Stealing Home Page 7

  “Hey, Gallagher, what’s up with your boy?” Charlie asked.

  “Why don’t you go after him?” Pete suggested.

  But Joey just stood there. “He’s all right,” Joey said, staring at the spot where Jesus had turned the corner. “Leave him alone. He’ll work it out by himself.”

  “Maybe he’s hurt,” Jordan piped up.

  “He’s fine,” Joey said through gritted teeth. “Now can we just play ball?”

  “Why, Jesus, you haven’t touched a bite of your dinner!” Joe’s mom said as she looked at his plate. “Is something the matter?”

  Jesus just shook his head.

  “Aren’t you hungry, son?” Joey’s dad asked, concerned.

  Jesus shook his head again but didn’t say anything. Joey’s mom mouthed the word “homesick.” Joey’s dad nodded back, agreeing. But Joey knew better.

  “I no hungry,” Jesus said. “No feel so good. I go my room, okay?”

  “Sure, Jesus, that’s fine,” said Joey’s dad.

  “Are you sick?” his mom asked.

  “No sick . . . maybe . . . I no sure.”

  “Well, you go on upstairs,” Joey’s mom said. “I’ll check on you in a while.”

  After Jesus left the dining room, they both started in on Joey. “What’s going on with Jesus?” his dad demanded.

  “How should I know?” Joey asked.

  “Haven’t you noticed anything at all?” his mom said, frowning.

  “No!” Joey insisted. “Will you just get off it?”

  “Is there something going on between you two?” his dad asked, scrutinizing Joey.

  “No!” Joey held his ground. “I’m telling you, I don’t know what’s wrong with him. Maybe he’s sick, like he says. Maybe he hates it here and wants to go home.”

  “Would you like it if he went home?” his dad asked. The question pinned Joey to his seat. He didn’t know how to answer it. Part of him did wish Jesus would just go away, that things would go back to the way they were before he came — with Joey as the new up-and-coming star of the Marlins. But another part of him — the part that had come to really like Jesus — didn’t feel that way at all.

  That part of him felt rotten for bumping into Jesus on purpose. Rotten for wishing him gone. Rotten for being rotten. “I’m not feeling so well either,” he said, throwing his napkin down and getting up to go. “I’m going to bed, okay?”

  “Okay, Joey,” his mom said. “Do you want some pain reliever?”

  “No, I’ll be okay,” he said. “I just . . . overdid it at practice, that’s all.” As he left the room, he could feel his parents’ eyes burning a hole in the back of his head.

  It was wrong of him, he knew. But how could he help the way he felt?

  11

  By Tuesday afternoon, Joey had managed to calm himself down somewhat. He knew that no matter how irritated he got at Jesus, he mustn’t say or do anything stupid, anything that made him look like a jerk.

  He’d gotten through the whole day at school pretty well, ignoring all the attention his “brother” was getting. Brianne had flirted with Jesus like crazy at lunch, practically begging him to ask her to the movies, but Jesus had no clue what was going on. How could he have known? The signals were obvious to any American kid, but Joey realized it must be totally different in Nicaragua.

  The only one — other than Joey — who still seemed to have something against Jesus was Damon Krupp. Joey had stuck up for Jesus that day in the cafeteria. Would he do the same now? He wasn’t so sure.

  Joey and Jesus rode their bikes to the field after school. Several times along the way, Joey took off at full speed, getting far ahead. Jesus didn’t even try to catch up. Joey knew he was acting like a baby, but he just couldn’t stop himself.

  The regular baseball season was winding down, with only three games to go. With a record of 6–1, the Marlins were tied for first with the Orioles and the Twins, a team they were scheduled to play next week. If the Marlins won two of their last three games, they’d be in the play-offs. They’d also have Nicky Canelo back, and that meant it would be clear sailing all the way to the championship.

  Coach Bacino approached them as soon as they arrived at the field for their game with the 4–3 Brewers. “Listen,” he told Joey. “Matt Lowe’s not gonna be here.”

  “What?” Joey said. “Why? What’s wrong with him?”

  “Emergency appendectomy,” the coach said grimly. “He’s out for the season.”

