Читать книгу The Last Summer - Chan Howell - Страница 16

Longest Day of the Year

Wyatt and the Castaways were the tournament long shot. They entered the play-in game with confidence. Wyatt believed if they could win the play-in game, the Castaways had a shot at upsetting Drake and me in the second round. I reluctantly went to his game with Duckworth and Drake. I wanted to be home studying for the upcoming seventh-grade math placement exam, but my parents forced me out of my room. They gave me the choice of going to Whitley’s soccer game or tagging along with Duckworth.

Wyatt homered in the first inning to give his team a 1–0 lead but the lead would not last long. The Castaways were the worst team for many reasons, but lack of pitching was their doom. Wyatt was helpless behind home plate. Most games, a carousel of base runners crossed home plate, laughing like five-year-olds in front of him. Wyatt was tortured by the image of everyone joyfully blowing his team of misfits out each game. Tonight’s playoff would be different, as Curt Christie and the rest of the Hornets gave the Castaways a glimmer of hope.

The Hornets led by two runs in the bottom of the first inning. Curt was not cocky, but he fancied himself the hero, and his stories were usually slightly embellished. If he had climbed a mountain, he would have told you he conquered Mt. Everest. Curt Christie played center field and was a left-handed pitcher. He was an average pitcher, but a great fielder and hitter. He always touted how little he struck out. He would usually say he was the last player in the league each year to strike out, which might or might not have been true. He was also a showman, and his best skill was bowing.

Curt was coached by his stepdad, David Luck. David was Mr. Mom all the way down to the minivan. He even had a sign that said “Mom’s Taxi,” but he crossed out mom and replaced it with dad. Kaye Luck had been a single teen mom when David changed her life. His morning cup of coffee was his persistent disguise to see what he called the most resilient person he ever met. She went from high-school-dropout waitress to stay-at-home mom. She played the stay-at-home part at all times. She rarely left the house. I think she was catching up on rest from when she was trying to raise two small children when she was a teenager. She was a beautiful woman, but she had premature wrinkles.

David sold insurance and was an expert at shaking hands. He always called us cool dudes long after we thought it was cool. His minivan and Curt’s team’s jersey had his logo, “Be Sure, Insure.” He was the only adult that I saw wear a tie when not going to church. We all believed Curt was the rich kid. Curt never acted wealthy, but his sister Kaylee did. Kaylee was sixteen months older than her brother. She was an obnoxious brat. Kaylee acted like she was always owed something. She rarely attended our games, and no one missed her.

Curt and David had a bond. They constantly talked WWF wrestling. They loved the drama, and Curt always flexed like Brutus the Beefcake after great plays and pointed at his stepdad. Curt and David looked nothing alike, and when Curt called David Dad, strangers always did a double take. David was chubby with red hair and a bright-red mustache. Curt looked like he lived at the beach with his tanned brown skin. They might have looked different, but the two said the same things and even had the same mannerisms.

Everyone loved Curt and David. David coached Curt’s team the last few years despite never having played any sports. David would get coaching advice from Jack Winslow and Duckworth. He was learning the game at a slower pace than we did in T-ball. Curt followed in his stepdad’s footsteps and played the team’s organizer. He always made sure we chewed the same colored gum.

Wyatt knew tonight’s game was his best chance at letting the Castaways feel the euphoria of a win. Mitch had his best game, and the Castaways kept in close. Curt did not want to lose to the worst team in the league. The Hornets wisely walked Wyatt his second at bat. He stole second, then third, and he scored on a slow ground ball to first to tie the game at 4. The score was 6–5 in the sixth inning, and the Castaways had a chance of winning a game. Wyatt was due to bat second. Duckworth said, “Only a fool would pitch to him.” He was right. Wyatt slung his bat to the dugout fence and the umpire warned him, and Wyatt waved his hand back at the large man, dismissing any warning. Disgust of walks and losses had taken its toll on Wyatt. He was set to erupt at any moment.

