CHAPTER 6

I met Lisa Mancini-Owens last year at, of all places, a Runners practice. Her granddad, Pop Mancini, supplies our team with all its gear. He owns three sports emporiums, called Pop’s Stars Sporting Goods, in Las Vegas and its suburbs. Pop shows up at our workouts from time to time, and this one day he brought Lisa with him.

It turned out that she’s just a year younger than me and, in fact, we go to the same high school. I learned this at the practice when she waved me over and introduced herself. We talked a little and I told her about Four, that we’d be playing a school dance in a week, and she said, “I know. I booked you.”

Lisa was on the student council, which is why I didn’t know her. Like any other huge high school, we’ve got jocks and student-council types and brains and a dozen other groups that seem to hang out pretty much with their own kind.

Anyway, that’s how I met Lisa, and in a few months she was maybe my best friend. Not girlfriend. She’s hot and all, but we just related more like brother and sister. We could talk about our stuff, any of it, and not feel like the other one was judging. She found out all about Dad and knew how I was feeling about baseball. She’d crack me up sometimes with her opinions about guys, and she shared personal stuff about her family and herself that she wouldn’t tell anyone else. After a while, I learned that she wanted to play guitar, so I had started showing her how.

Anyway, I called her on the night of Father’s Day when I couldn’t sleep, and I told her everything that had happened. She just listened to the whole story without saying a word.

“Wow,” she said when she was sure I was through. “Your dad is out of control.” She thought for a few seconds. “You know, at least he said he was sorry. He loves you, I’m sure of that.”

“Yeah, but he left here really mad.”

“Do you think he’ll make trouble?”

“It depends on whether he calms down. Sometimes after he loses his temper he gets embarrassed. Like the thing at the game this afternoon.”

“I guess you can’t do anything about that. How do you feel about being benched?”

“Honestly, I was relieved. Before that I was thinking of just quitting.”

“My granddad likes your coach. And now I like him too. He’s willing to take the heat for you.”

“I just hate to cause him trouble.”

“He’s being a good coach. Let him do that. Sometimes the best thing you can do for someone is to accept their help, you know?”

She was right. Anyway, right now the ball wasn’t in my court. Lisa and I talked a little more before I thanked her and turned in for the night.

 

. . .

The next morning Dad wasn’t around. I had breakfast and drove my Lexus to our 9:00 a.m. practice. Everything seemed the same as usual, except neither Coach Harris nor Wash was there.

You don’t always need a coach at practice. We all know the routine, and each group on the team has its own leader: Nellie for the infield, Nick for the pitchers and the other catcher, and Danny for the outfielders. Each group goes through its drills and then takes a turn in the batting cage. Still, it was unusual for Coach not to be there without telling us ahead of time.

We were just finishing up when he showed. He said hi to everyone as they passed but then waved me over. “Hey, Trip, got a second?”

“Sure, Coach. What’s up?”

“Well, it seems that your father has been in touch with the team backers: Alexander Jamison, Pop Mancini, Gus Toomey’s dad, and a few others.”

“Oh yeah?” I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.

“He’s threatened to withhold any funding to the team unless he gets what he wants.”

“And he wants . . .”

Coach nodded. “You on the field. Or a new coach. Or else he says he’ll take you and his money to another team.”

I swore. “I’m not his property! I’m sorry, Coach. This is my fault. I’ll . . .”

“Well, there’s a kind of principle involved here. Can one person call the shots for everyone else, even if he does pay forty percent of the team’s expenses?”

“Maybe I can talk to him?”

“It’s okay for now, Trip. The other backers want to talk about it, and Julio has given them until the weekend. Meanwhile, we’ll proceed as planned. We have a game here on Wednesday, okay? I won’t start you, but I’ll use you if we need you.”

“Okay, Coach.” I was mad and sick. If Dad had been there I might have attacked him. I drove home prepared for a fight.