Chapter 1

Maybe I didn't do such a good job of fitting in on my first day at Lincoln High School. There I was, walking into the cafeteria for the first time on March 2nd – I mean who starts a new school in March? – with shoulder length, dark hair falling on a Death in December t-shirt, my favorite rock band. And I had pierced ears.

It wasn't as if I was trying to be different. When I lived back in my home town, I didn't keep up with sports because I was kind of on the small side, and I had trouble mixing in with the popular kids. But I had my friend, Ace, and a few other people from my garage band and we hung out. I was OK with that but now it's all gone.

“Hey, new kid! That’s some outfit. It’s kind of late for Halloween!” One of the guys sitting at the baseball lunch table yelled in my direction as I passed by with my tray. “Are you going trick or treating after school?”

I cringed. I always seemed to have the biggest problem with the sports guys. One look at me and they knew I probably couldn’t play, so they gave me a hard time.

“Don’t let them bother you. They’re jerks who are bored because they don’t know what to do unless they’re throwing a ball around.”

I turned to face a small, blond girl holding a violin case. She smiled and held it up.

“They love to pick on the music kids. They’ll leave you alone after a day or so.”

“Yeah. Thanks. It doesn’t bother me that much,” I lied. “I’m Jake. Just got here today.”

“I noticed you were new. I’m Charlene – been here
for-e-ver.”

We laughed and I saw that she had an easy smile and seemed to be comfortable with herself.

“So how come you’re starting here so late? I mean, the school year is almost over.”

No kidding, I thought. What kind of bad luck was this, having to move at this time of year? Was it my fault that my parents split up and my dad got a new job on the other side of the city?

“Uh, just bad timing, I guess,” I answered, trying not to let on about how stressed out I really was.

“Well,” said Charlene, “might as well make the best of it. How about joining me at our lunch table? Some of us from the band hang out in the back corner over there.”

She pointed to a table of kids who seemed to be pleasant enough. I don’t know why, but it didn’t seem like a good idea. Maybe I felt the baseball guys watching me.

“Thanks, but, uh, well, I was going to find my locker and…uh…some other stuff.”

I hoped I was being convincing because she was the first person who really bothered to talk to me and I didn’t want to brush her off.

“Sure,” she said. “Come by, any time!”

Chapter 2

After three boring hours, the school day finally ended. I couldn’t wait to find my way out of the school and escape to our empty house. But I got lost, and left through a door that I thought was the back exit. As soon as I got outside, I knew I had made a huge mistake.

I was on the baseball field. I quickly turned to get back into the building, but as I did, the door slammed shut and automatically locked. So I had no choice but to cut around the far part of the outfield to get out.

As soon as I started walking, I saw them. My cafeteria tormentors were hitting fly balls into the cloudy, gray sky, and they were landing all around me.

“Hey Halloween!” one of them called. “Make yourself useful and pick up some balls!”

I stared at the team gathered around home plate. One or two players were in the outfield, ready to shag flies I suppose, but they didn’t move. They all waited for me.

“That’s it, Halloween! Pick it up and throw it to Russ. He’s right next to you! You can throw it that far, can’t you?”

Russ was about twenty feet to my right. He held up two hands like he was going to catch a ball from a five-year-old. I stopped in my tracks and my cheeks burned.

The team laughed and at that moment, one of the coaches took out his whistle and signaled the boys to go inside. I hadn’t even noticed it was starting to rain, and I stood in the outfield getting wet as the team jogged into the gym.

“Saved by the whistle, Halloween!” one of them mocked, and they all ran off.

And just like that I was alone once more. I was the new kid, the different kid. It had happened at my last school, and it was starting all over again. I didn’t think I could live through it another time.

Fury ran through my body, numbing me to the chill that the falling rain brought with it. I noticed that a couple of baseballs were still laying in the grass, left by the players as they ran inside. Before I knew what I was doing, I picked up a ball, and in my rage, threw it from my spot in the outfield as hard as I could towards home plate.

It soared like a missile and traveled in an almost straight line towards the backstop where it hit the chain link with such force that it stuck in the fence. I stared at it, puzzled both by my ability to make that happen and the good feeling I got from doing it.

