Chapter 18

On the way to school the next morning, I debated whether to talk with Kim about AJ or not. I tried to put myself in her shoes. I’d want her to tell me. At least I thought I would.

“Kim, does Joy need to learn humility, or do you need to teach it to her?”

I’d caught her off guard. “What do you mean? They’re the same thing.”

“I don’t think so. I think she needs some humility. The question I’m asking is, do you need to be the person to teach it to her? Would it be just as good if someone else humbled her?”

“Well, who else would do it?” she asked, at least a little defensively.

“How long do you think she’s had an attitude problem?” She wasn’t enjoying this conversation at all. “I don’t want you to get all wrapped up in this. What if you bust your butt to beat her and teach her some humility, and she’s too fast for you to do it. Then, she would still have an issue, but so would you.”

“Are you saying I shouldn’t try to beat her?”

“No. I never raced with the plan to come in second, except maybe the backstroke, but it was okay, because the guy that was going to beat me was Bobby.” She got pretty quiet and we sat in the Rabbit for a couple of minutes. “There’s always somebody faster,” I said.

“Unless you’re Jim Montgomery,” she said. She had learned a lot about swimming.

“Well, yeah. But that was only the hundred. Furniss got him on the two. But, yeah. So, let me think. Okay. I want you to race. I want you to do well. I want you to win. But I don’t care one way or the other if you beat Joy. What if you’re ready for your big showdown on the last meet of the year and she has an ankle injury? Still going to race?”

“Okay. I see where you’re coming from. I’m not sure I like it, but I get it.” She was quiet and I gave her a couple of moments.

“We start reading The Twelfth Night today and we’re not in it. Yahoo,” I said, trying to change the subject and ease the tension.

“You just don’t want to be a guy pretending to be a girl.”

“That’s right. What a part. Ugh.”

Part of me wanted to sit together with Kim, privately. The other part of me wanted to give her time to process what I’d said about Joy. We’d been calling her AJ but I called her Joy and I wasn’t sure if that was intentional or not. I just did it. I got to lunch late and joined our group. Marty sat catty-corner from me and asked about the next thing I had to work on. He had so much room for improvement but if I just told him everything it would probably be overwhelming.

Kim saw me thinking it through. She rolled her eyes and said, “Just tell him, Jack.” She was in a pissy mood from earlier. I guess I’d asked for it but thought she needed to hear it. Oh well.

I told him. “Your breathing is a lot better but you’re still pretty high in the water. You over-rotate and that kills efficiency. You need to extend your arms more for your catch and you’ve got to have your thumbs slice into the water first instead of slapping the water. Your elbows need to be higher than your hands on recovery rather than wind-milling the way you’ve been doing. Your push is too deep. You’ll wear yourself out like that. Those are the biggies.”

“Holy crap. Did I do anything right?” he asked and I laughed.

“You’ve got plenty of endurance and strength and all those things are fixable. Some of them will be pretty easy to fix.” He didn’t look convinced. “You’ve swum a mile before, right? How long did it take?”

“About thirty-two minutes. How long does it take you?”

“If you can fix the things I just said, you should be able to get your time down to the mid-twenties. It will probably take a couple of months and a couple of hundred miles but you should be able to do that?”

“A couple of hundred miles,” he said, quietly, thinking about the effort. “How long does it take you to swim a mile?”

“The longest distance we compete at is five-hundred.”

“Come on, man. You’re killing me. How long does it take you to swim a mile? I know you know.”

“About seventeen minutes.” His jaw dropped.

“Seventeen minutes.”

“About that. The distance at the college level is fifteen hundred meters, which isn’t quite a mile.”

“You can swim a mile in seventeen minutes and it takes me thirty-two.” I wished I’d had a camera. His face was a mix between shock and disbelief.

“When you first started running, how long did it take you to run a mile and how long does it take now? You’ll get there. Mid-twenties, at any rate.”

Kim had been quietly eating lunch, probably trying to decide if she was mad at me or not. I think she was generally pissed off and wasn’t sure if she should be pissed at Joy, me, or herself. I didn’t want her to be pissed off at anyone.

