A High Five for Glenn Burke Read online

  “My coach said something to the team,” I say.

  “About you?”

  “About saying ‘that’s gay’ and using the word that way.”

  “Did he mention you when—?”

  “No. Webb would never do that.”

  She sits down cross-legged on the couch. “It’s such a relief you told Webb. I’m so—”

  “A relief?”

  “Yeah, it is.” She picks up the mic. “I didn’t like being the only one who knew. It felt so weird.”

  “Everything about this is weird.” I flip my hair.

  “What’s weird?” Grace says, walking in from the kitchen.

  “Hey, what are you doing here?” Zoey says. “I didn’t think you’d be home till later.”

  “Pretend I’m not.” She jingles the keys dangling from her rainbow-colored peace sign key chain. “I need to grab a sweatshirt for one of the cast members. Hey, Silas.”

  “Hi, Grace,” I say.

  How much of our conversation did Grace hear? Did she just walk in? Or was she waiting and listening in the kitchen? And if she was waiting and listening, what did she hear? Does she know?

  “Zoey says everyone’s coming to the show on Friday,” Grace says. “Dopeness.”

  “Not everyone.” I stop tracing the floor pattern and pick up the remote. “Just my mom and Haley.”

  “And you and Zoey. That’s a solid crew.” Grace leans against the couch’s armrest. “Sorry things didn’t go as planned with the Sandlot costumes.”

  I shrug. “It doesn’t matter.”

  I look up at the TV and start scrolling the titles. I knew Zoey told Grace about what happened at practice because Zoey tells Grace practically everything. I wish she hadn’t, and I want to be angry at Zoey for it, but I’m in no position to be angry with Zoey about anything.

  “I wouldn’t sweat it too much, Silas,” Grace adds.

  “I’m not thinking about it anymore,” I say.

  “What aren’t you thinking about anymore?” Dolores says, walking into the living room dressed in one of the dark pantsuits she wears to weddings.

  “Hey, Mom,” Zoey says. “What are you doing here?”

  She points to Grace, who’s now heading up the stairs. “We had coffee at the Jump & Grind.” She gives Zoey a hug and kiss. “When I saw I still had a few minutes before my shoot, I decided to run by the house with Grace for a quick hello.” She turns to me and smiles. “Silas!”

  “Hi.” I wave the remote and manage a smile.

  She leans down and hugs and kisses me, too. “How are you doing?” she asks.

  “Good,” I say. “Good.”

  “I feel like I haven’t seen you at all this week,” Dolores says to Zoey. “You’ve been so busy with robotics, and I’ve been getting ready for wedding season.”

  I’m hearing what Dolores is saying, but in my head, her words are being drowned out by all my other thoughts. How long was she in the kitchen before she walked in? Did she hear any of our conversation? Grace had an idea about me—does Dolores have an idea about me? Did Grace say anything to her about me? And what’s she going to think of me when she finds out what I said about Zoey? I grip my head. She will find out. Zoey and Dolores talk about practically everything just like Zoey and Grace talk about practically everything.

  “Let’s go, Mom,” Grace says, coming down the stairs with the sweatshirt draped over her shoulder. “I need to get back to the Playhouse.” She twirls the peace key chain around her finger and catches the keys. “See you Friday, Silas.”

  “See you Friday,” I say.

  “You two have fun this afternoon,” Dolores says.

  “I’ll be able to drive you two again starting Monday,” Grace says. “Believe it or not, I actually miss it.”

  “Of course you miss it,” Zoey says, double-dimple grinning. She grabs her mic from the cushion and slides off the couch. “You miss being in the presence of our greatness.”

  Grace picks up the orange-and-blue mini soccer ball from the floor and bowls it at Zoey.

  “Not in the house!” Dolores says as Zoey kicks it back.

  She and Grace head out.

  Zoey points her mic at me the second the door closes. “For the record,” she says, “I only told Grace the Sandlot show didn’t go the way you wanted. That’s it.”

