Chapter 25

"So, ya finished act one yet?"

I turned and stared at Robbie. "Are you... ?"

"Heads Up!" the coach shouted and smacked the ball in a line drive shot right over second base. I was off-balance but dove anyway, feeling the satisfying thunk of a ball hitting the pocket just before I hit the dirt. Hard. With zero air in my lungs, I still managed a feeble backhand toward Robbie. She snagged the ball and zinged it to Ricky at first. The freshmen who'd been on the base was halfway to second and couldn't get back in time.

"Good play," Coach Calloway yelled. "But if you'd been paying attention, you wouldn't have had to kill yourself to make it." That was one of the things I loved about the coach: his compassion. "Tyler, try short. Mark, take second. Robbie, see if you can get him off the field."

I managed to get to my knees by myself, but was happy to have Robbie help me the rest of the way up. We walked toward the foul line, her arm around my back and my arm across her shoulders. By the time we were off the field, I was halfway sure I wouldn't need an iron lung.

I grabbed a bottle of water off the bench, drank half in a gulp, and poured the rest over my head. Robbie looked like she considered an all-wet comment but decided against it. "Act one?" I asked, shaking my head.

She smiled.

"We just decided on the play last night," I reminded her.

"It's not like it's an original." Robbie smiled even bigger. "You're just adapting."

For just a second I wondered where I could bury the body. Then I bowed. "Madame Director, I know you want to win this time, but as your playwright, I plan to watch the movie a couple times, then let it percolate for awhile. I don't even plan to put pen to paper until at least May."

"You don't use a pen. You type on your computer."

Now it was my turn to smile, evilly I hoped. "You know, the only drawback to putting you over my knee and spanking you right here, is that outfit of yours already has the freshmen worked up. Any more and they wouldn't be able to catch a ball."

Robbie wiggled her butt in the black cutoffs she was wearing. Her red bikini top left even less to the imagination. "If the freshmen are the only ones I'm working up, I may have to enter a nunnery."

"Tony, go."

"Every last one of them," I said smugly. It was debate and speed round, and Mrs. Conners had just asked if the news media was biased.

"I thought you liked Fox News," Tami said, surprised. "Are they biased?"

"Definitely."

"The news isn't biased," Janet Blake said from across the circle. "Next you'll be blaming the Jewish influence."

"The Tri-Lateral Commission, actually."

Mrs. Conners tried hard not to smile, but I think she liked my sense of humor. "Tony, elaborate."

I leaned back in my chair, interlacing my fingers behind my head and stretching my legs out in front of me. "Two examples and I think my point is made. The Daily Planet has two spaces left for stories, one on the front page and one on page thirty. Two stories come in. One is an earthquake in Samoa. The other is a charity drive in Chicago. Perry White puts the earthquake on the front page 'cause he's biased against Chicago."

"That's not bias," Janet protested. "That's..."

"That's journalism one-oh-one. He picked the story he thought was more important, but it's still bias. His readers may be tired of earthquakes and not give a hoot about Samoa but be very charity minded."

"True," Mrs. Conners said, turning to Janet. "We all have biases. If you have a hamburger for lunch instead of a hot dog, your bias is showing."

"But that's not what you meant when you asked him about bias," Janet complained.

I ignored the interruption. "My second example. A lot of people think Rudy Giuliani and John McCain are going to run for president. At the Daily Bugle, J. Jonah Jameson likes Giuliani and can't stand McCain. He has space for one more story on page one, he runs a blurb about Giuliani cutting a ribbon on a new highway instead of McCain opening a new prison."

"Yeah, but..."

"I think we'll give this point to Tony," Mrs. Conners said, cutting her off. Janet pouted.

"The Daily Planet and the Daily Bugle?" Tami said as I sat up normally.

"I wanted journalistic integrity."

"I thought we'd have a little fun today."

I looked at Coach Calloway suspiciously. We hadn't had any fun at tryouts my freshman or sophomore years. And definitely not when I tried to redshirt in the eighth grade.

"As of today," the coach continued, "only two of you have made varsity. Robbie Tate and Tony Sims."

"What about me?" his son protested.

"Bobble another ball at first and you'll be lucky to make the middle school team," his dad said with a grin. Yesterday had been a disaster for Ricky.

"As I was saying, Robbie and Tony have already made the team since they won't be here tomorrow. So, we're going to have some fun. We're going to have a scrimmage game, and Robbie and Tony will be captains."

Robbie stood. "Better give Tony's team a couple of runs to start, just to keep it interesting." The coach smiled as I stood.

He pulled a fifty-cent piece out of his pocket. "Winner chooses. Home team or first draft pick." He nodded at Robbie then tossed the coin high in the air.

"Hea ... Tails!"

The coach caught the coin and slapped it down on the top of his left hand. He took his other hand away, and a shiny eagle looked up at us.