Chapter 18: Thunder!

Saturday March 19

Miranda getting out of bed woke me up. When the shower started, I followed her into the bathroom. She’d just started to wash her hair when I stepped in behind her.

“Let me,” I said.

She had a shampoo-and-conditioner-in-one that smelled like strawberries. I put that away and got out my supplies. Someone needed to educate this poor girl. Mine smelled of ginger. Adrienne had turned me on to Paul Mitchell’s Awapuhi, or Wild Ginger, shampoo and conditioner. I used it during the winter months to help prevent my hair from drying out.

Miranda let me do her hair and then wash her. She then returned the favor. We finally got out when the water began to cool off. One day when I buy my own house, it’ll have one of those instant water heaters like they have in the UK. That way there would be an endless supply of hot water.

We got dressed and went to the kitchen for breakfast. The look on Dad’s face was priceless when I walked into the kitchen with a Victoria’s Secret model. Mom kicked him under the table.

“She’s new,” Mom said to me, and then turned to Miranda. “My son has forgotten his manners. I’m David’s mom.”

“Miranda, Miranda Kesh.”

Dad and I made breakfast while Mom got to know Miranda. I guess it wasn’t surprising they got along so well. At least Mom was nice to her. Miranda planned to fly out tomorrow, so it was decided Mom and Dad would take her to the game. I had to ride on the team bus. Moose wanted to keep track of me, for some reason.

When we got to State, we were early, so we decided to see everything that was set up. It looked like Mrs. Sullivan had replicated her ‘Taste of Lincoln’ theme. There were ten or twelve food stands manned by different local restaurants. I thought this was a smart idea on her part. This way the boosters didn’t have to mess with cooking and watching everything else. They had a big tent with tables where you could take your food and eat.

They had also sold booths to a variety of groups. There were ones for the different charities I was involved with: Homeless Coalition, pregnant teens, and cancer support. Caryn had volunteers working the booths for our charities, and Mr. Orange was at the homeless one with Brit and Sun. They had others that had everything from arts and crafts, to a farm stand, to plants. One booth was doing face painting.

I stopped at that one and had them paint black lines under my eyes with the bulldog logo in the center. Of course, everyone wanted them, once they saw mine. They did different designs for each guy.

Then I came to the end of the booths and found my car on display. The booster club was selling 1,000 $100 tickets. It was good to see that they’d painted the car black and put the Range Sports logos back on it. The car looked sharp, and a number of people were buying tickets. My lawyers would be happy they hadn’t left it orange and blue with my number on it.

Moose found us, and we walked back to get ready. There was starting to be a crowd, and people recognized me. My teammates put me in the middle, and we made it to the locker room without any trouble.

Our first game was against Lang Academy. They were a reform school and always had boys coming and going, so they were never great. It was normally the first game we played each year. Ray, Harper’s best friend, went there. Ray was there because he had a drug problem. His parents had also wanted him ‘cured’ of being gay. I sometimes wondered about people. Luckily, Harper had said they focused on his drug issues and not his sexual orientation at Lang.

I knew what it was like to be persecuted by one’s family. My own mother had just admitted that my older brother was her favorite. No, I wasn’t letting that one go.

They were planning to play two regular games today, instead of the traditional double header, where you got to see two games for the price of one. They’d decided to empty out the stadium between games.

We were in right field warming up when Lang Academy arrived. I spotted Ray and waved. He looked like he’d grown and seemed healthier. We let Lang take the field to warm up. It gave me the chance to check out the crowd that was forming. State had given Lincoln High the seats down the third base line to sell. Tami and the other Wesleyan girls were seated there, with Miranda in the middle. She was all smiles, so I hoped for the best.

The various college scouts were grouped together behind home plate. There was someone there with a Cubs hat; it turned out to be Lucas Kite, the scout I’d met when I was in LA. I walked over to say hi.

“Hey, Lucas. Who you here to see?” I asked.

“I’m here to see the man who drew over twenty thousand to his first baseball game this season. How’ve you been, David?” Lucas asked.

“Good. I’ve been working on what Coach Camarillo was teaching me.”

“Who?” asked the Texas scout.

