At school everyone talks about baseball.
Since what happened with Jordan,
I’ve spent most recesses drawing,
but I feel a little different today.
So I sit at the usual table with Jordan and some of the other kids.
Martin is telling everyone about the A’s.
Rickey Henderson will kill the Giants if we play them.
They are way too slow.
The A’s will totally win.
They argue, get loud, too loud.
I remember quiet days
sorting our baseball cards into team lineups.
Then Martin turns to me.
What do you think, Etan?
I feel my stomach drop.
Everything that’s in my head washes away like water
down a toilet bowl.
I try …
I want to run away
but that would be worse.
I find my bareket in my pocket, take it out,
wrap my fingers around it,
squeeze.
Martin looks at me. What’s that? he says.
Then, with fastball speed
he reaches into my hand and pulls the stone right out of it.
Is this your pet rock? He laughs and shows it to the others.
Jordan looks over.
C’mon, Martin, cut it out.
I reach for it. He pulls it away.
Then from somewhere deep,
somewhere even ancient,
I grab his wrist as tight as I can and growl,
GIVE IT BACK!
At first he tries to pull away,
but when he hears me,
his fist loosens,
he drops
the stone into my hand.
C’mon, let’s go play ball, he says.
They get up to spend the rest of lunch playing baseball.
Jordan looks over. You want to play, Etan?
Martin cuts in, Of course he doesn’t.
He can’t hit anyway.