Most of the guys were showering by the time Alex got back to the locker room. Jonas was already out of the shower and putting his clothes on.
“You okay?” Jonas asked.
“Christine acted like I blew the game,” Alex said. He looked around. “Where’s Matt? In the shower? I want to talk to him.”
Jonas shook his head. “You aren’t going to talk to him now. He talked to all the media guys, came in here, changed, and bolted. Didn’t even shower.”
“What’d he say to the media?”
Another head shake. “No idea. I didn’t stop to listen. I did hear someone say that the scouts had him at ninety-four on the radar gun.”
An average major league fastball came in at somewhere between 90 and 92 miles per hour. The hardest throwers could hit 96 or 97 consistently, but there weren’t too many of those. The Mets’ Matt Harvey and the Nationals’ Stephen Strasburg had been in the 98-to-99 range before each had hurt his elbow and been forced to have Tommy John surgery. Great finesse pitchers—Alex’s favorite was Tom Glavine because he was from Billerica, the same Boston suburb where Alex had grown up—could get away with throwing 85 to 87.
For a high school junior to throw a fastball at 94 miles per hour was extraordinary.
“Did they say he was hitting ninety-four consistently or just on one pitch?” Alex asked.
“No idea. I just heard somebody say ‘The kid hit ninety-four’ as I was walking by.”
Alex sat down heavily on the bench in front of his locker. He saw Oliver Flick approaching, a towel around his waist.
“Myers, I’m really sorry,” he said. “I thought Jeff was deep in the hole and couldn’t get to the base for the force.” He shook his head. “I really blew it. You had the game won, and I screwed it up.”
“No worries, Oliver,” Alex said. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose. We all make mistakes. I probably should have caught Krenchek’s shot to start the inning. If I’d had that one, none of the rest of it happens.”
Flick, who was a senior, put out his hand, which Alex shook.
“You’re a class act, Goldie,” he said. “I wish I could say the same for your pal the user.”
That, Alex thought, is a cheap shot. He gave Flick a look and said, “What are you talking about?”
Flick shrugged. “Ask the other guys. Soon as he came in here, he pushed me up against the wall and started asking me if I’d ever played baseball before and what the eff was I thinking. I tried to explain, but he just stormed off.”
Cardillo, who had also just come out of the shower, patted Flick on the shoulder. “I’ll talk to him, Oliver,” he said. “I’m the captain. I’ll smooth this out.”
“Let me do it,” Alex said. “We’re friends—I’ll do it.”
Cardillo raised an eyebrow. “You sure?” he said. “Probably won’t be an easy conversation.”
“I’m sure,” Alex said. “I’m very sure.”
He had a lot he wanted to talk to Matt Gordon about.
Alex thought about calling Matt that night but figured the next day—in person—would be better. Plus, it would give Matt some time to cool down. It wasn’t like him to behave the way he had with Flick, and Alex wondered if something else was going on. He knew that things had been tense at home after football season, but he’d seemed okay during basketball season. Of course, Matt didn’t play basketball.
Because Matt was a junior and Alex was a freshman, they didn’t have any classes together. So as soon as the bell rang to end fourth period, Alex bolted from his history class and headed straight for the cafeteria. He didn’t even pause to put his books in his locker.
He was standing just inside the doorway when Matt came in, walking with Christine. That didn’t thrill Alex, but he didn’t have time to worry about it.
“Matt, got a minute?” Alex asked, hoping he sounded casual.
Matt was surprised to see him standing there. Normally, they all gathered at their table in the corner.
“Now?” he asked. “I’m kinda hungry, Goldie.”
Alex was glad to hear Matt use his football nickname. It seemed like a good sign.
“It’ll take five minutes, max,” Alex said. “Need to ask you something.”
Matt shrugged. Christine’s eyes were narrowed in her “What’s going on?” look, but she said nothing. “Meet you at the table,” Matt said to Christine, and he walked back into the hallway.
The two of them were like salmon swimming upstream, with the rest of the school going into the massive cafeteria. Matt led the way to an empty classroom.
“This okay?” he said.
Alex nodded, and they walked inside. Matt leaned against the teacher’s desk, and Alex stood awkwardly a few feet away.
Matt folded his arms and looked at Alex expectantly. “You have the floor,” he finally said.
Alex took a deep breath. He hadn’t really thought about where he wanted to start. He remembered something his dad had told him about the tactics he used when cross-examining a witness in court: “Start with the easy stuff. Make the witness comfortable.”
So he started with the easy stuff. “Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t get to that ball yesterday,” he said. “I just didn’t break on it fast enough….”