I kept talking with Marty, telling him the next thing to work on was his catch. He needed to reach a bit further and slice into the water with his thumbs first and that would work closely together with his improved breathing. One thing at a time. There were other conversations going on at the table but Marty’s swim technique and Kim’s silence dominated my little corner of the world.

On our drive home that afternoon, we were both quiet until we got back to my house. “I screwed up,” she said.

“Maybe a little.” I’m not sure if she heard me.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Everybody messes up and to be honest, it didn’t really seem like you were messing up until I thought about it for quite a while.”

“Yeah, but I got mad at you and stayed that way all day. You should be able to tell me that kind of stuff without worrying about me getting mad at you. Forgive me?”

“Of course. Also, I still want you to kick her ass. I just want you to do it because you want to win.” That got a big smile, then we went inside and had make-up sex. We’d never done that before. I thought I’d have to try to piss her off more often. When she came, I think she released a lot more than just sexual tension.

The next morning, we went in early. It seemed weird because Kim was going to run and I was going to swim with Marty. He really picked up on the mechanics for catch, learning to reach and slice his hand into the water instead of slapping it, but it wasn’t automatic and he wasn’t consistent. That would come with miles of practice. His push and recovery needed a lot of work and his breathing was still pretty erratic. I wanted to tell him that he needed to learn bilateral breathing for open water swims so he could look left or right but he had to get his regular breathing down before we complicated it.

While he was swimming a five hundred, I decided to do the same. The difference was, I’d do it using a butterfly stroke. Freestyle has events from fifty yards up to a mile. Butterly just has a one hundred. It’s not a long-distance stroke. An average swimmer can’t even do a decent butterfly, let alone keep it up for ten laps. I finished before Marty did.

When he finished his swim, he popped up at the shallow end and looked at me. “Butterfly?” I nodded. “Five hundred?” I nodded again. “You’re nuts.” I nodded a third time and we both laughed. “Do one more lap.” I did as he watched. “Here goes,” he said, pushing off the wall. He managed two strokes and an unknown number of dolphin kicks before standing up, sputtering.

“Why did you let me do that? I almost drowned,” he said, gasping for breath.

“I have a lifeguard certification but never get a chance to use it. I was sort of hoping today would be the day.”

“I don’t want a kiss from you, FISHMAN,” he said laughing. We climbed out, showered, and changed, still laughing.

I stopped in Coach Miller’s office to see if I could get a key. Birch had one and then Bobby had one for a while so I thought maybe he would trust me with one, as well. I turned the corner to find him sitting on the edge of his desk with a visitor with her back to me. I started to back away, but he motioned me in.

“Hey, Aquaman. What’s on your mind?”

“Hi, Coach. Hi, Miss Lundquist. I mean, Mrs. Miller. It might take a while to get used to that. Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thank you,” she said. She squeezed his hand and walked out the door. “I’ll be late.”

“Well, Aquaman,” he said, pulling open a shallow drawer. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve been helping Marty get ready for...” I stopped. He had pulled a key out of the drawer and was holding it out to me.

“A triathlon and he’s lucky he doesn’t drown, so you felt pity on him, yada, yada, yada. If Mr. Smoak had decided to learn how to swim when he was a freshman, rather than as a senior, after the swim season, he might have ... Never mind. Don’t let him drown in my pool. He hasn’t had lifeguard training like the rest of you so don’t do anything stupid. I’d look pretty dumb if I let Aquaman drown in my pool.” He tossed me the key.

“Thanks, Coach,” I said, and started to leave. I thought I knew Coach Miller pretty well, but he was still faculty and I was just a kid. “Hey, Coach,” I said, turning back. “Mrs. Coach is pretty hot.”

He smiled. “Yes. Mrs. Coach is, indeed, pretty hot. She told me about when you complimented her eyes.”

“It seemed pretty safe,” I said, right on the edge of my comfort zone.

“Safe is good.”

“I didn’t think I could have said, ‘Hey Miss Lundquist, you are smokin’ hot today.’”

“No. Probably not. A dangerous truth.”