“Rusty Camarillo, the Cub’s hitting coach, did some work for Pro Baseball Instruction in LA where I went this winter,” I said.

“How’s your hitting?” Lucas asked.

“I was hoping you could tell me. Do you plan to be here for both games?” I asked.

“No, I’m here this morning and then off to Batavia to see a pitching prospect. Catch me after the game and I’ll give you my evaluation.”

Coach Haskins caught my eye. Lang Academy had left the field, so we could finish warming up. We were considered the home team, so Lang would be up to bat first. Bert was our starting pitcher for this game. Justin had had a week off, so he would pitch against the tougher opponent, Wesleyan.

Moose called us in and we lined up, down the third base line for the national anthem. A music major at State sang, and he killed it. Sometimes you got the wannabe singers who thought they sounded good in the shower. That would’ve been me. I was smart enough, though, not to trot my happy ass out in front of people and sing. The worst were the parents that brought their ten- or twelve-year-olds who they thought were the next big thing.

When I ran out onto the field for the game, I was impressed that the stands were three-quarters full. Our game was being broadcast live on the local campus radio station and was being piped into the farmers market area outside the stadium. You could hear the broadcast in center field.

For the first batter, Moose had me move in to support the infield. From the first pitch it didn’t look like it was going to be Bert’s day. The batter hit a shot up the middle, which I scooped and threw to first for the first out. The second batter looked more serious, so Moose moved me back to my normal position. The kid hit the heck out of the first ball. The only problem was that it went a mile high, and Brock camped under it for the second out.

Johan went out to Bert to explain that he didn’t need to pitch over the center of the plate. Bert struck the next batter out on five pitches.

I ran in, changed shoes, and grabbed my helmet, bat and hitting gloves. When I stepped out of the dugout, the music began. It was the opening riff to AC/DC’s Thunderstruck.

“Batting first ... David Dawson!” the PA announcer boomed.

I smiled when the fans got on their feet. Moose looked out of the dugout and glared at me. Fuck it! Being the not-so-shy type, all you had to give me was a stage and I’d step onto it without thinking twice. My teammates began to laugh when they saw my best impression of Angus Young, the lead guitarist for AC/DC. He had this funny hop-step where he keeps one leg out straight in front of him as he goes across the stage, which in turn was a channeling of Chuck Berry doing Johnny B. Goode. I did that shuffle down the third base line, doing my Guitar Hero antics with my bat.

“Ayaahhayaayaayaa ... THUNDER! Ayaahhayaayaayaa ... THUNDER! Ayaahhayaayaayaa ... THUNDER! Ayaahhayaayaayaa ... THUNDER!” The crowd sang along.

I had to hustle to get into the batter’s box. It appeared the umpire didn’t know what to do with me. My dad had given me that look before.

Ray was catching.

“Our pitcher’s a hothead. Don’t be surprised if he puts one in your ear,” he warned.

I could see that. I had just showboated, and he might feel I’d disrespected him. I began to laugh when he did just that. If Ray hadn’t been warned me, I might have been hit. The umpire had a pained look on his face like he didn’t want to deal with this shit today. He warned the pitcher and both benches. If it happened again, both the pitcher and coach would be tossed. He then got into my face.

“No more of your crap, either,” he warned.

The umpire didn’t scare me, but Moose did. He wasn’t known to put up with too much, and I was likely on the cusp of finding a seat on the bench for the rest of the day.

The next pitch, the pitcher probably thought he would try to throw by me. The problem with that was when you’re amped-up with adrenaline, you can overthrow the ball. Instead of the pitch being low and on the outside third, it was waist-level. It felt like facing the pitching machine. I could hear I’d gotten all of it before I saw it. The pitcher’s head snapped around as the ball flew into the center field bleachers.

I made a point not to flip my bat or do anything else to showboat, but just put my head down and ran the bases, making sure each one got touched.

Their pitcher soon found he was in for a long day. Moose’s focus on batting paid off. On the other hand, it was also a bad day for our pitchers; Bert, first, and then Brock, who replaced him. Lang Academy was able to put four runs on nine hits on the board. Our response was to score twelve times with thirteen hits. I personally went four for five with five RBIs, including two home runs, a double and two stolen bases.