  “It’s fine.” I trace the floor patterns with my finger again.

  “I wasn’t going to lie to her,” Zoey says. “She asked me about it, and I told her. But I didn’t go into details.”

  “It’s fine.”

  I look at Zoey, and for the first time all afternoon, we make eye contact, and I know she knows it’s the first time we’ve made eye contact all afternoon.

  “One of our assistant coaches quit,” I say before she has the chance to say something about it.

  “Why?”

  “And he pulled his son off the team.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  I breathe. “Because of … because of what Webb said to us.”

  “Really?” She sits back down next to me. “That’s horrible. No, that’s disgusting.”

  “I mean, I’m sure there was more to it, but—”

  “That’s disgusting,” she says again. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry?”

  “Because I just am. I’m so sorry, Silas.”

  Zoey’s apologizing to me feels like a punch to my gut.

  23

  ABOUT GLENN

  I’m sitting on the curb in front of our building next to the tree with the PLEASE DON’T PEE ON ME sign. I’m not on the front steps, because if I were on the front steps, someone would see me out of Haley and Semaj’s window. Then I’d have to go in, and I’m not ready to go in. Coach Rockford dropped me off after practice, and since it ended a little early, I still have time before I get the text from Mom or Dad asking where I am.

  It feels like I’m holding my breath again, like how it felt before I told Zoey. I didn’t realize it felt like I was holding my breath then, but I do now.

  At practice today, I wasn’t raking the ball to every field and chasing down every ball hit my way. And in the dugout and on the bleachers, I wasn’t joking around, imitating my teammates, and keeping everyone loose.

  I was thinking about Glenn Burke. I’m still thinking about Glenn Burke. No wonder he was never able to play as well as people thought he would. No wonder he kept getting hurt. All this stuff weighs you down and holds you down and keeps you down. And it weighs you down and holds you down and keeps you down more and more and more with every passing moment.

  I press my palms against my temples. I want to know if this is what it felt like for Glenn Burke. I want to know if there were times when he couldn’t look his teammates in the eye, because there are times I can’t look my teammates in the eye. I want to know if he felt like he was keeping score all the time, because I feel like I’m always keeping score. I want to know if he felt like he was lying all the time, because I feel like I’m lying all the time. What did he say when they asked him if he had a girlfriend? What did he say when they asked him about his girlfriend? He had to say something. He had to make up a story. He had to make up a lie.

  I look down at the Wendy’s wrapper in the street next to my flip-flop. I think back to last year when the team went to Wendy’s. It was on the way back from the tournament in Lakeland, and Webb was our head coach that day because Coach Trent was away on a business trip.

  We got there right before they were about to close. There were only two people working, but they stayed open late just for us. Then as we were heading for the door, Webb called us back in. Even though it was after ten and we were dead tired from playing five games and wanted to get home, he made us help clean the restaurant. He said that the two workers were kind enough to stick around and make sure we all ate and that we needed to return the kindness. He told us we weren’t leaving until that Wendy’s was cleaner than it ever was.

  We worked in pairs. I was with Malik.
We were in charge of sweeping the floors and bringing the trash out to the dumpster by the drive-thru. But when we got out to the parking lot, we saw that garbage was everywhere. It was so nasty crawling around underneath that dumpster picking up tomatoes, ketchup packets, dipping-sauce containers, and half-eaten baked potatoes and chicken tenders, but it was so much fun.

  That was the only time Malik and I ever really hung out one-on-one outside of baseball.

  I pick up the Wendy’s wrapper and stuff it into my pocket.

  24

  BYE BYE BIRDIE

  “That was some good ice cream,” Mom says. “Whosever idea it was to go to A La Mode before the show, you’re brilliant.”

  “Mom, you know it was your idea,” Haley says.

  “Then I guess I’m brilliant.”

  We’re walking across the plaza to the entrance of the Playhouse. Haley, Mom, and Zoey are in front of me. Their arms are locked, and they’re skipping like Dorothy, the Scarecrow, and the Tin Man heading down the yellow brick road on their way to see the wizard.

