of the baseball draft.
Curtis was still able to give me a ride to school, so I wasn’t stuck on the bus in the morning. The teachers weren’t teaching anything, at least not to seniors. It was all free time, which meant it was all talk time. The athletes argued about how much money Ian would get and whether Jay would turn pro. Other kids were pumped about going to college in the fall. And it seemed like everybody was headed to France or Costa Rica or Hong Kong over the summer.
At lunch, I took my food back behind the gym. Six more days and the school year would be over. While I worked tree service with Curtis, I’d look for a place to live. I’d seen some signs in the University District. The other people would be UW students. I wouldn’t like that, but I’d survive. Later on, maybe I’d do what Mom wanted: go to a community college and learn how to operate a hospital machine or maybe become a paramedic. I wasn’t smart enough to be a doctor, but I was smart enough to get injured people to the doctor.
I was lost in my own thoughts, so I didn’t see Ian until he was right in front of me. I jumped to my feet. “Hey, c-congratulations. The G-Giants. That’s great. Even if it’s not the M-Mariners.”
He grinned. “Thanks. Actually, I’m glad it’s the Giants. The M’s have minor-league teams in Everett and Tacoma. My dad would be at every game. The Giants are going to send me to a team in Virginia.”
I swallowed. “S-Sorry about walking out on the championship game.”
“That’s okay. We got to play at T-Mobile, which was cool.” He paused. “It was your brother, right? The other guy they wrote about in the newspaper?”
I nodded.
“What else could you do? You got to go for your brother.” He paused. “Listen, I heard about Coach Vereen’s email to all the teams. He told my dad, and my dad told me. It sucks. I know how bad he wanted to win, but he didn’t have to do that to you.”
I shrugged. “Yeah. Well, he d-did.”
Ian frowned. “I don’t know if it will help you, but when the Giants called me, before I hung up I told their head scout about you.”
“T-Told him what?”
“That you’re the best pitcher I faced except for maybe Fergus Hart. And that’s just maybe. I also told him that you aren’t a gang guy or a druggie and that they’d be stupid not to draft you.”
“You t-t-told him that?”
“Sure. Why not? It’s all true.”
“What d-did he say?”
“He didn’t say anything.”
The bell rang. Ian gave me a thumbs-up, turned, and headed to his class. I should have thanked him, but I didn’t, maybe because I was having so much trouble getting my head around what he’d told me.
I had no chance.
And now I had one again.
On the way to art class, I ducked into the library, logged on to a computer and searched: Major-League Baseball Draft Day Three. They were in the middle of round 27. I watched for a couple of minutes as empty slots filled with names. It was going fast.
Art that day was outside—the assignment was to sketch a dogwood tree that was in bloom. As I filled my white page with dark lines, I kept picturing the draft board filling with more names and having fewer empty slots. Kids from Arkansas and Maine, Arizona and Montana. Round 28. Round 29. Round 30. How much could teams really know about any of those guys?
Coach Vereen didn’t have a sub that day, but gym class was still free choice. I moved to my out-of-the-way spot by the tree, caught some more Frisbees, and flicked them back to anyone who looked interested. Throughout the period, Coach Vereen moved from group to group, smiling and wishing kids good luck. When he saw me, he walked past as if I weren’t even there.
When PE ended, I did a last check at the library before heading to the bus. They were in the middle of round 34. Six more rounds and it would all be over.