  “No!” Joey cried. “What are we gonna do?”

  “I know,” the coach said. “It’s just bad luck — a rash of injuries. It can happen to any team, and we’re just gonna have to fight through it.” He kicked at the dirt, obviously worried. “So here’s how we’re gonna play it. Gallagher, you’ll pitch the first three. Jesus — you said you pitched in your country?”

  “Sí!” Jesus said. “I pitch for team! Very good!”

  “Okay, then, you’re it,” Coach said, slapping Jesus on the back. “Let’s see what you can do.”

  Joey could practically feel the steam coming out of his ears. How come Jesus got to pitch the last three innings without even trying out?

  He got up on the mound angry and promptly got into trouble because he was throwing too hard. As a result, his pitches were flat — very hittable. Before the first half inning was over, the Marlins were down, 2–0.

  Luckily, Jesus got a rally started right away, with a perfect bunt and a steal to second base. After Joey struck out swinging, Jordan Halpin knocked Jesus in with a single. Charlie Morganstern hit a home run over the center fielder’s head, and the Marlins were back in the lead.

  But they held the lead only for the moment. In the top of the second, Joey walked two batters and allowed a double to left that scored two runs. It was 4–3, Brewers, and that was the way it stayed through the end of the third inning.

  That inning, Joey had given up three singles without yielding a run — but only because Jesus (who else?) had nailed a runner at the plate with a perfect strike from shallow center field. When Joey struck out the cleanup hitter for the third out of the inning, the whole Marlins team let out a roar, and everyone congratulated him for a job well done.

  In the bottom of the third, Jesus started another rally, with a slap double down the third-base line. This time, Joey made contact on his turn at bat, blooping a single behind third base. Jesus, with his blinding speed, scored all the way from second. Joey, the RBI man, took second on the throw to the plate and scored when Jordan singled behind him. Once again, the Marlins were in the lead, 5–4.

  Now it was Jesus’s job to hold the lead. Joey had never seen him pitch before. During their practices in the driveway, Jesus had never even gone into a windup. But he had one, all right. An unforgettable one.

  Jesus stared in at the plate, cap pulled down over his eyes, hands together and low. As he went into his windup, he turned toward first base and lifted his hands high over his head as his knee came all the way up to his face. Then, in a blur, his whole body whipped around, and his long left arm swung sidearm. The ball came in surprisingly fast, rising as it went, popping loudly into Pete’s catcher’s mitt.

  As impressive as it was to Joey and the rest of the Marlins, Jesus’s pitching was a total shock to the poor Brewers. They went down swinging, one after the other. The inning ended after only eleven pitches, nine of them strikes. “Awesome!” Coach Bacino yelled. “Absolutely incredible!”

  The legend of Jesus was growing by the minute, and Joey could feel his own jealousy rising to fever pitch. The next inning was not quite as spectacular — Jesus threw fourteen pitches — but he still struck out all three Brewers he faced. Six in a row, with three to go. Could he possibly do it a third time?

  When the Marlins went down in the fifth without scoring a run, they were still clinging to their one-run lead. Now the Brewers came up for their last licks. For two innings, they’d whiffed at Jesus’s pitches, fooled by all the motion in his windup and frozen by the rising ac
tion of his fastball.

  Now, as they tried to adjust, Jesus started mixing in a change-up, varying the speed of his pitches. It was too much for the Brewers. They went down one-two-three — nine batters faced, nine spectacular strike-outs for Jesus. It was as good as anything Nicky Canelo had ever done.

  All the Marlins mobbed Jesus, screaming their heads off for their new superstar. Even Nicky Canelo, still a spectator, whooped it up with the rest of them.

  Only Joey did not join in the general celebration. He threw down his mitt, then picked it up and headed for the bike rack, unnoticed and ignored by his ecstatic teammates. Only one set of eyes was fixed on him. Sad, rejected eyes boring right through the back of his head.

  Jesus’s eyes.

  12

  Joey did not go directly home. Instead, he pedaled over to Marx’s Luncheonette. Parking his bike, he went inside, sat on one of the stools at the counter, and ordered himself a double-chocolate malted.