I guess you never know how strong you can be until you’re mad, I thought. So I jogged over to another abandoned baseball, picked it up, and threw it as hard as I could. Amazingly, the same thing happened. In fact, the second ball stuck in the fence almost directly next to the first. They stared back at me, like two eyes daring me to do it again.

“Hey!” I heard a voice from near the dugout. A man was holding an orange bucket, and I figured he was there to pick up the stray balls.

“Hey,” I answered back, and kept moving towards the exit.

“Did you actually throw those balls?” he asked.

“Yeah…uh…I’m sorry…” I stammered.

“No – I mean, that was amazing! I haven’t seen that kind of throw on a high school field in all the years I’ve been coaching.”

That stopped me a bit, since no one I could remember had ever made a comment about my athletic ability.

“Good arm,” he said. “Great arm, actually. What’s your name?”

“Uh, Jake, but I really have to get home. I’m late.”

“I’m Tony Martinez – head baseball coach. You new here?”

“Just started today,” I said.

As I turned to go, I saw my dad waiting at the gate. I guessed he had gotten out of work early and had come to pick me up. The coach turned to look at him.

“Is this your son?”

My dad looked surprised, but nodded.

“He’s got quite a talent. I’m Coach Martinez. Would love to see him on the baseball team.”

My dad was not used to hearing a coach complimenting me, and I could see a gleam in his eye. But he just murmured something polite, shook the coach’s hand and we walked away.

“Wow,” said my dad once we got in the car. “Didn’t know you had any interest in baseball.”

“You know I don’t, Dad. A bunch of weird things just happened today.”

I told him the story about the cafeteria and accidentally meeting the team on the field. And throwing so hard and straight that two balls landed in the fence.

“I don’t know if you remember this, Jake, but when you were in Little League, you had quite the arm. I didn’t want to let on how disappointed I was when you gave up playing.”

“You know I never felt comfortable with those kids, Dad. They made fun of how I looked, and my band, and well, just everything.”

“I remember that.”

We drove in silence the rest of the way home.

Chapter 3

I decided to give Charlene’s lunch table a try the next day, and I had a nice enough time with the band kids. I figured so what if the baseball guys made fun of me. I could be comfortable with other musicians, that’s all. But as I was walking out of the cafeteria, one of the guys from the baseball team stopped me as I was leaving.

“Hey,” he said. “Are you Jake?”

“Yeah,” I replied hesitantly, not knowing if he was going to start insulting me again.

“I’m Miles.” He surprised me by offering a handshake.

“What’s up, Miles?” I said, not knowing how else to respond.

“I was out on the ballfield yesterday and saw you throw those balls across the field. That was amazing!”

I grunted a sort-of thank you.

“Yeah. Well, I’m wondering…uh…I’m a pitcher on the team now, but I’m not really getting much playing time. I can’t get much speed on my pitches and they don’t seem to land where I want them to. Your balls were fast AND exact. How did you do that?

I was stuck for an answer because I didn’t have a clue. I guess it just came naturally to me.

“I’m not really sure, Miles,” I answered. “I don’t do it much so I haven’t really given it any thought.”

“Well you should because you’re good! Any chance you might be willing to show me a few of your moves?”

“Oh, sorry no,” I said. “I wouldn’t even know how to begin to help.”

“Well,” Miles said. “How about we meet at the park on Saturday and we could just toss a ball around? Maybe if I watch you, I could pick up a few pointers.”

I thought about it for a minute. I suppose it wouldn’t be bad spending some time outside and hanging around with someone new. Miles seemed like a good enough guy – not like his teammates.

“OK. Sure.” We picked a time and I went on my way, wondering how I’d become a baseball tutor.

My dad was home when I got there, and I told him about Miles. He seemed really excited that I had made a new friend, and also that I’d be playing some baseball.

“Not playing baseball, Dad!” I said. “I’m not a baseball player. I’m a musician!”

“Did it ever occur to you that you could be both, Jake?” he said. “The more you do, the bigger your world gets, and the more friends you have.”

“I’m OK on my own,” I said. “Sometimes, people act like they want to be your friend, but they only want something from you. Maybe Miles only cares about being a better pitcher.”

“You could be right,” said Dad. “But you’ll never know until you give his friendship a try.”

For the next few weeks, Miles and I met at the park and played ball. Turned out he was pretty talented and just needed some practice for his pitching to improve. And the big surprise was that he was a musician too! He played bass guitar. So, one Saturday, I thought I’d take a chance and invite him to come over to jam in my garage.