  It’s opening night, and it feels like an opening because even though it’s still not completely dark, those Hollywood-premiere searchlights are sweeping across the sky. There’s also music playing, and on the kiosks in the plaza, there are gigantic posters of the different cast members. And all along the sides of the plaza are kids from the high school—I recognize some of them—dressed like it’s the 1950s because that’s when Bye Bye Birdie takes place.

  “I’m so glad I tasted your sea salt caramel before ordering,” Mom says, glancing back at me. “That was an excellent call, Silas.”

  “That’s because I’m brilliant, too,” I say.

  “Whatever.” Haley turns and rolls her eyes at me. “Right, Zoey?”

  Haley hasn’t left Zoey’s side the whole night, which is how it is whenever Haley’s around Zoey. At dinner, she had to sit on Zoey’s side of the booth, and then at A La Mode, she had to sit on the stool next to her at the counter. And when it came time to order ice cream, as soon as Zoey changed her order from chocolate chip cookie dough to birthday cake, so did Haley.

  Mom stops in front of the kiosk with the poster of the person playing the role of Albert and takes a picture. Then she walks around to the other side and takes a picture of the poster of the person playing Kim.

  “You have no idea how much I need a night like tonight,” Mom says.

  “Tonight’s all about self-care,” Zoey says, double-dimple grinning because that’s what Mom has said at least ten times already this evening.

  “I almost feel like a person again,” Mom says.

  “Impossible,” I say.

  “I heard that, Silas.” Mom points her phone at the poster of the person playing Rosie. “The three of you go stand over there,” she says. “That’s who I played when I was in Bye Bye Birdie in middle school.”

  “We know, Mom.” Haley rolls her eyes again. “You’ve told us.”

  As many times as Mom has told us tonight is all about “self-care,” she’s told us she played Rosie in her middle school’s production of Bye Bye Birdie even more.

  Mom takes the photo and then spins around. She sings a couple lines from “Put On a Happy Face” as she dances over and group-hugs the three of us. “You have no idea how much I need this tonight.”

  I do have an idea, and I’m pretty sure Mom knows I have an idea because it’s impossible not to notice who isn’t here tonight, Semaj and Dad. But what I don’t know is what she needed most about tonight—time away from Semaj or time away from Dad.

  We start walking toward the entrance.

  “Are we seeing Grace now?” Haley asks.

  “Not until after the show,” Mom says.

  “You don’t want to see her now,” Zoey says. “Grace is a wreck before the curtain goes up on opening night. Talk about someone who could probably use some self-care right now!”

  Tonight’s been all about self-care for Zoey, too. She hasn’t said a single word about her robotics competition this weekend, and the fact that she hasn’t tells me just how nervous she is. Tonight’s been all about taking her mind off it, so I won’t be the first to bring it up. But I will wish her luck before we go—

  “Hey, Number Three.”

  I turn. Webb’s walking toward us. He’s wearing a sport jacket and tie, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him dressed up like that, not even at the end-of-the-season awards dinner. He’s holding hands with a short-haired woman in a yellow dress, and I know it’s his wife because I’ve seen her in photos on Instagram, but I’ve never met her in person.

  “Hi, Webb,” I say. “What are you doing here?” I realize how stupid the question is the second I say it.

  “Same thing you’re doing here,” he says, motioning to the marquee and then holding out his fist.

  I give him a dap.

  “This is my wife, Nina,” he says, letting go of her hand. “Nina, this is Silas Wade, the Renegades star center fielder. And that’s his mom, Erica, and his sister Haley, right?”

  “That’s me,” Haley says, posing like she does at the end of a gymnastics routine.

  “Nice to meet everyone.” Nina waves.

  “I’m Zoey.” She raises her hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Webb.”

