the next morning, I was called to the office. Mr. Chavez introduced Mrs. Dunne, a tall woman with reddish-brown hair who smiled as she shook my hand. Mr. Chavez then repeated what Mr. Thurman had told me.
“I’m ready,” I said when he finished.
“Good,” Mrs. Dunne said. “So am I. Before we start, though, I want you to know that I left a message on your mother’s phone last night, but I haven’t gotten a reply. We could do this another day if you’d like.”
“I’m nineteen. I d-don’t need my m-mother.”
Mrs. Dunne looked over to Mr. Chavez.
“I’m observing classrooms today,” he said, “so you’re welcome to use my office for as long as you need.”
Once he’d left, Mrs. Dunne took her phone out and laid it on the table. “I’m going to record this. Okay? Just so we have an accurate record.”
“Sure,” I said, but the setup made me feel as if I’d committed a crime.
She had written her questions on a yellow legal pad placed next to her phone. The first set was about playing for North Central High. Did I like my coach? My teammates? My school? Why had the team folded? All easy stuff.
Then she flipped to the next page. “The closest school to North Central is Broadview, but you didn’t try out for their baseball team. Why not?”
“Because they’re b-bad.”
“And Laurelhurst is good?”
“Yeah.”
“And you wanted to win.”
“Yeah. I m-mean, everybody wants to win.”
“But not everybody changes schools.”
“I w-wouldn’t have ch-changed if North Central h-had a team.”
“Okay.” She paused. “Who first approached you about playing for Laurelhurst?”
“My North Central c-coach, Mr. Kellogg.”
“And then?”
“Then Mr. Thurman called m-me and invited me to the off-season workouts that he ran.”
“Did Mr. Thurman ask anybody else from North Central’s baseball team to join Laurelhurst?”
“My brother Antonio thought about p-playing.”
“But did he ask him?”
“Not really. B-But he didn’t stop him.”
“And did you hear from Coach Vereen during this time?”
“No.”
She tapped her pencil against the desk. “Okay. So Mr. Kellogg told you that you could attend North Central and play for Laurelhurst. But why move in with the Thurmans? Why not stay in your own home and continue at North Central?”
“It’s c-complicated,” I said.
“I’ve got time.”
I didn’t like telling Mrs. Dunne about my family and money and Jet City closing and the rules at Woodacres. I didn’t like explaining that Curtis was Antonio’s dad but not my dad. But I got the story out. “So when Mr. Thurman offered me a r-room in his house,” I said, finishing up, “I t-took it.”
“Do you pay any rent?”
My mouth went dry. “No.”
“You have a job, right?”
“I work at a d-driving range.”
“And your mom has a job. And your mom’s significant other—he has a job.”
“Yeah.”
“But you never paid any rent?”
I shook my head. “Nobody ever m-mentioned it.”
“How about board? Did you pay for board?”
I didn’t answer; I was so nervous I couldn’t remember what board was.
“Food. Meals,” she explained. “Do you pay anything for those?”
“No,” I answered, wishing I could get a glass of water.
“Did anyone connected to Laurelhurst High give you cash or a debit card for day-to-day expenses?”
“N-No.”
“How about clothes? Shoes? Gear? Did anyone buy you any of those?”
“No, except—” I stopped.
“Go on.”
“Well, I g-got a Laurelhurst sweatshirt and p-polo shirt and socks from the Booster Club. And a d-duffle bag.”
“How about your mother or your mother’s friend? Did you think they might have received money?”
“No.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because my m-mom would have told me. Besides, she would have n-never have taken it. She d-doesn’t like any of this.”
“And why is that?”
“She j-just d-doesn’t.”
“Were you promised a college scholarship?”
“No.”
“How about professional baseball? Were you introduced to major-league scouts?”
That stopped me for a few seconds. “M-Maybe.”
“What do you mean, maybe?”
My head was pounding. “There’s a Mariners scout, Tommy Zeller. He’s t-talked to me, but I can’t r-remember whether he just came up to me or if Coach Vereen called me over.”
“So Coach Vereen might have introduced you to Tommy Zeller.”
“Or Mr. Thurman. Or n-neither or them. I d-don’t remember. And there is another scout, from the San Francisco Giants, but I know he just came up to me.”
“And how about Clay Pearson’s Seattle Times article? Did Coach Vereen or Mr. Thurman arrange that for you?”
I snorted as I shook my head.
“Why the reaction?” she asked.
“Everybody here is t-ticked at me about that. They think I’m a g-glory hog.”
“So how did it get arranged?”
“Curtis—the man my mom lives with—he knows Clay Pearson’s father.”
She looked at her watch. “Just a few more questions about school. Your grades are better here than at North Central. Why do you think that is?”
“The c-classes aren’t as r-rowdy here, and the school g-got me a t-tutor. I m-meet with him two or three times a week. I n-never had a tutor at North Central.”
“How much help does he give you with your schoolwork?”
That did it. I was tired of the way she kept hinting that I was dishonest. “I do my own work,” I said. “I take all my t-tests. I write all my papers. I don’t cheat in b-baseball and I d-don’t cheat in school, and I d-don’t care whether you b-believe me or not.”
She sat back in her chair, and her face relaxed. “Laz, I’m sorry. I truly am. I know you think I’m your enemy, but I’m not. I’m just gathering information.”
“Are you d-done?”
“Yes, I’m done. And thank you. You’ve been very helpful. Now, do you have any questions for me?”
I thought for a moment. “Is the t-team going to be k-kicked out of the playoffs because of m-me?”
“Not my decision. I interview everyone, write a report, and submit it to a committee of school administrators. That committee decides what steps to take, if any.” She paused. “Anything else?”
“Can I g-go?”
It felt as though Mrs. Dunne had been grilling me for hours, but it had been only one period. All the players on the team knew about the investigation—things like that never stay secret. Ian approached me between classes. “How was it?”
“I d-don’t know.”
“My dad is talking to her next. I wonder if she’ll talk to all of us.”
“I d-don’t think s-so.”
We stood, neither of us speaking for a moment. I had this urge to tell him I was sorry, but I stopped myself.
We won on Tuesday 10–4 and on Friday night 11–5. Kevin started both games, and Marc and Andrew finished them. As I sat on the bench, I spotted at least half a dozen parents filming the games. It was a bad joke. There must have been hours of film of me from earlier games. Getting a DVD should have been simple, but the way things were now, I couldn’t ask anyone for anything.
After Friday’s win we tried to celebrate the end of the regular season, but it was impossible. Mrs. Dunne’s investigation was a black cloud hanging over us. We were either city champions headed to the state playoffs or a team of cheaters headed nowhere.