“Can I ask you a question Coach?” He nodded. “When did you know?”

“Before our first date. Before our first date.”

“Dang!”

“Yup. Enjoying baseball?”

“Yes, sir. Totally different. Gizmo tried to light my foot on fire.” He laughed.

“That doesn’t happen too much in the pool. Weird sport. Teamwork, but solo effort. Weird sport. Glad you’re having fun.”

“Thanks. She is smokin’ hot.”

“As is Kim. We’re both lucky men.”

“Yes, sir. Definitely.”

He was a happy man. That didn’t stop him from giving us a brutal test on the Korean War in second-period history, though.

That afternoon, we had both a track meet and a baseball game at Ben Lippen, ninety minutes away, near Columbia. We packed both teams on the bus. We’d barely got started when Coach Hamilton and Coach Szczypien strung a sheet across the bus, dividing the girls in front from the boys in back. They both had straight faces but I started laughing and couldn’t stop. Pretty soon, the baseball team was all laughing but they were laughing at me.

The guys were in the back of the bus and the girls were in the front and our two coaches were pretending to be serious. After a while it lost its entertainment value but, then I’d look up and see the stupid sheet and start laughing again.

We pulled onto International Boulevard and then into the Ben Lippen campus. The elementary and high schools shared the grounds with Columbia International University, which meant they had first-rate facilities. The baseball field, softball field, and track, were all next to each other and the locker rooms weren’t far away. It was a pretty nice setup.

Coach Hamilton told us that Ben Lippen would be our toughest test of the year. We’d play them once in Columbia and once at home. He said their starting pitcher would most likely be Springer Daniels, who was a senior who had pitched all four years. His highest ERA was in his sophomore year when it climbed all the way to three. That’s ridiculously low for a high school pitcher. Coach said we needed to be smart on the bases and he asked Randy for his best stuff.

I spotted Springer Daniels warming up and watched him pitch for a while. What kind of a name is Springer, anyway? I tried to figure out what he was pitching. His fastball seemed pretty fast. His curveball had a lot of movement to it, and his changeup was probably ten or fifteen miles an hour slower and I didn’t see a single tip. From where I was watching, I couldn’t really tell what kind of control he had.

I spotted Cherry and jogged over to him. “Have you timed his pitches?”

“Yeah. This guy’s no joke. He topped out at ninety-one but most of his fastballs are around eighty-five or so. He managed to throw one changeup at seventy and he’s not giving anything away, at least as far as I can tell.”

“Great.”

“Yeah. Good luck. If you spot a tip, spread the word, because I don’t see one. The guy’s a beast.”

The game started and we sent Legs up to the plate. He went down in four pitches. Gizmo didn’t do any better and it was my turn. I looked at my bat, the foul pole, then back at the big R on my bat. I rolled my shoulders and took a breath before stepping into the box.

“If you tell me what he’s going to pitch, I’ll buy you an ice cream,” I said, stepping into the box.

“Fastballs, curveballs, and changeups,” he said.

“That’s not very helpful.” I needed to shut up and get my head in the game.

“I don’t like ice cream,” he said. Whump. “That was a fastball.”

“Great. Now you tell me.” This guy was good. His next pitch was low and outside for a called ball. It was really close. It was the kind of pitch that an umpire might call either way. Maybe he had pity on me.

The next pitch looked like it was coming right down the middle and I swung. I missed. I’d swung about ten minutes early. What a great changeup! I swung at the next pitch and missed his curveball, which ended up wide, and un-hittable. I was out in four pitches. Dang.

On my way out to center field, I thought Randy might be in for a rough day. I didn’t think he was as good as Daniels and the Ben Lippen Falcons practiced hitting with Daniels on the mound. Maybe they couldn’t hit him, either.

Randy turned in a great performance, with two strikeouts and a pop-fly that stretch caught out of bounds for the third out. We went scoreless for the first three innings. I came up to bat in the fourth with two outs and no one on. No one had been on base all day.

