Chapter 12

Kim and I spent Saturday and Sunday helping Franklin and Karen move. What a pain in the ass. Neither of them could believe how much stuff they’d accumulated in such a short period of time. They had boxed up the smaller stuff and already moved quite a bit when we got there. We packed boxes into the back of Kim’s truck and loaded some of the bigger things into a U-Haul Franklin had rented. We made a couple of trips each day rather than try and do it all in one move. Once we moved a truckload of small stuff and unloaded it into the garage, we left Kim and Karen at the new place to organize.

Franklin actually said to Karen, “I only want to move this heavy thing once, so please be sure about where you want it before we start.” For some crazy reason, he thought that all he had to do was say that and it would happen that way. Karen actually said, “Why do we even have this?” several times.

“When we get a place in Atlanta, we should just get two bean bag chairs and a bed and that’s it,” Kim said.

“I think if we get a big place, we’ll end up filling it up in four years. I don’t want to do that.”

“Okay, listen, when we get to Atlanta, we can furnish our place one of two ways. We can buy cheap, disposable stuff that we won’t mind leaving behind. Or, we can only buy stuff that we will want to keep. Quality stuff.”

“Or a mix of the two,” I said. “What if we find a really nice bookcase that we would want to keep but used a folding card table for the dining room?”

“Probably no way to avoid a mix. Let’s just swear that we aren’t going to bring junk back.”

“Franklin and Karen actually have mostly nice stuff,” I said. “But a lot of it, even though it’s nice, probably isn’t going to work in their new home.”

“Maybe we should just go with cheap but functional.”

“Probably the smart way to do it. Then we won’t have anything to move back.”

When Kim and I left, Franklin and Karen were still searching for the hose adapter to fill their waterbed. It was too late in the day to go buy one somewhere. I suggested he borrow one from a friend. We certainly didn’t have one. Waterbed. Huh.

On Monday, I missed history and Kim missed Civics so we could meet with someone from Virginia Tech. Virginia Tech was on my short list of alternate colleges that offered degrees in biomedical engineering. It wasn’t a really big department but their professors had a lot of good experience. The campus was green and finding a place to board Diva nearby wouldn’t be tough. It was further away than Georgia Tech. They had an equestrian club. We liked the school for a lot of reasons. The biggest strike against it was their engineering program wasn’t rated as highly as Georgia Tech.

“That was a polished presentation,” Kim said as we walked to precalculus.

“I really want to go to Georgia Tech, but to be honest, Virginia Tech is pretty attractive.”

“I got the impression that if Virginia Tech suddenly disappeared, so would the town of Blacksburg.”

Virginia Tech wasn’t the only college on campus that day. At lunch, everyone shared what they’d learned about colleges they’d visited. We’d been once around the table but Marty hadn’t said anything. We all looked at him.

“Go ahead, Bozo. Tell them which college recruiter you chatted with today.” He had a goofy grin.

“Wesleyan College,” he said.

“Marty, that’s an all-girls’ school,” Mel said.

“Yup.”

“See. What a bozo,” Jan said and we all laughed.

“I thought they had a very attractive campus,” he said.

“You, sir, are walking on thin ice.”

I looked at Bobby and knew what he was thinking. “You feel like a chump for not thinking of it, don’t you?”

“Pretty much. I don’t think Mel would let me go, though.” That earned him a solid elbow to the ribs.

“Would you like to go to Wesleyan?” Kim asked me.

“Their engineering department isn’t much to brag about.”

“Smart man.”

That afternoon, we hosted Goose Creek High School. We would play Summerville High School on Wednesday, then start conference play after Spring Break. Goose Creek was at least three times the size of Porter-Gaud and we didn’t know anything about them other than that they were unbeaten. Interesting to know, but not particularly helpful.

Once again, we were playing a team named The Gators. I would have thought they’d have been The Geese. Probably not as intimidating. Randy started out on the mound and he was on fire. The best their first three could do was one foul tip.

Their pitcher was a lefty named Grant Sears. As far as I could tell, he had two pitches. His fastball was probably close to ninety miles an hour and that’s very fast for high school. I could spot his change-up as it came out of his hand. The problem was, I couldn’t explain what I was seeing. I just knew that it was a change-up. Maybe someone with more baseball smarts than me could figure it out.

