sam’s memory about the amazing pitcher Abe used to play with, Michael Anderson. What school did he go to again?
“First, we’ll hit a few sacrifice flies, then we’ll all go to watch a varsity league game and take some notes. It’s Shoreline versus First Point,” Coach Martinez announces to everyone before they warm up.
Right, First Point, that was it.
*** *** ***
Aubrey stares out at the field from his seat in the stands. Tyler had tried stripping the moment the team sat down, but luckily for everyone, Coach put a stop to it before he could unbutton anything beyond his jersey, and it’s calm for the moment.
… A calm that ends when a player from First Point walks towards their group, shoulders squared.
“Did he hear us?” Frets Oswald, and their group’s laughter about the grey First Point uniforms cuts off.
“No way…” Aubrey glances between Fred, clinging to his shoulder, and Kyle, similarly anxious. “Unless, like, our voices carried downwind, maybe?”
The player proceeds to slam his arms against the chain link fence, proving he’s upset about something.
Kyle jumps at the noise. “He definitely heard, guys!”
“D-don’t look at me, man – uh, Aubrey’s the one who said your uniforms are ugly,” Fred ekes out, completely unnecessarily, to the First Point student beyond the fence.
“Hey! Shut up!" He shushes his teammate.
“Thompson!”
They all wince at the rebuttal… then pause, confused. “What’d he say?” mutters Kyle.
“Thompson! Come here fawh a bit!” The player’s accented, one-sided dialogue continues with little clarification as to what he wants beyond the presence of this ‘Thompson.’
“Who?”
“No idea.”
Their group of four stares blankly at each other for a moment, at which point Kyle looks around and calls out, “Uh, Mr. Thompson? Are any one of you a Mr. Thompson?”
“Thompson, yuh bettuh come down befawh I head up!” More banging of the fence ensues, stopping only when Abe suddenly stands up and walks down the bleachers.
Aubrey doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but, well…
“What’s up.”
“So what school are yuh gonna now?”
“Riverside.”
“Riverside? Where de heck’s dat?”
A second challenger, half-dressed in catcher’s gear, intercepts the relay. “It’s Riverside High – it’s in our county, ya dig? Hey…” The catcher glances from his pitcher to Abe. “I thought youse only shimmied with softball?”
“Not anymore; it’s our first year for hardball,” Abe punts back.
“Wait a minute… So it’s a buncha noobs? What, that’s de only way yuh can wear de big boy pants on de team?”
The catcher interjects again, spiraling into an argument with his pitcher. “C’mon, man, leave it! We have a game to get ready fawh!”
“Shaddup, ya schmooze! I don’t take de mound ‘til de fawth innin’, so pipe down, capiche?”
“Dis isn’t a practice game – tink about de seniawhs. Yuh with me so fahr? Get a grip.”
“Okay, okay! I was just yankin’ your chain…” Turning back to Abe, the pitcher continues. “So Abe, yuh stayin’ until aftuh de game, or what?”
“I dunno, man, I’m busy trying to fit in my big boy pants.”
The pitcher, aggravated once more, slams both hands against the fence. “Do yuh always need tuh have de last wawhd?”
“Michael!”
“Hang on, I knows! Look, Abe – Yuh remembuh how long it took until yuh could catch what I threw wit’out keelin’ ovuh, yeah? Yuh had mawh dark spots than a leopard. And what about dat big game we lost ‘cuz yuh couldn’t keep a grip on de ball? Yuh did improve eventually, but I’m still bettuh, and dere ain’t nuttin’ yuh can do about it.”
At the end of his speech, the pitcher points at Abe. “So sit down and watch.” His piece said, he walks off, the catcher following after.
All Aubrey can mutter afterwards is, “What the heck was that about?”
*** *** ***
Just before the game kicks off, the defense scatters to their various positions on the field. Watching this, Rio calls out from a row behind Kurtis, “Oh man, Michael’s playing in right? If he’s not pitching, I’m gonna catch some z’s. Night,” and promptly slumps over.
“You’re not serious?” Kurtis questions him.
“I might as well charge my batteries before tomorrow’s big game.”
“But tomorrow’s the quarterfinals – they’re not going to be sending benchwarmers out to start,” Juan counters from beside Kurtis.
“Whatever. Any member of the team can play if they’re lucky.” Rio lifts his head up. “What if steel construction beams fall from the stadium and knock Kurtis out mid-game?”
Kurtis leans back in fear. “That’s way too specific a hypothetical!”
Blinking in realization of what he just said, Rio pulls out a chain necklace with a nondescript pendant on it. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stick Man,” he murmurs, and lightly kisses the pendant. “I know you said only to jinx people if I really, really mean it.”
“…” Well, it’s not like Kurtis didn’t know their backup catcher was cuckoo for Shmoco Puffs.
*** *** ***
“Noel, lookin’ good out dere!” Michael calls out to Noel on their way to the dugout between innings.
Noel chuckles. “Well, yuh knows hows it is – a little a dis, a little a dat, and dey’ll eat out of de palm of your hands.”
“If I were tuh to eat somethin’ right now, I could really go fawh a hamboiguh. Mmm, wit’ extra onions.”
“And pickles?”
“Only a whole bunch!”
That sounds like Michael, alright. “Quit tinkin’ about eatin’ and start tinkin’ about pitchin’. I’m only in until de fawhth, so it’ll be up tuh yuh tuh hold dem down aftuh dat. And throwin’ against a team like dis sure takes a lot out of yuh. Man, now I’m hungry fawh a boiguh too. Or maybe pizza. Should we ask tuh stop by somewhere aftuh de game?”