I was determined to hit this guy. His first pitch was high and inside but not so high and not so inside that I would think he was trying to brush me back. He didn’t show any emotion. He over-corrected on his next pitch and it was low and outside. With two balls and no strikes, I felt pretty good. He had to throw three strikes out of the next four pitches and I figured at least one of them would be a fastball. Chances were that two of them would be fastballs. I liked those odds. I would swing as though they were fastball strikes whether they were or not.

I swung hard at the next pitch and it was a fastball, just on the outside corner. I hit a solid line drive, foul. If it had been any closer to fair, the first baseman would have had a play on it. Now, he needed two strikes out of the next four pitches. I still liked my odds. I swung at the next one and missed his curveball completely. Well, that just sucked. Now, he only had to get one out of the next three.

I looked over at Bull, pulling coaching duties on the third base side. He shook his head. Thanks for the help. I swung at the next pitch and hit it in almost exactly the same place. The next pitch was a curve that went for a ball, outside. This was like work. I stepped out of the box, took a breath, and tried to imagine hitting one out of the park.

The next pitch was a changeup that I drilled foul down the left-field line. I could hit this guy. I knew I could. I just needed the planets to line up for me to do it. The next pitch was in exactly the same place but it had heat on it and I swung late. Two strikeouts in one game. I hadn’t done that since we played Orangeburg.

Randy struck out the first batter, then walked a man. We could get a force out at first or second or maybe a double play. No one had hit the ball so us outfielders weren’t expecting anything. On the third pitch, their batter hit a deep fly toward the gap between right and center. It was a high fly and I got a good look at it. Legs could have called for it but I took it.

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it. Back me up, Legs.” Running full speed, I barely made it to the ball in time. I caught the ball and looked at the runners. The first runner had tagged up and there’s no way I would have got him at second. Gizmo was waiting for my throw at third and I let it fly. The runner had rounded second and was running hard for third base. I watched my throw race him to the base. Gizmo stood on the inside of the baseline, snagged my throw and spun in time to tag him for the out.

Dang, that felt good. I’d been waiting all season to make a play like that. “Nice throw, Aquaman,” Legs said, as we jogged in. “I couldn’t have made that throw.”

“Thanks, Legs. That felt good.”

I was the last man up in the top of the seventh with two outs. I’d thrown out the only baserunner for the entire game. I thought Daniels must have been getting tired by then. Performing my focus drill, I realized he’d gotten me out with a changeup in the fourth inning. Changeups were my Achilles heel. I wouldn’t let him do it to me again.

As I stepped into the box, I said, “That changeup voodoo won’t get me this time.” I hoped he believed it. On the second pitch, I hit a blistering line drive. Unfortunately, I hit it right back to the pitcher, who stuck his glove out and the inning was over. Randy retired the side with two strike-outs and a ground ball to Zip, who threw the runner out at first.

After seven innings, the game ended in a zero, zero tie. Unlike the major leagues, you could end a high school game in a tie. None of us liked it. We exchanged high fives with their team and met Coach Hamilton on the third base side.

“Gentlemen, you just faced the toughest team, or at least the toughest pitching, you’ll probably see all season. Coming away with a tie is nothing to feel bad about. Randy, you pitched a hell of a game. Jack, nice throw. We’ll see them again at home. Did anybody see any weaknesses?” None of us had. “Aquaman? You seem to see pitchers pretty well. Anything.”

“He’s tough. If he’s got a tell, if he tips his pitches, I can’t see it.”

“You hit a couple. They were foul, but I think you connected with more than anyone. Any ideas?”

“Not much of one. I figured his fastball was his go-to pitch and since I couldn’t figure out what he was going to throw, I swung at everything as though it was going to be a fastball. I swung early on the changeup and missed the curve by a mile.”

“His slowest fastball was eighty-three,” Cherry said. “I wish I could pitch like that.”

“Randy did great,” I said and everyone applauded.

“He’s right. We couldn’t beat him with our bats, but Mr. Zenka made it a tie. They’re probably having the same discussion we are right now.” We laughed at that. We felt pretty bad about not winning, but Randy had single-handedly kept us from losing.