Legs started off with a little blooper over the short stop’s head that got him to first base. Zip hit a line drive to third base for an out and Legs was lucky to get back to first in time. My turn. I tipped a couple of fastballs foul, then stepped out of the box to take a breather. He was ahead in the count, pitching to the third man in our line-up. He’d throw balls to see if he could get me to swing at garbage. That’s what I guessed. I was wrong. He threw another fastball right down the middle. I got around late and tipped it foul off the first base side.

I could hit what he was pitching. I just couldn’t hit it in fair territory. I finally got around in time but pulled it foul on the third base side. He’d thrown four strikes in a row. Four strikes that I couldn’t connect with. On his fifth pitch, he tipped me off that it was a changeup. I connected and sent it over the second baseman’s head. I made it to first and Legs lived up to his name by making it around to third.

Gizmo was up. Sears looked right at me. It was weird. I’d never really thought about it before but a left-handed pitcher looks at first base almost as much as he looks at home plate. If he threw to first as fast as he threw home, he could pick me off. I took a short lead-off. Gizmo took a ball. I decided I might be able to mess with Sears. I stood on first until Sears was about ready to start his motion, then took off toward second. But I only went about six feet. He threw to first and I was back in plenty of time. Okay. I could play this game.

Their first baseman was standing close to the bag, ready for the pickoff move. I stood next to him. “Seen any good movies lately?” I asked.

“What?” Clearly their first baseman wasn’t a good conversationalist.

“Any good movies? Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Did you see that?” I asked and made a quick move toward second base, stopped after six feet, and beat the throw to first base by a mile. Cherry was the first base coach and was trying not to laugh.

“Hey, do me a favor,” I said and he looked at me like I was crazy. “I’m getting ready to steal second. Sears will throw to you and you’ll have to throw it to second. Don’t hit me in the back with the ball, okay? I hate it when that happens.” Now, Cherry was laughing.

“You’re fucked up, you know that?”

“Just don’t hit me, okay?” I took off for second again, then made it back to first in time. “I was going to run but you didn’t promise not to hit me.”

“He’s a good boxer,” Cherry said. “I’d promise if I were you.”

The count was two and two. I stepped off the base but didn’t go far. I jiggled my shoulders a couple of times. Sears was ready to throw to first but didn’t. I waved at him. It was just a little wave, down low, so you couldn’t see it unless you were paying attention. He was. I think it pissed him off but he didn’t throw to first base. When he’d decided I wasn’t going to go, he threw low and outside and Gizmo had a full count.

Full count and I was going on the pitch. I didn’t lead off quite as far as I didn’t see the reason. If it was a ball, I could jog to second but if he hit it, I needed to run. I was further away from first than the first baseman when Gizmo hit it. I couldn’t run. If I did, the ball would have hit me. As soon as it passed me, I took off for second, looking at Rusty, the third base coach. He was still trying to decide. I rounded second and looked back toward right field. He threw the ball home, which was a big mistake. He had no chance of getting Legs out.

I raced for third, the catcher jumped high to catch the ball, long after Legs had scored. He fired it toward third and I slid in, safe. It was the first time I’d ever slid. I didn’t much like it but I was safe on third. Whoo hoo.

“Are you having fun, Aquaman?” Coach Hamilton hollered from our dugout on the third base side.

“Not as much fun as swimming but it’s pretty good.” He laughed. “Hey Rusty, how far do I lead off? He’s looking the wrong way.”

“Farther than you did from first but don’t get picked off by the catcher or you’ll look like an idiot.”

It was one, nothing with one out, Gizmo on first and me on third. Lefty was up. He swung at the first pitch and hit a deep fly to center. “Tag up, tag up!” Rusty hollered at me. I came back to third and waited for the catch. “Go, go, go.” I went. I watched the catcher to see where the ball was going. Apparently, not to him. I crossed the plate standing up, then turned to see what was happening.

Gizmo had tagged up and tried to run from first to second on a ball hit to center field! Even I knew that wasn’t smart. The ball got to the second baseman and he turned to tag Gizmo. Gizmo did this crazy slide with his foot toward the bag and his body way out toward right field. He was out by a mile. But the umpire was right there and called him safe. What? And then I saw the ball rolling away from the second baseman. Nothing was going right for the Gators.