  How had it come to this? He’d never really been all that interested in having an exchange student come to live with them. Joey had nothing against Jesus personally. It was just the way he’d stolen Joey’s thunder. Stepped into his spotlight and gotten all the attention that should have been Joey’s.

  Well, it wasn’t working out, that was for sure. That was what it all came down to. Joey tried to imagine going to his mom and dad and telling them to send Jesus back to Nicaragua. “It would be better for everybody,” he would say.

  Yeah, right. That would work — not. He tried to sip on his malted through a straw, but the straw quickly became clogged with thick chocolate ice cream. Ah, Marx’s malteds — one of life’s little treats. Joey grabbed a spoon and started to eat the malted instead of drinking it.

  The front door of the luncheonette opened, and the little sleigh bells Mr. Marx had attached to the door tinkled brightly. In walked Larry Levine. He took the seat next to Joey.

  “Some game, huh?” he said, trying a smile out on Joey.

  Joey didn’t smile back. “Yeah. Great,” he said. “One more win and we’re in the play-offs!” Larry said.

  “Whoopee,” Joey said, stuffing his gullet with a gob of ice cream.

  “You sound underwhelmed.”

  “Inside, I’m jumping up and down for joy,” Joey told him, still staring at his malted.

  “Man, that Jesus is something!” Larry said. Joey’s wince did not escape him. “You mad at him or something?”

  “Me? Nah.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Why would I be mad?”

  “Beats me. I thought maybe you’d be able to supply the reason.”

  Joey turned to him. “Is that supposed to be funny?” “Not exactly.” Larry ordered a soda, then turned back to face Joey. “Look, it’s none of my business. I’m only your close friend. But even I can see that something’s going on between you two.”

  “You can, huh?”

  “No doubt about it. So, did he do something bad? You can tell me. I can keep a secret.”

  “Not really,” Joey said. “I just don’t like how he showboats, you know?”

  “Showboats? I don’t follow you.”

  “Like when he does something good on the field or at the plate. You know.”

  “What, he cheers? Does a little dance? Hey, who doesn’t these days? If I ever did anything good on a baseball field, I’d stand on my head and cluck like a chicken.”

  “Remind me to bring the video camera,” Joey said, smiling in spite of himself.

  “So, you don’t like him showboating, huh? I don’t know. Don’t you think you’re being a little . . . over-sensitive?”

  “Right. It’s all me, okay? My bad. So shoot me.” Joey pushed his half-finished malted away and got up to go.

  “I didn’t say that,” Larry said. “All I mean is, maybe you should cut the kid a little slack, you know? He’s here, what, two weeks? He’s down with the kids here. I’ll bet that’s a pretty good feeling when you’re from far away and don’t know anybody.”

  “You’re right, okay? I’ll see you,” Joey said, heading for the door.

  “You know, I hope you don’t hate me for saying this, but you looked happier when everyone was making fun of his name.”

  Joey froze at the door, stung by the truth of Larry’s words. He had liked it better then — back when he was Jesus’s only friend and chief protector. He remembered Jesus’s sense of wonder when he’d first seen Joey’s house; when he’d been presented with Sandy’s old bike; when Joey had given him his first real baseball mitt. It had been for the wrong hand, sure, but Jesus had been so touched by the gift that he cried.

  Jesus didn’t need Joey anymore. That was it. That was why Joey was mad at him. Larry had hit the nail right on the head. Slowly Joey turned and walked back over to the counter. “You know, where he grew up, they used cereal boxes for mitts?” he told Larry as he sat back down.

  “No lie?”

  “Word. He cut up one of our boxes with kitchen shears, making holes for the fingers, you know?”

  “Wow.”

  “He’d never even heard of a mall,” Joey went on. Larry shook his head in wonder. “And when we gave him Sandy’s old bomb of a bike to ride, he couldn’t believe it.”

  “Really, we forget how lucky we are here in America,” Larry said, staring at his soda and nodding slowly.

  “Totally,” Joey agreed. “His whole family lives in a two-room house, and there are like, nine of them or something. He was telling me that lots of houses there have dirt floors. He said he thought his family was pretty rich because they had a tile floor and a bathroom out back. When he first got off the plane, he was, like, whistling at all the big houses.”