After we congratulated Lang Academy, I went looking for Lucas Kite. Moose and Coach Haskins joined me behind the plate to listen to what he had to say. So did all the college scouts. Lucas looked uncomfortable.

“Welcome to my world,” I said with a half-smile.

“Did you want to go somewhere more private?”

“I’d like to hear your critique of that performance,” Michigan’s scout said.

The other scouts agreed, so I just smiled at Lucas. I quickly found out that Lucas saw everything. I wished I’d thought to record his advice, but Moose and Coach Haskins took copious notes. He loved my aggression at bat and on the base paths. He warned me to slow down and take more pitches. He explained that I should get into the habit now, or else it would be hard to lay off pitches when I advanced to higher levels. He had a rookie last year that had racked up a ton of strikeouts. He wanted me to avoid that. In high school, if a pitch was in the zone, you could hit it. At higher levels, there were guys that could throw it by you or mess you up with speed or angle changes. I’d experienced that in LA, so I knew what he meant.

He also told me to stop trying to hit home runs. With my size and strength, they would come. In high school, he wanted me to keep working to improve my swing. He liked the changes Moose had incorporated, but he had several minor adjustments he wanted me to work on.

Lucas warned me about losing focus when in the field. If it hadn’t been for my superior athletic ability, I would have allowed at least two hits. Baseball is a game where you sometimes might not see a ball hit to you for the whole game. With the circus-like atmosphere, it was easy to get distracted.

When he was done, he wished me the best. Moose handed me a Sharpie and pointed to the line of people near our dugout who wanted autographs. I thought I would never be done, but finally they were all signed.

Moose and Coach Haskins walked me to the hospitality tent. Mrs. Sullivan had roped off an area for the team and their friends and families. I introduced all the guys to Miranda. The players from Lang Academy were in the tent, eating. Rita was there with Trip. The cheerleaders had all gone to a seven-on-seven tournament for the weekend, so Halle wasn’t around. I decided to play matchmaker. I grabbed Trip and took him to where Ray was seated with his teammates.

“Hey, Ray, I want you to meet someone,” I said, pulling him away from the group.

“Trip, this is a friend of mine who’s had some problems similar to those you’ve gone through. I was wondering if you could talk to him about what you’ve learned.”

I expected that if there was something there, they would figure it out.

Dad had gone to the new Mexican place’s booth and gotten me a burrito that was advertised to be as big as my head. Miranda took one look at it and raised her eyebrows.

“You plan to eat that whole thing?” she asked.

“He can eat more than that,” Yuri supplied.

I was able to eat two-thirds of it. It wasn’t a surprise when Johan finished it off—after he’d eaten his own.

In the second game, Mike was pitching against Justin. Mike batted third for Wesleyan. Justin hung a curve ball and Mike got all of it. I thought I had a shot at it, but would have to get up to get it before it left the park. I drifted back and timed it so I could use the fence to jump higher. Mike had done the bat flip, which pissed me off. I planted my left foot, used my right to propel me up the face of the fence, and then grabbed the top of it with my right hand to lever myself up even higher.

The crowd had erupted when Mike hit the ball, but the sound level dropped like they collectively held their breath as I went up to get it. If he’d hit it just a touch higher, I would never have gotten it. When I came down, half the ball was hanging out of the glove. It seemed the crowd didn’t believe their eyes, because it took a second for them to erupt. I cringed when I realized the home-team fans had brought their damned cowbells.

I ran in and got ready to bat. When I stepped out of the dugout, my name was announced and the music began. This time I just took it in and watched the crowd. They were into it. With a full stadium, it was loud. On ‘THUNDER!’ they would stomp their feet for each syllable. I was worried that the bleachers couldn’t handle it.

When I stepped into the box, it was clear Mike planned to throw at me. He had his cocky ‘FU’ smile. If I hadn’t bailed on motion, he would have hit me good. It was a total dick move to throw your heat at someone’s head. That was how people got hurt. As it was, he clipped my forearm. I just got up and trotted to first base. I had to laugh when Mike threw his glove on the ground, ready to go.