I went back to the dugout and got high fives down the line, the same as if I’d hit a home run. I ended up next to Coach Hamilton. “Having fun, Aquaman?”

“Pretty much. I can’t believe Gizmo ran to second on that.”

“Gizmo is sort of in his own little world. Did you have fun on first?”

“I guess I did. It was weird with the pitcher looking right at me the whole time.”

“And so you decided to mess with him. Nothing wrong with that. Just realize he’ll remember that when you come up to bat next time.” I looked at him to see what he meant. “He throws hard. Don’t be surprised if he doesn’t throw one at your head. Don’t get hit.”

“Ah. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“If he doesn’t get things under control, he might not be pitching when you come up to bat again. What were you talking to the first baseman about?” I told him. “You and Gizmo need to form a club. You told him, ‘I’m going to steal second base. Don’t hit me in the back.’ I guess there’s not much trash-talking in the swimming pool.”

A pop fly ended the inning. Randy pitched another no-hit inning, and we scored another three runs. Up five to nothing at the end of two, I thought Goose Creek would change pitchers. They didn’t. When I came up to bat in the third, Sears threw his first pitch at my head. Fastballs look even faster when they’re coming right at you. I leaned back and the pitch went all the way to the backstop.

When the catcher ran to get it, I turned to the umpire and quietly said, “That wasn’t a wild pitch, you know.”

“Nope, but it was a ball, high and inside.” I guess he’d seen it before.

I was expecting the next pitch to be a fastball in the strike zone and I nailed it. It was undoubtedly the furthest I’d hit anything all year. Unfortunately, it was foul down the left-field line. I thought I’d figured out his pitching and hit another one deep but foul. Sears didn’t like the look of that and threw three balls in a row and I was on first with a walk.

Gizmo got a hit but it was to left field so I stopped at second. Another walk and the bases were loaded with Thumper up to bat. After two foul tips, Thumper hit a line drive over the first baseman’s head, deep into right field for a stand-up triple. Sears calmed down and got the rest of the side out but we were up eight, zip.

Two innings later, the game was over by mercy rule. Randy had pitched another shut-out and we had played another game with a lot of hits, a couple of walks, and no errors. Coach Hamilton was happy with how we played. Goose Creek wasn’t. We walked the line, exchanging thanks and congratulations.

When I came even with their first baseman he said, “You’re still fucked up, but you played a good game.” We smiled and I thanked him.

We had a short debrief after the game. Coach Hamilton ended his talk with a caution. “I’ll bet you guys have all seen Star Wars. Do you remember the line where Han Solo tells Luke Skywalker, ‘Don’t get cocky, kid.’ Yeah. That applies. Each game we play starts out zero, zero. You have to earn every one of them and they don’t care what you’ve done up till then. Remember, Goose Creek was unbeaten this season until today. Don’t forget that. See you tomorrow.”

I saw Kim, sitting in the bleachers, talking with a girl I didn’t recognize. As I walked up the bleachers, they both stood. “Hey,” I greeted.

“Hey. Mei, this is Jack. Jack, Mei,” Kim said, pronouncing her name as ‘may’.

“Hey. Baseball fan, friend of Kim’s or...?”

“I am Cherry’s friend.”

“Ah. Randy was on fire today so you didn’t get to see Cherry pitch. Wednesday, maybe. I think Coach Hamilton wants everyone to get a chance to play before our conference opener after the break. You don’t go here.”

“No. Ashely Hall.”

“Girls’ school off Rutledge Avenue, right?”

Her eyes brightened and she smiled perhaps the second-best smile I’d ever seen. “Yes. Most people don’t even know it’s there.” I looked behind me to see Cherry climbing the bleachers.

“Hey, Plum. Hey, Kim. Ready?” She stepped down and he put his right arm around her tiny waist and held her right hand with his left in front of them to help her step down.

“She’s beautiful,” I said. “And that smile.”

“Yeah. Dainty. She’s in love.” As we walked out to the car, Kim told me about Mei and Cherry.