Thinking of all the restaurants nearby to choose from, Noel wipes at his mouth for any drool – and receives a wide smile and a chuckle from Michael by means of response.
Noel’s face warms. “What are yuh laughing at?” He lifts his foot and kicks Michael in the rear, repeatedly. “Fuhgeddaboudit – hows about a full servin’ of cleats instead?!”
“Nyeh! Your spikes!”
*** *** ***
“Once he made up his mind, there was nothing I could do to change it.” Of all the explanations Abe has been trying to get through Benjamin’s and Sam’s heads, this truth stings the most.
He approaches the mound where Michael is standing, the force of everyone’s distant gazes upon them weighing him down.
“Just give me ten pitches.”
Michael jams a pinkie in his ear and digs around for earwax.
“Okay, eight.”
The digging continues uninterrupted.
“Five? Three! Fine, then one – please, just one pitch without holding back! Showing off your potential might just get them running with their tails between their legs. If we don’t do that much, then we’ll lose what little hope we have!”
Michael looks in Abe’s direction. Abe holds his breath.
“Hey, Abe, do yuh tink dere’s any good boiguh joints around here?”
His breath escapes him in a sting of disappointment. The pain resurfaces when the ump calls three walks in a row, and when Michael strolls off the mound immediately after, and when the game gets called in the seventh, and most of all when he stands at the bathroom sink before they leave with tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.
Michael stumbling across him – entering the bathroom and turning on the light, only for a disgruntled expression to flash over Abe’s shoulder in the bathroom mirror as he flicks the light back off – doesn’t help matters any. “Yuh’ll feel bettuh if yuh put food in your stomach,” states the one at fault for Abe’s distress.
Before Abe realizes it, he’s grabbed Michael by the jersey and slammed him against the wall.
“Easy. Yuh know what would happen if yuh injured me, yeah?”
It’s Abe’s turn to stay silent while being talked to.
“I mean it!”
The sound of a pop fly being hit brings Abe out of his recollections. “Sorry,” he mutters to Benjamin and Sam, both currently staring at him wide-eyed, and picks up from where he trailed off. “As far as Michael’s concerned, teammates are just another tool in his arsenal – even though we fought like cats and dogs for the rest of the season, he never changed his mind on that. He’s so busy reaching for the stars that he never noticed how alien he was to the rest of us down here on Earth. You couldn’t pay me to play with someone like that again.”
Benjamin and Sam look quietly at him for a moment. Just when Abe thinks they understand his perspective now… Benjamin slumps to the ground in tears.
“What now?! What’d I say?”
Sam shrugs. “You roly-poly-ified him…”
Their pitcher cowers in place, trembling, unresponsive to any questioning. Abe’s all but decided Benjamin’s simply cold and wants a dirt nap when he sits back up.
“You’ve really got to work on that crying thing. Have you ever tried imagining people in their underwear?” Abe suggests. Benjamin’s expression makes it clear he has, but that it didn’t go so well. “Well, let’s see… When you’re on the mound, you can’t see the crowd well anyways, so… Try a big ol’ smile instead!”
Benjamin and Sam stare in awe when he makes one with a thumbs-up included for good measure. “It’s proven to reduce stress,” he clarifies, stretching the grin wider. “You know what they say: fake it ‘till you make it. Here, give it a shot – just like this.”
“Uh – uhm – like this?” Benjamin stretches his cheeks cartoonishly wide, causing Abe to double over with sides splitting.
“Oh, that’s ten outta ten, no cap!” Sam sputters as he, too, is overcome with laughter. “Figure out how to do it without using your hands, and you’ll be able to when batting, too!”
By the time the three of them are able to breathe normally again, they’re all wiping tears from their eyes. “Hey, you know what you said about Michael? Do you mind if I tell it to the guys?” asks Sam.
‘The guys’ around them in the stands all flinch – not that Abe notices.
*** *** ***
As the winners of today’s game, First Point is tasked with taking care of ground maintenance before they leave. Michael has just grabbed a rake to do his part when a couple of teammates approach.
“Good job today!”
“Let us take care of dat fawh yuh.”
Not one to turn down such an offer, Michael replies, “Sure, knock yawhselves out.”
“Yuh too, man,” they add, turning next to Alberto, who is standing a short distance away. “Go cool off wit’ Michael.”
“M’kay!”
Michael glances at Alberto – and notices the very empty stands in the distance behind him. Running off, and ignoring Alberto’s call as he chases after, Michael confirms with his own two eyes that the space Abe was sitting at during the game is now empty. But maybe their bus hasn’t left yet…!
He rushes outside to the drop-off area only to find it completely deserted.
“Hey, what’s wrong, man?” Alberto calls out when he finally catches up.
“I told him – wait right here. But he left!”
“That Thompson guy? Eh, whaddayuhgonnado.”
[Were this a faithful dub, the scene would continue with Alberto bringing up Michael’s time with Abe in middle school. Unfortunately, however, due to the recap at the start of the episode and the timing of some other clips, the company needed to cut a segment to keep pace – and because this scene, despite revealing critical insight into how others perceive Michael and Abe’s history, was deemed expendable, dub viewers never get to see it. This makes for a big surprise when they get around to watching the sub and discover they were missing out on a whole conversation!]