“That would be cool,” he said.

Chapter 4

As the end of the school year got closer, it was time for the baseball playoffs, and Miles was pretty nervous. It had been a decent season, and the team had a shot at winning the championship.

“Suppose we’re playing an important game and I have to pitch?” he moaned. “I mean I want to pitch and I don’t want to. You know what I mean?”

“Sure. It’s scary to be out there in front of a big crowd. But you’ve gotten good, Miles.”

Miles didn’t seem convinced so we spent extra time getting ready for the day when he might have to come in and pitch in a tight situation. I wasn’t just trying to make Miles feel better about himself. He really had improved, and I started to wonder if I had actually helped him.

Soon enough, the playoffs started, and the baseball team won enough games to get into the championship game. I hadn’t gone to any of them because I still remembered how badly the team had treated me on my first day at school. But Miles thought he might be pitching because one of the regulars was hurt. He asked me if I’d come.

“Oh, I don’t know, Miles. Those guys are pretty mean.”

“You can stay on the side of the bleachers where no one can see you,” said Miles. “If you’re there, I’ll feel better.”

I was afraid, but I wanted to be a friend. I took a deep breath.

“All right. I’ll be there.”

On the day of the game, I made sure Miles saw me when I arrived, but then I got out of sight. I cheered him along to myself as he went six innings with only three hits. Our team was leading 2-0. Then came the seventh and final inning.

He let the first two men on and the manager visited him on the mound. I thought for sure he was going to take Miles out, but he didn’t and I breathed a sigh of relief.

“He’s got nothing left,” said one of the fans. “He should bring in Russ.”

Russ was the relief pitcher who had called me “Halloween” that first day in the cafeteria. I could see he was dying to come in and be a hero.

So I stepped out in front of the bleachers. I let Miles see me for long enough to give him a thumbs up. I wanted him to know I believed he could get out of the inning and win the game.

Miles went into the stretch and threw his first pitch to the next batter. He hit a soft line drive at the shortstop and there was one out.

“Good,” I said under my breath. “Just two more outs.”

The next batter was huge and had a reputation as a good hitter. Miles threw a fastball and it went in for a strike. The crowd cheered.

The second pitch was right down the middle of the plate, a mistake for Miles. We all watched as it went deep into left field and went foul. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Strike two.

I watched as Miles pulled himself together to decide on his next pitch. I thought he might try a curveball since we’d been working on that and it was pretty good.

And sure enough he did.

The batter was caught off guard and hit a ground ball to second. A quick flip to the shortstop and then back to first. Double play!

And just like that, we won. The fans went wild. The rest of the team came out to carry Miles off the field to celebrate their championship, although I noticed Russ stayed back a bit.

As I started to walk off the field, Miles signaled to me to wait a minute. But before he could come over, a reporter from the local newspaper stopped him for an interview.

“How did you do it, Miles? This was your best performance all year,” said the reporter breathlessly.

“Well, I have to give a lot of the credit to my friend, Jake. He and I have been working on my pitches and it really helped.”

The reporter started looking around and said, “Jake? What’s his last name? Is he here?”

As soon as I heard that, I got out of there as fast as I could. No way was I going to set myself up for more teasing by the team. I definitely did not want to be in the spotlight.

I thought about the whole experience. I was glad for Miles. He’d worked hard and it paid off. And I felt good about myself. I’d learned something about being a friend and that paid off too.

When I got home, I needed to chill, so I went out to the garage to play my guitar. But before I could finish a few chords, I heard banging on the garage door. It was Miles.

“Jake!” he shouted. “Open up!”

I walked slowly to let Miles in, ready to congratulate him on a great game. But as the door rolled up, I saw that Miles wasn’t alone. About five guys from the baseball team were with him.

“The guys wanted to come and say thanks,” said Miles. “I told them how much you helped me.”

Before I knew it, they all came into the garage, shaking hands and giving high fives. I was pretty speechless.

Miles looked at the guitar I was still holding.

“You know what? I’ll bet no one knows what a good musician you are too,” he said, adding to my embarrassment.

He picked up the extra guitar I stored in the garage and started to play a few notes. And before we knew it, we were jamming with the team clapping along. Charlene and the band kids even showed up to join the celebration.