  I flinch, but no one notices because no one’s looking at me. And even if they had noticed, only Zoey or Webb could’ve possibly known why. They’re the ones who know about me—the only ones who know about me—and for the first time, they’re in the same place at the same time. Zoey knows that Webb knows, and Webb knows that Zoey knows, and they both know that Mom doesn’t know.

  I’m keeping score. I’m always keeping score because I’m always in this game. I can never not be in this game.

  But it’s not a game.

  “Nice to meet you,” Mom says, shaking Nina’s hand. “How are you, Webb?”

  “Hot!” he says, tugging on his collar. “Hottest day of the year, and she makes me wear this.”

  “We’re at the theater on opening night.” Nina gives him a look. “You can wear a jacket and tie for a change.”

  Webb holds up his hands and smiles. “What can I tell you?”

  Does Nina know? Webb promised he wouldn’t tell anyone, but does that apply to Nina? Dad tells Mom everything—or at least he used to tell Mom everything—so by telling Webb, did I also tell Nina?

  “It’s going to be a scorcher tomorrow,” Webb says to me.

  “Bring it on,” I say. “Baseball weather.”

  “You know it! Perfect weather for a triple-header.”

  “You Renegades are going to cook out there tomorrow,” Mom says. “I’m glad your first two games are in the morning.” She taps her wrist and then locks arm with Haley again. “We need to find a bathroom before heading to our seats.”

  “And we still need to pick up our tickets.” Webb motions to the will-call window. “It was good seeing everyone.”

  “Yes,” Nina says. “Nice meeting everyone.”

  “See you bright and early.” Webb holds up his hand.

  I give him a high five.

  “A high five!” Mom points and smiles. “Silas just did a big report on the baseball player who invented the high five. What was his name again?”

  “Glenn Burke,” I say.

  “Did you tell Webb about it?”

  “I did.”

  “Bright and early tomorrow morning, Number Three,” Webb says as he and Nina head off. “Enjoy the show.”

  I breathe. I know Webb gave me that high five on purpose, and I know—

  “Come here.” Zoey grabs my arm and pulls me away from Mom and Haley. She’s looking at me in a way I’ve never seen her look at me before. “After tonight, we’re no longer friends.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “You know why.”

  I look to Mom and Haley, but Zoey grabs my chin and turns it back to her.

  “I’m your girlfriend?” she says, squeezing my face. “What do you think we’re doi
ng every Wednesday when I go over there?” She imitates me. “Singing karaoke?”

  I try to answer, but she’s still gripping my face, and even if I could answer, I don’t know what I’d say.

  “I’m playing nice tonight, but I’m not doing it for you.” She shoves my face away. “I’m doing it for Haley, Erica, and Grace.” She points at me. “After tonight, I’m never talking to you again. I hate you, Silas Wade.”

  25

  TRIPLE-HEADER DISASTER

  I should be jumping out of my cleats walking to the plate to lead off our triple-header against the Knights, but instead, I’m in slow motion and have been ever since Zoey let go of my face in front of the Playhouse. I maybe slept an hour last night.

  I peep the Knights pitcher. I was watching him during our team stretch before the game, but I don’t remember anything about his motion, release point, velocity, or the type of pitches he throws.

  I adjust my wristband, fix my helmet, and tug on the bottom of my jersey. I rotate my bat, tap the plate on the corners, take three half swings, bounce the bat off my shoulder, and bring it about my head.

  I’m going through the motions. Nothing about this feels natural.

  “What say you, Number Three?” Webb claps from the third-base box. “Start us off.”

  The first pitch pops the catcher’s mitt.

  “That’s a strike.” The umpire raises his first.

  I back out of the batter’s box and look into our dugout. Malik’s on deck, and Theo’s in the hole. Ben-Ben, Luis, and Alexander are standing on the bench. Everyone else is against the fence.

  Who knows? Who knew the other day? Who said something to someone? If someone said something to someone, everyone knows. Everyone knows.

  I step back into the box, tap the plate a couple of times, bounce the bat off my shoulder, and bring it about my head.