Matt held up a hand. “Don’t give it a second thought, Goldie,” he said. “If there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you always give a hundred percent. I was just a little hot about losing the no-hitter. I know you tried. It’s not your fault that you aren’t much of an outfielder.”
Whoa! Alex had been thinking the old Matt was back…until the last line.
“Not much of an outfielder?”
Matt shrugged. “Remember when I told you last fall you were a great quarterback?” he said. “I was telling you the truth. I’m telling you the truth now. Your legs are fast, but you don’t read the plays quick enough. That’s what happened on that play. You broke wrong for a split second. I’m going to suggest to Coach that he move you to first. We need your bat in the lineup.”
“First base? What about Andy Hague?”
Matt shrugged. “He can DH sometimes. You think he’s Mark Teixeira or something?”
“No, but…”
“Anything else?” Matt said, looking at his watch.
Alex had gotten sidetracked. And a little bit upset.
“Yeah,” he said. “Flick—”
“Already taken care of,” Matt said. “Saw him this morning. He explained what happened. I accepted his apology.”
Now Alex was very upset.
“You accepted his apology?” he said. “Did you apologize to him for slamming him into a locker and humiliating him in front of the team?”
Matt abandoned the casual, arms-folded, leaning-against-the-desk stance. He walked right over to where Alex was standing. He wasn’t that much taller than Alex—about six three to Alex’s six one—but he outweighed him by a good thirty pounds.
“What are you trying to say, Myers?” he said, his voice low but menacing. Alex couldn’t remember Matt ever calling him Myers, except on the field.
“You’re not the only one who lost that game,” Alex said. “And I’m confused. You’re the best teammate and leader I’ve ever been around in my life. At least, you were during football season. But now you’re different. The Matt Gordon I knew last fall would have gone after anyone who treated a teammate like you treated Oliver. Now you’re upset with me for asking what’s going on?”
Matt took a step back. Then he paced around the room.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “You’re right. Look, you can’t understand what it’s been like to be me the last few months. I know that’s not an excuse, but…” He held up a hand as Alex started to say something. “I know what you’re going to say, and you’re right: I did it to myself.”
He had read Alex’s mind.
“The thing you don’t understand is that makes it worse. If I’d gotten hurt, I could just say I was unlucky. If I’d gotten benched unfairly or…” He paused and smiled ruefully. “If someone had framed me for taking PEDs when I hadn’t—well, then I could look in the mirror and say I got a raw deal.
“But I can’t do that. I look in the mirror and say, ‘How could you be so stupid?’ There’s no way for you to know how that feels, Alex, because you’ve never done anything that stupid—and you probably never will.
“Like I said, I’m not telling you that’s an excuse. I’ll find Oliver before practice and apologize. And I apologize to you for saying you aren’t much of a left fielder. You’re perfectly fine out there. You’re just a little bit inexperienced—which is understandable. You’re only a freshman.”
He wound down and sighed. “If I go off the rails again, you’ll call me on it, okay?” He put his hand out.
Alex felt as if a massive amount of tension had just been drained from his body. This was the Matt Gordon he knew.
“Deal,” he said, accepting the handshake.
Matt clapped Alex on the back.
“Can we please go eat now?” he said. “I’m starving.”
Matt was as good as his word. Alex saw him pull Oliver Flick aside as they were walking from the locker room to the field that afternoon. He had an arm around him, the way he had often put his arm around Alex during football season.
“So,” Jonas said. “I guess your talk with Matt went well?”
“I think so,” Alex said, smiling.
“Good work,” Jonas said. “Wouldn’t it be nice to get through a season without becoming some kind of a media circus?”
Alex laughed. Jonas was right. Chester Heights had received national attention during football season because of the whole PED scandal. Then, during basketball season, Max Bellotti had announced publicly that he was gay. Because Max was such a good player and because there had been a near riot at a game brought on by some crazed homophobes, the national media had been all over them again.
The case could be made that a successful baseball season would be one played without the presence of any TV trucks from CNN, MSNBC, or Fox at any of their games.
For the moment, Alex was just glad that a potential crisis inside the locker room had been averted.
He and Jonas joined their teammates soft-tossing to one another as they awaited Coach Birdy’s arrival. Given that they were now 0–2, the atmosphere was surprisingly relaxed and loose. More surprising than that, Coach Birdy was a couple of minutes late.
When he did show up, he was jogging, a little out of breath and clearly not happy.
“Sorry, fellas,” he said. “Cardillo, get everyone lined up to stretch. Myers, let me see you for a minute.”
“What now?” Jonas said.
What now, indeed, Alex thought.