  “I guess they are pretty big, by world standards,” Larry agreed. “It’s easy to forget that.”

  “Yeah.”

  Suddenly it seemed to Joey that having Jesus as a houseguest was a gift, not a burden. “Hey, Lar?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “For reminding me.” He went out the door, ignoring the puzzled look on Larry’s face.

  “Reminding you about what?” Larry called after him.

  “That it’s not all about me. It’s about Jesus, too.” He walked over to his bike, tethered to a parking meter by the street.

  Yeah, Jesus, he reminded himself. Jesus, who was so grateful to get the gift you gave him that he didn’t say anything about it being for the wrong hand. Jesus, who sooo didn’t want to hurt your feelings that he tried to learn to play ball right-handed. Jesus, who wanted so much for you to like him that he carved that tiny little family for you, with you and him in it, side by side. Jesus, who was willing to change his name because it bothered you — not him, but you — that a bunch of nitwits were teasing him about it. That Jesus. The kid who came all the way to a foreign country and trusted you to look after him. Well, you’re not doing too good a job, are you?

  Getting back on the bike, Joey hit the kickstand and headed home. He had some urgent repair work to do. Things were going to be different from here on in.

  He left his bike in the driveway and went inside, but no one seemed to be home. He knew both his parents were working that day and wouldn’t be home till just before dinnertime. So he wasn’t expecting them to be around. But where was Jesus?

  “Jesus?” he called. No answer. He went up to Jesus’s room and knocked on the door. Nothing.

  Joey opened the door and peeked inside. There, on the neatly made bed, was an open suitcase filled with all Jesus’s clothes!

  “Jesus? You here?” He entered the room and looked around some more. The dresser drawers were all open and mostly empty. The photos of home Jesus had brought with him were gone — presumably wrapped in something and stuffed in the suitcase.

  In the wastebasket at the foot of the desk was the cardboard mitt Jesus had made out of a cereal box. Joey picked it out, wanting to save it from oblivion. It was a pretty neat trick, after all, making a mitt
out of a cardboard box. Then he saw that there was something else in the wastebasket — the brand-new mitt he’d bought Jesus!

  Joey felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. He hadn’t meant to hurt Jesus’s feelings like this.

  Sure you did, he told himself. You jerk.

  Only he hadn’t realized quite how badly Jesus would be wounded by his rejection.

  On the desk was a folded note with FOR JOEY written

  on the outside. Joey picked it up and read it:

  I think you no like Jesus. Maybe is my name. Maybe I should have change like you wanted. I sorry for I come here. In my country is beautiful and everyone nice. In America, is very rich and beautiful, and many people friendly, but some people not so much. Some people no like boy from other country. I want go home to my family now. Before, I want this be my second home, my second family, but now I think is mistake. Good-bye, Joey.

  Jesus

  Joey stared at the note in his hands, and then a drop of water hit it. A tear. Joey hadn’t even realized he was crying. He wiped his eyes, but they kept watering anyway. “Jerk. You idiot,” he told himself.

  And then he noticed the open window. Joey poked his head outside. The window opened out onto the gently sloping roof of the back porch. There, sitting with his knees up near his chin and his arms clasped around them, was Jesus.

  “Hey!” Joey said.

  Jesus turned to look at him with his big, sad brown eyes. Then he looked away again, staring out into the distance.

  Joey climbed out onto the roof and squatted next to Jesus. “I said hey,” he repeated. “Wuzzup?”

  Jesus didn’t respond, so Joey went on. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’ve been acting really mean, and I’ve got no reason for it. I’m just a jerk, all right? But I’m not gonna be like that anymore.”

  Jesus said nothing.

  “I’m just spoiled and selfish,” Joey continued. “I guess a lot of us here can be that way sometimes. We’ve got so much, and everybody we know has so much, that we forget that it’s not like that everywhere. I . . . I thought, when you came here, that I was going to show you everything . . . teach you stuff about America . . . but it winds up you’re the one who’s teaching me.”