DANIEL’S FATHER PICKED THEM UP from the school parking lot. It was just past six o’clock when they bumped over the train tracks and Jalen hopped out of the battered pickup truck in front of the Silver Liner. Jalen hoisted his dad’s cooler from the backseat.
“So, you gonna call that coach?” Daniel asked.
“Tomorrow,” Jalen said. “I don’t want to seem desperate. Okay?”
“Sure.” Daniel grinned.
“See you in a little bit,” he said, before slamming the car door.
Jalen stood for a moment outside his father’s restaurant, its lights already ablaze in the evening light. It was miraculous to him, but in the world of James Yager, miracles seemed commonplace. Only a few days ago, the diner had its windows smashed in by firemen and the kitchen was a blackened hole. Now it looked brand-new, as if the shiny silver dining car that made up the front section of the restaurant had just been pulled from the railroad tracks. Inside, every employee his dad had ever hired seemed to be buzzing about, setting up for the first seating, which kicked off at six thirty. There were three seatings after that, at seven thirty, eight thirty, and nine thirty. Guests would be served family-style from a fixed menu so the Silver Liner could turn over the tables fast, serving several hundred diners the now-famous food.
Jalen found his dad in the sparkling kitchen, busy as a circus juggler. Fragrant steam rose from multiple pots and pans along the giant stovetop. He set the cooler down on an empty shelf.
“You’re here!” His father wiped his hands on a messy white apron and hugged Jalen, kissing his cheeks. “Look! Look! Is all ready. Everyone giving me things, the drinks, the fish . . . . Everyone knows about Mr. JY, and they wanna be a part of this. It’s gonna be an opening like no one ever before. I got fifty pounds of the calamari. They gonna love it!”
“Dad, can I help?”
“No, no, no. I got plenty of people. You go change. Mr. Yager gonna be here for the seven thirty seating. Hey!” His father arched his back and eyed Jalen, sensing his mood. “How was you game? Did you get a hit?”
Jalen beamed. “I did. A home run off the best pitcher in the tournament.”
“See? You had the sandwiches, and your team they won the championship, and my boy he’s hitting the home run!” Jalen’s dad nodded toward the cooler and threw his hands in the air.
“Well, we lost in the championship,” Jalen said.
“So, runners-up. Second place, she’s a good thing. Like a silver medal for the Silver Liner. Is also good luck. Everything she’s happening good. You go. Get a shower an’ come right back so you can be the one to greet Mr. James Yager.”
Jalen hadn’t seen his dad this happy in quite some time, and he turned that over in his mind as he crunched down the gravel drive that looped around a wetland area before coming to their house by the tracks.
Inside, he showered quickly. He did want to be the one to greet JY. There would likely be some TV cameras there, and he’d love nothing more than to upset Chris and Dirk by appearing on the flat-screens inside their homes. That notion caused him to whistle to himself as he dressed. He pulled the nicest short-sleeved collar shirt he owned over his head, and the whistle faded. His eyes had fallen on the picture of his mother, and he realized that with all the tension and excitement of the day, he hadn’t thought about her once.
He picked up the framed photo and sat down on the edge of his bed, studying her face, wondering. Where was she? Who was she? Would she want to see him? Was she even alive? He returned the picture to its spot and set off for the diner. Along the way he thought about finding her. Cat was talking about him getting paid by JY to predict pitches. He could use that money to pay a detective, but he felt the best chance was for her to hear about him, the wonder kid, the baseball genius. Then she’d call, wanting to meet him.
He was excited just to be seen in the background with JY, the lucky rabbit’s foot, the Calamari Kid. But what if he was the story? What if people knew he wasn’t just some trinket JY liked to keep close, but a baseball genius? What kind of story would that make? He’d be on SportsCenter for sure. And why wouldn’t they want him on Good Morning America or the Today show? And magazines like Sports Illustrated or ESPN? Maybe even People or the New York Times. CNN would surely do a story, and so might the big network news shows.