I learned that her family had moved here from Hawaii when she was seven. It was difficult for her to make friends. Cherry’s family lived down the street and he befriended her. She said that Cherry was protective and kind. Her family liked that she had a friend. Years later, they weren’t so happy when a Laowai asked her on a date.” Kim pronounced Laowai as ‘louw weigh’.

“Westerner, I’ll bet. In the book Shogun, Japanese people called Europeans gaijin. So ... she isn’t Japanese.”

“No. Chinese. Hey, you’re pretty clever.”

“Thanks. How was practice?”

“Not going to work legs for a couple of days, that’s for sure. Speedwork. Sprints. She said that even if we were running longer distances, we needed to feel what it meant to be fast. I definitely feel it.”

We talked about colleges on the way to her house, then stopped in the driveway to talk about who we were going to see for the rest of the week. Then we talked about Cherry and Mei for a while and what it might mean to be from different cultures. We thought that her parents might have been from a different culture but she wasn’t, except for what her parents had brought with them. We were both curious but didn’t know how to ask a question politely.

“Ask Sifu Chen,” Kim said and that was that.

On Tuesday, we both went to the Clemson presentation. We liked that it was closer than Georgia Tech or Virginia Tech but other than that, we weren’t fans. At lunch, we found that both Mel and Bobby liked Clemson, except for the fact that it was Clemson. You can be a South Carolina Gamecock fan, or a Clemson Tiger fan. You can’t be both.

That night, I picked up Franklin a little early. When we got to the school, I asked Sifu Chen what it might be like for Mei dating a Laowai.

“Your answer is in what you called your friend. Chinese are very ethnocentric. Very, very ethnocentric.”

“I read Shogun but that was supposed to be a long time ago.”

“Ah. To the western mind, very ancient history. Not to the Japanese. The Japanese are also a bit ethnocentric, as I think most people are.”

“Her family moved here from Hawaii when she was seven, about ten years ago.”

“Ah. Some of Hawaii is very modern, but there are isolated areas as well. What language does she speak at home?”

“No idea.”

“That will tell you much. If her parents speak Mandarin or Cantonese at home, it may be difficult for your western friend. If English, much easier. There are no Chinatowns in Charleston. Most Chinese would move from Hawaii to San Francisco or maybe Seattle, so knowing why they moved here will be telling.”

“Why did you move here?” Franklin asked.

“Ah. So many good Chinese restaurants, of course.” He said it with a straight face but he was joking. He was joking, right?

We’d been working on sparring techniques, and after a review, Franklin and I squared off to test our skills. We had pads on and I tagged Franklin a couple of times when Sifu Chen stopped us.

“No, no. No boxing. You already know how to box. Kung fu only. That way, you can see what you’ve learned and how much you must learn.”

That sucked. After that, it was pretty even and neither one of us could do much damage. That was the point, I thought. We both had a lot of work left to do. Fine. On the drive home, Franklin accused me of cheating, since I used boxing methods. I offered to let him walk rather than share the ride with a cheater. He changed his claim.

I wasn’t real keen to go to the USC presentation on Wednesday but I’d signed up anyway. Kim thought she might end up going to their law school. I told her that was post-graduate and the presentation would be for undergraduate admission. Besides, we’d already talked to the head of the law school a year prior. We went, anyway. It’s tough to get excited about a team that has a chicken for a mascot. Gamecock. Somehow, that makes it better. On top of that, their cheerleaders are known to holler, “Go cocks” which is pretty funny. Their presenter knew nothing about their law school. Oh, well. I didn’t feel like going to Chemistry class, anyway.

I took the bus to the game. Kim took my car. She was planning on picking up her new friend, Mei, so she could watch Cherry pitch. Coach gave us the line-up on the bus. Cherry would be our starting pitcher with Bull coming into the game around the third or fourth inning, depending on how Cherry was doing. Pat Gibson would be playing right field and Shane Gorski would play third base. When you go to a small school, you don’t have a lot of depth.

The Summerville team was the Green Wave. None of us knew how they got that name and we all thought it was weird that their mascot was water. Summerville High School was the largest school in the state and they had a big team. I saw one of their players I knew from swimming. He was the first swimmer I’d seen on the baseball diamond besides me and I couldn’t remember his name or what event he swam. Whatever event it was, it wasn’t against me. Breaststroke, maybe.