Wyatt stole second on the first pitch. Mitch bounced out to second, and Wyatt advanced to third with two outs. Curt Christie struggled to throw strikes, and Wyatt’s lead increased with every pitch. Curt walked the next batter. David Luck called time and had a mound visit with the entire infield. Wyatt began to clap at Curt, hoping to distract him. Smelly Kelly called time and again warned Wyatt. Curt looked in, hoping to get one more out when he threw the ball to third for a rare pickoff attempt. Wyatt sprinted home, and white chalk dust filled the air. The throw home was accurate, and Wyatt tried to dodge the tag as he slid headfirst to the back of home plate. The fifth-grade catcher lunged to tag Wyatt as he was nearly airborne, trying to evade the tag. Smelly Kelly emphatically called Wyatt out. Wyatt stomped on home plate, then shouted, “Safe,” at Smelly Kelly. Wyatt was adamant he was not tagged, but Smelly Kelly said, “He got you on the foot.” I knew Wyatt would not go quietly, and he continued to have words with Smelly Kelly for the last time of the summer. The game was over.

Smelly Kelly shouted, “Someone get this lunatic off my field!”

I looked for Wyatt’s uncle Jacob to put an end to the dramatic scene, but he had already started for his car. Jacob had Wyatt’s fire and hatred for losing, but Jacob knew when it is over, it is over. I asked Duckworth, “Do something.”

Duckworth stood up and told me and Drake, “Stay put.” He walked onto the field and told Smelly Kelly, “Just leave. I’ll handle it from here.” Duckworth came to Wyatt’s rescue again.

Smelly Kelly wagged his finger in Wyatt’s face and said, “You have a lot to learn.”

Wyatt replied, “I learned not to be a pathetic, smelly umpire.”

Duckworth shouted, “Wyatt, let it go!”

Wyatt said, “Duckworth, you just dodged a bullet. I could taste my revenge.” Wyatt obnoxiously licked his lips. He and Duckworth both laughed.

The following night, Drake and I played the Hornets. The winner would face Ogre in the semifinals. Drake hit a home run in the first inning, and we never looked back. We cruised to an easy victory. We won by the mercy rule in the fourth inning. Our showdown with Ogre and RJ was set.

My mind was not on the night’s game. I would never dare tell Drake. I was not nervous, although I hoped we could pull off a miracle. Tomorrow would be the longest day of the year. I hoped the game would be a distraction, as my thoughts were on the math placement exam. I always had anxiety for our end-of-grade exams and other state tests, but this was something different. If I passed, I would move on to prealgebra and not basic math. Basic math likely meant a classroom full of bullies, and math was my worst subject. If I failed, I would also be in the lower-level science, language arts, and history classes. I wanted to be in the advanced classes despite the fact I would likely no longer have classes with a few of my best friends.

I dressed for the game, but I only thought of tomorrow’s test. Tonight, we had a chance to shock the league, but I was worried with prealgebra, not double plays. Drake, Duckworth, and I would get one more shot at beating Ogre. The winner would go on to the championship. Duckworth deserved a championship. He had earned it. It was obvious Duckworth was worried about winning. He paid his dues when we were still climbing the dugout walls during our Duckling years. Jack, on the other hand, had the best chance to take down Ruby and Alex. I was ashamed I thought about stupid school and not tonight’s critical game.

Jack started RJ, and he mowed everyone down except Drake. I reached on a dropped third strike, and miraculously Drake drove me in. Ogre homered off Drake in the third inning. After three innings, we were down 3–1. Ogre loomed in the event we would tie or take the lead. Duckworth knew the game was essentially over once Ogre took the mound.

RJ struggled in the fifth inning. We scored one run, and Jack was forced to bring Ogre in to finish the game. Frankie closed his store early and walked over to watch his nephew take the mound in the fifth inning. We were down 3–2 when Ogre was called upon to get the last three outs. We had runners on first and second, with the top of the order due to bat. I was set to face my quiet friend first. Ogre’s typically kind gaze was gone, and his eyes turned black. It was a fearful sight.

