Chapter 21

"What do you think?" Robbie asked me as she handed me my bottle of Gatorade.

"I think Richard Calloway is a vicious cruel sadist who the Marines kicked out for being too mean." I took a large mouthful of the drink and swished it around my mouth before swallowing.

"That bad?" asked Tami sympathetically.

"And he's the best coach I've ever seen."

"So, you gonna make it, stud?" Robbie asked.

"And what are you going to do if you do?" Tami added.

"Don't know, and haven't got a clue respectively. I'm just trying to make it through Monday afternoon."

I took another swig of Gatorade, gave Robbie back the bottle, and trotted back to the field.

"So what's the word?"

"I get to come back tomorrow."

"That's good, right?" Tami asked.

"I'm not sure. I remember in the Halloween Bowl game, when the front line messed up and I got hit from three directions at once." I paused for dramatic effect. "I wish I only hurt that bad."

"Awwwww," the two girls said together.

I grinned. On the one hand, it was cool seeing the two girls together as friends. On the other hand, I kinda felt like I'd been dropped off in a minefield and they forgot to leave me a map.

"You know, Tami was telling me how you used to give her massages. Soothing her tired aching body. I won't be petty enough to point out that you've never given me one."

Oh, God.

"Maybe we should give you a massage. Make you forget all about your aches and pains."

"I don't know," I said as the girls stood up and I slipped my arms around them. "Massage is a very complex science. Are you licensed? Bonded? Insured?"

"We're cute!" Tami said forcefully.

"Close enough." We started down the steps of the bleachers and headed for the parking lot. I saw a couple of my fellow athletes give me almost friendly glances as I walked, hell--as I strutted--with the two beautiful girls.

"I hate to be the dumb blond..." Tami started.

"Especially since you're a brunette," Robbie interrupted.

"I was thinking of dying it. Trying the blond thing for awhile."

"What shade?"

"Kind of a California gold."

I could have evaporated and they wouldn't have noticed as they talked around me.

"Excuse me, ladies."

They stopped talking and looked at me. Maybe the minefield would be a better idea.

"I think you were going to ask a question, and if my opinion counts, I think your hair is beautiful the way it is."

"Of course, your opinion counts," they said together, convincing me that it didn't. At least about hair color.

"I was just trying to say I didn't understand why we were here."

"I was trying out for the baseball team. You were rooting me on."

"I said dumb blond, not brain dead," Tami said with a hint of chill in her voice. "Why are we here?" She waved her arm to take in the high school athletic fields.

"Well, last year, Coach Calloway had eight seniors, five juniors, and a sophomore on his team. And the junior varsity really sucked. The seniors all graduated and two of the juniors are doing track, and one, for some God-knows reason, is playing golf. So that only leaves him with three of last years varsity."

"Since his son Ricky played for the middle school last year, he saw some of our games and has a good idea what's available for freshmen, and like I said, the junior varsity sucked, so he's scrambling to fill out the team. Ricky will get to play varsity, and the coach asked me to try out too."

"You can do that?"

"Yeah, but I only get four years of eligibility, which means I'd have to sit out one of my high school years."

"If he's so desperate, why didn't you suggest Robbie?" Tami asked.

"Actually, I did. While pointing out that I've never seen her play."

"Hey!" Robbie protested.

"I haven't, so I can't give you a wholehearted recommendation, but I told him you were a natural athlete and tenacious."

"Tenacious. I like that."

I grinned. I knew she would. We scanned the parking lot, but Mom wasn't there yet.

"He said he didn't want you trying out."

"Another male chauvinist? Like Mr. Feldman?"

"No, Coach Calloway's a good guy. But he said that an eighth grader trying out would be brutal. And an eighth grade girl would be beyond that."

"Brutal?" Tami asked.

I shrugged. "Did you see much friendly comradery out there?"

"It looked like the pitcher tried to take your head off at batting practice."

"He did," I agreed. But I think smacking that curve ball he hung out for me over the left field fence made up for it.

"So you were protecting me?"

"No, Mr. Calloway was protecting you. I would have brought you along to take some of the heat off me."

"My hero," Robbie said in her Scarlett O'Hara voice.

"Looks like you got more than you can handle," a voice said. Three of the ball players were crossing the parking lot, heading toward a pickup.

"No. He's got more than you can handle," Robbie snapped back, and then kissed me.

"Yeah, baby," Tami added in a passable Austin Powers imitation before following Robbie's example and pressing her lips to mine.

The one in the middle went red, and I guessed he was the one who had spoken.

On the one hand, It felt good the way the girls had counter-punched the loud mouth; but on the other hand, I had a feeling that I'd pay for it tomorrow. On the third hand, any excuse to kiss hot beautiful girls was worth it. Damn, I was running out of hands.

Mom drove up before the situation could deteriorate. Traci was in the front seat with her, so the three of us piled into the back, me in the middle.

"How was your practice?" Mom asked as she pulled out of the parking lot.

"Interesting." I was saved from elaborating by Traci resuming the story she'd been telling Mom.

"What did you mean when you said you got to come back tomorrow?" Tami asked as she unlocked her front door and let Robbie and me in.

"Well, Coach Calloway needs twelve to fourteen players for the varsity. Thirty guys came out. Thirty-one counting me. He does a one-week try-out, so every day he cuts a couple of people from the list."

"That's not very nice."

"But it's necessary. He wants the best team possible. Anyway, he cut three guys today."

"What happens to them?"

"They play JV and have a chance to move up if they're good enough."

"So, if you make it through the week, you're on the team?"

"Sort of."

"What do you mean, sort of."

"Well, for an eighth grader to make the team the coach has to pick me. Then Mrs. Jeffries, the high school principal, has to approve it. Then Mr. Reed has to approve it." We settled on the sofa, Tami at one end and me at the other with Robbie on my lap. I looked straight at Tami. "Can you see Mr. Reed approving something like that?"