In his mind, all those possibilities led to one thing: his mom might see him, hear his name, and then just reach out. She would realize that he was a good kid, polite, humble, smart—no, not just smart, a genius, at least when it came to baseball. Possibly she’d regret having left Jalen, missing all those childhood years, but she might want to be part of all the exciting things to come.
He rounded the bend and saw the TV trucks, two of them with lights set up and cameras ready, in front of the steps to the diner. The parking lot was full, but more cars continued to arrive and were now filling up the train station’s spaces. Jalen saw—and heard—JY’s Ferrari coming, and he hurried toward the diner. The Ferrari crawled into the lot, and Jalen moved the orange cone holding a spot so JY could park right in front. Jalen hustled as a handful of reporters and a group of fans converged on the car.
JY got out and looked around, ignoring everyone until he spotted Jalen in the back. JY beamed at him and parted the crowd. “Hey! It’s the Calamari Kid!”
JY clasped Jalen’s hand and pulled him into a manly hug before turning back to the cameras. Holding Jalen’s hand high in the air, he declared, “Here he is, my lucky charm!”
The reporters began to shout over one another. Fans waved photos, caps, and gloves for JY to sign.
“How much money are they offering?”
“Sign my glove!”
“How many games do you plan on batting a thousand?”
“Can you sign my card?”
“Do you have any hard feelings toward Jeffrey Foxx for even suggesting the end of your career was at hand?”
JY held up his hands and said, “No autographs tonight, please. If I do one, I’ll have to do a hundred, and we’re here to celebrate Fabio’s Silver Liner reopening. I’m happy to do some selfies inside after we eat, but I want to get in there because that stuffed calamari is waiting for me, and we go on the road to Cleveland tomorrow. The team and my agent are negotiating as we speak. All good there, no hard feelings. And batting a thousand? I expect to bat a thousand every game from here on out. Ha-ha! At least that’s my goal. Now come on inside!”
JY put an arm around Jalen and swept him up the steps and into the diner. The dining car was jammed with people standing with drinks or sitting at the counter while they waited for a table of their own or ordered appetizers and gawked at the patrons in the larger dining room off to the side of the old railcar. Greta—his father’s main waitress—had dressed for the occasion and was serving as a hostess. She batted her ridiculously long fake eyelashes at JY as she guided them through the six-thirty diners to a section roped off in the back corner. Cat and her mom were already there, sitting at a big round table.
The crowd was festive, and waitresses with steaming plates of calamari weaved in and out through the tables. In the background, Jalen’s dad’s favorite music—Andrea Bocelli’s singing—could be heard through the sound system. Jalen swelled with importance as he sat down next to JY. He wanted to discuss business, but with the noise and the excitement, it didn’t seem to be the right time or place.
Soon Masahiro Tanaka and Brett Gardner arrived, then CC Sabathia with his wife, and finally Daniel arrived and sat down next to Jalen, rounding out their table. A waitress brought drinks and a large platter of stuffed calamari swimming in red sauce, along with pasta and chicken dishes guests could eat family-style. JY led the way, serving Cat and her mom before filling his own plate.
Greta appeared, flushed with excitement. “Mr. Yager, the TV people want to know if they can bring their cameras in to get some shots.”
JY stood up. “Of course. Jalen, go get your dad, will you?”
Jalen slipped through the tables and into the kitchen. It surprised him to see his father not busy, but sitting in his office talking to a man in jeans and a dress shirt. The man had his phone out and was holding it like he was recording Jalen’s dad.
“Jalen!” His father sprang out of his seat and steered Jalen away from the office door. “What do you need?”
“Well, JY wants you out there for the TV people.” Jalen tried to see past his dad into the office. “Dad, who is that?”
His father sighed deeply and shook his head, obviously mystified. “Jalen, you not gonna believe this.”
Jalen’s heart froze. “Well, tell me.”