Mike could never be accused of being dumb. He’d been in the top five in our class academically. I wanted to steal on him more than anything. I think that Coach Haskins and Moose knew that also. They signaled that I should stay at first. Mike made me eat dirt four times before he went home with his first pitch. It was a good thing I didn’t go, because he used his slide step to get the ball home faster.

Yuri hit a screamer straight at Mike. Mike’s a good athlete. He got his glove up and caught it. If I’d run, with the slide step he would have gotten me, or I would never have gotten back in time when Mike made the catch. Mike looked over and smirked to let me know that I’d gotten lucky.

Next up was Bryan Callahan. Mike concentrated more on his pitching, because he knew Bryan was a better batter than Yuri was. It wasn’t that Yuri was bad; he just didn’t have the experience Bryan did. Mike threw over to first twice. I acted disinterested in stealing and was able to get back without having to dive in the dirt.

That was when I noticed Mike had a tell: if he was going to first, he held his hands further from his body than if he planned to throw to the plate. I watched three pitches to confirm my observation, and then signaled to Coach Haskins that I could steal on him. He gave me the green light. When Mike’s hands settled closer, I broke as he began to move. Mike caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and tried to hold back the throw. It would have been a balk if he had, which would’ve meant I took the base anyways. Instead, he threw it into the dirt.

A catcher’s mitt isn’t designed to handle a grounder. That’s why they try and block them like a hockey goalie. The ball caromed off the catcher’s leg pad. Coach Haskins waved me to continue to third. The catcher lunged for the ball and knocked it further towards first base. He finally grabbed it and came up throwing. I reached for the back of the bag. It was a bang-bang play, and the third-base umpire indicated safe.

The Wesleyan coach lost his mind and ran onto the field. I called time before I made a mistake and got called out. The umpire called it and then faced their coach. The cocky look had been wiped off Mike’s face. Their coach finally gave up and went back to his dugout. Mike was so shook-up that he walked Bryan.

Bryan took a lead at first. I just stood on third until Mike looked over his shoulder at Bryan. That was when I began to sneak down the third base line. He held his hands in the way that indicated he planned to throw to first. When he twitched making his move, I broke for home. Mike was instead going to third to try to pick me off. Well, oops.

Bryan had played enough baseball to take off towards second. The third baseman caught the ball and fired home. I stopped on a dime and darted back towards third. Bryan rounded second and ran for third. The catcher went to throw it back to the third baseman when I whirled and came straight at him, screaming at the top of my lungs and holding my hands up high. The poor kid was sure he was going to be run over; apparently my reputation from football for hitting hard preceded me. If I could jar the ball loose, I would be safe. The catcher squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for impact. I dove around him, held my hand out and touched the corner of home plate.

“Safe!” the umpire called.

The catcher turned to complain just as Bryan took his legs out from under him as he dove for home.

“Safe!”

Mike threw his glove into the back of the catcher. I smiled when their teammates had to separate them. It looked like Mike was making new friends. I laughed all the way to the bench. I hadn’t seen that bad a play since Little League. You would think by high school the catcher would keep track of where everyone was. It was bad enough he let me score, but Bryan, too ... that was just insane.

Jim was up next. When Mike threw at him, Mike got a warning from the umpire. His coach had had enough and sent him to play second base.

Their next pitcher got Mike out of the jam and retired the side. Justin took down their side in order. Things got interesting in the fourth inning. Mike was up first. Justin earned his way back onto my Christmas card list when he drilled Mike square in the back. That one hurt.

I was at a full run when Mike turned and got ready to charge the mound. He saw me and ran to the dugout. I stopped at the mound and shook Justin’s hand. Justin was booted, along with Moose. Bryan came in to pitch. We were up 4–3.

On his first pitch, Bryan gave up a two-run home run to give Wesleyan a 5–4 lead. That’s where it stood until the bottom of the seventh, the last inning. Up to this point I’d been hit and had walked three times. It was time for some heroics. We managed to get a runner on, and there were two outs when I came up again.

The crowd began their chant: “Ayaahhayaayaayaa ... THUNDER! Ayaahhayaayaayaa ... THUNDER! Ayaahhayaayaayaa ... THUNDER! Ayaahhayaayaayaa ... THUNDER!”