Ogre made quick work of me. I was no match for three straight fastballs. Ogre tipped his hat after he struck me out. Ogre was one of the few people that knew I worried about tomorrow’s test more than driving in the tying run. Drake did not even swing his bat while in the batter’s box; he focused solely on Ogre. Ogre and Drake had battled many times. Ogre was victorious half the time, while Drake had bested him the other half. Ogre had to face our best eleven-year-old, Adam, before he and Drake would break their tie.

They would stay tied. Adam weakly bounced back to Ogre. Ogre fired the ball to second to start the game-ending double play. The threat was over. We lost 3–2. Duckworth, Drake, and I shuffled off the field as Coach Alex and Ruby looked on. Another showdown between Ogre and Ruby was set. This year’s championship had more at stake, as the winning coach would choose the all-star team.

I shook Ogre and Jack’s hands, then I begged my parents to rush home. I did not care if I ate BBQ or a cheese sandwich. I needed to study, and dinner out meant nothing. Whitley mocked me, and she seemed indifferent about tomorrow’s test. Whitley’s confidence did not spill over to me when she told me it would be easy. She assured me we would both pass the dreaded math monster. She even said, “Ruby and Ogre might pass.” She chuckled at the thought.

I studied and practiced every test strategy Mr. Troutman had given me. Whitley loudly played her music in an effort to distract me. She would shout foolish advice and insults, like, “Solve for X, choose your best answer, 2+2=4, dah ta dah!” She openly mocked me. Whitley’s best subject was math, and she knew she would pass. I was unable to focus. I scratched my head until flakes of skin fell onto the pages of my math book.

I was tired of her nonsense, and I came up with a plan to silence her. I stopped studying and looked through some old pictures. I finally found the picture of Whitley at Halloween when we were five. She was dressed as an Octopus, and Ruby was dressed as a Roman soldier. My parents had snapped a picture of the two innocently kissing. My parents promised her the picture was destroyed, but my mom told me she had kept the embarrassing photo. I found it.

I swung her door open and shouted, “Shut off your music now!”

She laughed and said, “Try to make me.”

We had not been in a physical fight in two years. Whitley had embarrassed me in front of my friends; thus, I had not challenged her since. I pulled the photo from behind my back and said, “Don’t make me take this to school.” She gasped and lunged for the photograph. I dodged her and grabbed her from behind to put her in a headlock.

She squirmed to free herself until she went limp. She gave up and said, “You win.”

I fell asleep with my calculator and the picture on my chest.

The next morning, Whitley demanded to search my book bag and check my pockets. She angrily recounted my victory to my parents. My dad made me swear I would not take the photograph to school. He told me, “Don’t embarrass your sister.”

I laughed and only said, “It’s in a safe place.”

The picture was my bookmark for my library book. Neither Whitley nor I had breakfast, as our argument nearly made us late for school.

I checked into homeroom before being assigned my test-taking teacher and classroom. I would head to Mrs. Joplin’s room. I was in the same room with Ruby and Wyatt. The two rivals openly joked, and neither was worried with the placement test. Our test administrator was the most menacing teacher in the school. Mrs. Joplin did not tolerate anything. She threatened both Ruby and Wyatt in the first five minutes. She warned everyone just before she handed out the test, “If I believe you are cheating or you are being a distraction, you’ll be asked to leave and you will forfeit your test.”

Mrs. Joplin read the directions, and she wrote the start time on the chalkboard. She stared directly at both Ruby and Wyatt and said, “You may now begin.” The room was flooded with the clicks of the calculator buttons. I was shaking with fear as I opened my test booklet. Sweat began to pour down my forehead and my armpits. Every time I looked up, Mrs. Joplin seemed to be staring directly at me. The test proctor paced the back of the classroom. Her high-heeled shoes loudly tapped the floor. After ninety minutes of torture, Wyatt closed his test booklet and laid his head on his desk. He had given up. I envied him. Wyatt would likely be in basic math next year.

