around our house, so Antonio and I both have jobs. He works at Home Depot watering plants; I work at the Aurora Driving Range, which is directly behind the trailer park. Mr. Matsui, the range pro, hired me when I was fifteen, and I’ve worked there ever since. I drive a John Deere Gator with a metal cage around me so I don’t get conked in the head by golf balls. The Gator has roller arms that gather up the golf balls and spit them into attached metal baskets. When the baskets are full, I dump the balls into a chute that leads to a ball dispenser, starting the cycle again.
I have a driver’s license, but I almost never get a chance to drive my mom’s Corolla, so tooling around in the utility vehicle is almost fun. There’s nothing fun about refilling the ball dispensers, though. A single golf ball doesn’t weigh much, but lifting basket after basket over your head makes your muscles burn. Still, I push myself to heave those baskets high. More arm strength means more miles per hour on the fastball.
When I finished work on the Friday night before the Laurelhurst game, Antonio wasn’t at the back fence with Garrett, which was great. Instead, he was waiting for me by the entrance to Jet City. “The guys are going to a movie at Oak Tree. Eight thirty. You in?”
I always play catch the night before a game because I want my arm to be a little tired when I take the mound. If I’m too rested, I overthrow and I’m wild. For years, Antonio had been my partner. Since he’d started hanging with Garrett, Mr. Leskov, the grizzled old guy who runs the community center, had taken his place.
“Come on, Laz,” Antonio said after I’d turned him down. “The movie is supposed to be hot. Lots of nice-looking girls. Nicer looking than Leskov.”
“C-C-C-C—”
Antonio waited. He always did.
“C-Couldn’t we go tomorrow night? After the game?”
He shook his head. “The guys are going tonight.”
At eight, while Antonio and the rest of them were walking to Oak Tree Cinema, I was playing catch with Mr. Leskov on the grass under the parking lot lights. The baseball went back and forth. Finally Leskov caught one of my throws and held the ball. “We stop now,” he called out. “You have good pitches in your game tomorrow. You strike three those boys.”