I walked up in the role I’d been born to fulfill. Even my archenemy looked like he was about to be sick. I dug in with my back foot and prepared to go down as a legend in my own mind. Everyone was on their feet, like it was game seven of the World Series. Damn, the Cubs needed me for this very situation.

The pitcher ignored the runner. He shook off the catcher twice before he settled on the pitch he wanted. The ball looked good to me as it left his hand. I began my stride, and everything felt like what I’d practiced hundreds of times. My bat was flat through the zone and I felt the contact. I heard it before I saw it.

Shit!

Instead of the satisfying ‘crack,’ there was a ‘tink’ sound. I’d missed the ball, making contact a bit under, and hit a long high fly ball to center field. I ran down the baseline and prayed as the ball seemed to go higher and the center fielder drifted back. I took a little hop when he reached the fence. The ball seemed to lose power and dropped into the glove of the center fielder. The Wesleyan players rushed the field and swarmed their center fielder.

We weren’t going to win them all. We lined up to shake hands, but Wesleyan ran off the field. Mike apparently wasn’t the only jerk. Coach Haskins handed me a Sharpie and I went and signed autographs. The first person in line was Kendra Bianco.

“I gave you an autograph last night.”

“We wanted to know if you were free for dinner tonight.”

I motioned for Miranda to join us and Kendra asked again.

“Tami told me you were all going to a pizza place,” Miranda said.

“It sounds like the team is going to Monical’s. You’re welcome to join us. It’s not really fancy, more of a family-oriented place,” I said, in case they expected something else.

Kendra said that would work.

Everyone had waited for me on the bus. Moose had made it clear that I should make sure to sign autographs until there were no more to be signed. Since the Star Wars video, things had changed. It really was a big deal to be associated with that franchise, even if it was just as a potential member of the cast.

I talked to Jim, and the plan was for us all to go to Monical’s, and then to the party at State.

I arrived home to be swarmed by my niece and nephews.

“Unca David, we get kitty,” Kyle told me.

“You got a kitty?” I asked.

“I wuv it,” he told me seriously.

“So does that mean you get a horse?” I asked Mac.

She squealed and ran to her mom so she could tell her that she was getting a horsey—’cause Unca David said.

If looks could kill. Maybe I could talk Zoe into letting her think one of their horses was just for Mac to ride.

Mom told me that Miranda was in my apartment. Greg stopped me before I went up.

“You really do suck,” he told me.

“I was just teasing about the horse,” I said.

He ignored my deflection.

“Where did you find this one?” he asked.

“I did a photo shoot with her. She’s kind of cute,” I said, playing it off.

“Dad said she’s a Victoria’s Secret model.”

“Dad better be careful or Mom will superglue his dick to his leg,” I said. “She has talked to Kendal.”

“Tell me she’s terrible in bed,” he persisted.

“I can’t do that,” I said, meaning I wouldn’t tell him about my sex life.

“You’re killing me.”

“You better be careful, or Angie will take care of you, and not in a good way,” I warned.

“I know, I know ... it’s just ... fuck ... sometimes I’m jealous of the hot women you spend time with.”

“You had your share. You also get to wake up next to Angie each morning and have three little ones that love you to death. I look at what you have and I’m jealous.”

“Seriously?” Greg asked.

“Just a little bit. And then I wake up next to a Victoria’s Secret model,” I said with a big shit-eating grin.

“Fucker!”

I came up the stairs to my apartment to find Miranda lying on her stomach on my couch, playing with her tablet. She was in boy shorts that exposed the bottom half of her butt, and wore a tight little t-shirt with no bra. She knew exactly the effect her little display would have on me. Frickin’ hell, she was hot.

She watched me as I slowly approached the couch and took off my letterman’s jacket. I gave her a crooked smile while pulling my shirt over my head. Two could play this game. Her eyes lost focus and she absently chewed on her lower lip. Her eyes found mine when I reached for my belt and undid it. I looked down at my obvious boner as it stretched my jeans.