Ruby’s eyes searched the room for answers. The walls of the eighth-grade science classroom provided no answers. Mrs. Joplin’s classroom walls were covered with oceans and seas describing extinct sea creatures. Mrs. Joplin focused on the giant’s eyes. They were wandering. His neck stretched as he looked at my answer sheet. I noticed Ruby had the same color test booklet. My stomach growled, and hunger pangs began to distract me. I was starving and nervous. My fellow classmates looked back at me with every unpleasant echo from my stomach.

Two hours into the three-hour test, Mrs. Joplin sneaked up behind me. It was easy for her since she did not wear the typical shoes of a woman teacher; she wore sneakers, and she did not have the normal click-clop of heels. I felt her staring over my shoulder for what seemed like an eternity. A drop of sweat the size of a quarter released its hold on my brow and fell onto a word problem about a baker. The minute hand on the old industrial clock clicked, and I jumped. I looked over my shoulder at the women’s-basketball-coach-turned-teacher, and I brushed the hair off my forehead. My anxiety was winning the battle. The room had grown silent, and only a few of my classmates were still fighting the test.

Mrs. Joplin tapped my shoulder, then she directed the class to close his or her test booklets. I finished bubbling my answer as Mrs. Joplin uncrossed her arms. She had me follow her to the front of the class. I felt I had a trail of sweat and shame following me. She scribbled quickly on the chalkboard the time before asking me to follow her into the hallway. The proctor was given control of the room. Everyone’s eyes followed me and my sweat-covered brow.

Principal Overstreet greeted me with, “Carson, are you cheating?”

I stuttered and said, “N-n-n-n-no, ma’am.”

Mrs. Joplin then told Principal Overstreet, “His answers were intentionally left out in the open.”

I argued, “No, they weren’t.”

Principal Overstreet peeked in the door and said, “Are you letting Wyatt cheat?”

I said, “He has a different-colored test booklet.”

Mrs. Joplin pointed at Ruby and said, “He is letting him.”

My face told the truth, and Principal Overstreet knew my aversion for Ruby. I was permitted to finish my test, and Mrs. Joplin restarted the test. I hurried through the last dozen questions.

Principal Overstreet asked Ruby to leave with her, and she allowed him to take his test booklet and answer sheet. Ruby finished the test in the principal’s office. I struggled coloring in the bubbles on the answer sheet. My heart pounded, and I felt my pulse in my thumb. I was the last student to finish. I used the entire amount of allotted time. My classmates collectively sighed as we could now finally breath without Mrs. Joplin giving us the evil eye. Mrs. Joplin concluded the test with the familiar words, “Thank you. You have now completed the state of North Carolina’s seventh-grade math placement exam.” Everyone sat up straight as Mrs. Joplin and the proctor collected our answer sheets.

Our modified class schedule should’ve sped the day up, but for me it would drag on as I awaited my test scores. Mr. Troutman asked everyone how we thought we did, and I was surprised when Wyatt said, “I aced that test.” I shrugged and said, “Just pray for me.”

Just before our last period, I ran into Mrs. Joplin in the hallway. She apologized and told me to cover my answers. “Don’t feed the bottom feeders, or one day they will expect it.” She walked away, and her sneakers loudly squeaked in the empty hallway.

The school day crept to 3:00 p.m., and the test scores would be handed out just before dismissal. I wanted the day to end, but at the same time, I was terrified. Our last-period teacher, Mrs. Cassio, would be charged with delivering the dreaded message. She handed me my envelope with my scores, and I looked at Wyatt, who was grinning. He must’ve gotten good news. I opened the envelope, and I had scored 97 percent. I would head to prealgebra next fall. Wyatt had failed, and he assured me that was his plan. We both agreed to see each other at tonight’s championship game.

Whitley informed me she had scored 99 percent. I was not shocked, but I knew the result of us both passing the exam. We would likely share classes again next year. The school was shrinking. I would need to get accustomed to not being able to avoid my sister.