We walked toward the track and saw our track team walking toward the bus. There was a mix of sadness and celebration that was difficult to sort out. When we got on the bus, the sheet was down and no one complained about that. I’d seen a movie a long time ago where a couple tried to sleep in the same bed with a sheet strung up to divide it. I thought it was hilarious when I was a little kid. Seeing one on the bus must have reminded me.

I sat next to Kim and a couple of the other players sat next to girls. “How did you do?”

“First, second, and third. I came in third in the mile, second in the four hundred but I won the eight hundred. Ben Lippen beat us but we kept it close. They have some big girls competing in shot put but we won all the jumping events.” She leaned close and whispered, “I can beat Joy in the mile. I know I can. I didn’t start my kick soon enough in the mile but I did when we ran the eight hundred.”

“Did you beat her at that?”

“She didn’t do the eight hundred. I don’t know why not,” and then in a normal voice, “How did you guys do?” I told her about it.

“No one got a hit?”

“Nobody. I didn’t even know a game could end in a tie. He’s good, in spite of his weird name. Springer Daniels. What kind of a name is that?”

“Sounds like it’s one you’re going to remember. You play them again, right?”

“Hopefully, with better results, or maybe they’ll start a different pitcher. We’re still undefeated in conference but it’s not the same thing as winning every game. What happens if we both end up undefeated? No. Forget I asked. We’ll beat them next time.”

“What would you do differently?”

“Remember when I was trying to shave a second off my time swimming and didn’t know how? It’s like that.”

She looked at me hard, then smiled. “You love it, don’t you?”

I had to laugh. “I guess I do. Any ideas about being cocky or arrogant are gone, that’s for sure. I’m glad Randy did just as well.” I stood up in the bus, got my footing, and looked back for Randy. “Hey, Zenka!” I hollered. “You pitched a heck of a game. You pitched a no-hitter and didn’t get the win. I sure wish we could have got a run for you.” He smiled and a couple of guys clapped a couple of times. Two no-hitters in the same game. I bet that didn’t happen very often.

It was dinner time when we got back to school. We grabbed our stuff and I drove us to Franklin’s house. Neither car was there. We decided to wait a couple of minutes. We were about to leave when Franklin’s car came down Fort Johnson Road. He pulled in beside us.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey, yourself. Got a minute to answer a question?” I asked.

“You’d better or it’s going to eat him up,” Kim said.

“Well, I guess I’d better.” He pulled his briefcase out of the backseat, then leaned back against the car to face us. “Hit me.” I described the game to him. “Two no-hitters in the same game. Never had that happen before. It’s seven innings or two hours, and obviously mercy rules didn’t apply, right?”

“Yeah. So, what do I do differently next time?”

“Ah. The crux of the matter. Fastball, changeup, and curve, right? Lot of movement on the curve?”

“Yeah, and his fastball is somewhere between eighty-five and ninety.”

“That’s a lot of heat for high school.”

“Yeah. I faced a guy that could pitch faster but I could hit him.”

“How do you know the speed so accurately?”

“Radar gun. Coach popped for one a couple of weeks ago. Didn’t help much, today, though. At least we have an idea between his fastball and changeup.”

“Any idea what percent of his pitches are which?”

“Yup. His go-to pitch is his fastball. If he gets behind in the count, he throws that about ninety percent of the time. He won’t throw a changeup too often if he’s behind. When he does throw a changeup, it’s after he’s thrown at least two fastballs in a row and I don’t think I saw him throw a changeup after a curve.”

“Wow. Opposing teams would pay good money for that intel. Alright, I’m no expert but I played a lot longer than you have, and here’s what I know. A good curveball breaks late. You have to think it’s going over the plate or you won’t swing. Use the whole box. Move forward so your left foot is on the chalk. Don’t go over. You might have to practice that with someone watching. I don’t know, maybe chalk it at Ruger’s or something. Anyway, moving forward sort of minimizes the changeup. You can also crowd the plate a little to take away some of the curve.”

“Okay. I get all that. I can move forward and in. He’ll have to adjust.”

“Yup. And he will. When do you decide to swing?”