Miranda got off the couch and knelt before me. She took over taking off my jeans. She mouthed the length of my cock as it pushed my boxers obscenely out from my body. I just looked down and smiled as she teased me. I so planned to pay her back. She quit playing, pulled my boxers down, and began to do what she loved most, suck my cock. I reflected that Aubrey and now Miranda had an oral fixation on Mr. Happy that I was more than willing to accommodate.

I just stood there and enjoyed what Miranda offered. I felt my passion increase and held back as long as I could. The only warning I gave her was a grunt, and then suddenly rewarded her efforts. She got up and pointed at the clock. I needed to shower and change for dinner. My revenge would have to wait.

We were in the banquet room at Monical’s. Most of the baseball players were already there. Of the coaches, only Coach Herndon was missing, probably because Mike was having dinner with his family. My family showed up, which made me happy because that meant free appetizers. Greg didn’t even have to be told to go flirt. Mac wanted me to hold her while I went around and talked to everyone.

All the skill football players were spending the weekend in Springfield where there was a big seven-on-seven football tournament. I thought it might be good to go watch them play tomorrow.

The last player to arrive was Yuri with his mom and grandma. I went to say hello and Mac announced that she was getting a horsey. I looked behind me, and Angie glared at me across the room. Who knew what nonsense she would put into my son’s head when he was Mac’s age.

This reminded me of when Greg and I were probably twelve and ten. Uncle John had bought us PlayStation games for Christmas. Talk about two very excited little boys. That was until it was discovered that signals had gotten crossed and my parents had decided not to buy us the console. Let’s just say that by New Year’s we had one. Grandma Dawson came through big-time. I needed to make this right.

I handed off Mac to her granddad and cornered Angie.

“What were you thinking?” she hissed.

“I obviously just thought it would be funny.”

“You do realize she believes everything you tell her.”

“What if Zoe were convinced to let her claim a horse at her farm? That way she could go visit it and Zoe could give her rides.”

“That’s fine and dandy until she gets old enough to realize the ruse. Then what will you do?” Angie asked.

“Let’s just see if this is a phase. If she still wants a horse when she’s older, I’ll buy her one.”

“And where am I supposed to keep a horse? Plus, aren’t they expensive?”

“I’m Unca David. Unca David will take care of it. I’m not having that little girl unhappy with me,” I said.

“You obviously haven’t been around little girls. You have about zero chance of her not being unhappy with you at some point.”

We would see. What were uncles for if it wasn’t to spoil their niece and nephews? Angie gave me a knowing look, as if I had no clue. Unfortunately, she might be right.

Tony, Nancy and Kendra showed up and I introduced them to everyone. It turned out that they were younger than I thought. They all went to college at Columbia University in New York City. If it weren’t for football, it was one of the schools that would be on my list to check out. Besides being an Ivy League school, it was in the heart of the city. Certainly a single guy could have a lot of fun there.

Miranda was happy to see them. I figured out my friends were all intimidated by her and hadn’t talked to her. She’d been stuck talking to my mom. I was sure that was the last thing she wanted to do. While the girls talked, I got a chance to ask Tony some questions that had bothered me.

“How come you didn’t take care of Brandon yourself?”

“My good friend at Harvard is very close to my cousin, and he didn’t tell me until long after it had happened. Then there’s the problem of our family trying to go legit. Brandon’s father is a well-known attorney. Getting retribution would have drawn attention to my cousin, who is currently having a few problems of his own.”

I let my imagination run with that. I decided it was better that I not know what his cousin was in trouble for or what might have happened to Brandon if Tony had known.

“That, and my family told me not to touch him,” Tony said, and the disappointment showed on his face. “There are some things I personally can’t tolerate; what Brandon did was one of them. The thing is, though, Kendra and I only run a portion of the businesses. Our fathers run the rest, and my grandfather makes sure everyone plays nice. Something like this has to be okayed,” Tony said.

“So you had to play the good soldier?” I asked.

“I think you’ve watched too many movies like the Godfather,” Tony said with a smile.

That wasn’t a ‘no,’ but I wasn’t comfortable talking about the inner workings of Tony’s family dynamic. It was enough to know that he’d wanted to do something, but was told not to. That would be why he was here personally to thank me. I’d done something, maybe not what he would’ve done, but the end result was that Brandon would pay for what he did.