choice. Ferdy had no class. He had no talent on the field. He had nothing but a smart-ass mouth and one day—
“Sometimes I think I hate him, Ward.”
“Yeah, well, Ferdy’s the kind of jerk you do hate, man. He’s worthless. Forget him.”
“Not Ferdy. I meant my dad.”
“Oh, jeez, Nick.”
Nick pulled a towel from around his neck and stuffed it into his gym bag. “How could he do this? What was so awful about us that he’d want to cut out? I know it’s happened to other people and all, but you don’t know how it feels until it happens to you.”
“Yeah, it’s the shits, man.”
Nick just stood holding his bag for a moment. “And you’re right. Ferdy’s a jerk. I guess I lost it there for a minute.”
“Hey, shit happens.” Ward gave him a punch on his shoulder and Nick felt some of his rage ease. He might not be able to depend on his dad any longer, but Ward would never let him down.
They’d been playing baseball together from the time that his mom had signed him up for T-ball when he was six. Ward’s folks had been right here with him, too. And from the beginning, both had felt real passion for the game and a strong desire to win. After a loss, both would agonize over what had gone wrong, where had they messed up, how they could avoid it next time, and what each needed to do to get just that tiny edge that made the difference between winning and losing.
And both had watched Ward’s brother, Jimbo, do the ultimate—after getting a scholarship at UT, he’d snagged a contract with one of the majors.
With a sigh, Nick opened his locker again to get his shirt. He could have ended his own chances of playing for Coach Monk when he went for Ferdy that way. He owed Jason Pate and Ward for stepping in. Coach would have shit a brick if he’d seen it. But, damn it all, it was embarrassing for Jason to overhear what Ferdy said.
Nick shook out his T-shirt, getting ready to put it on, when Coach Monk appeared from the area of the senior lockers. Nick and Ward were instantly at attention. “You were lookin’ good out there this afternoon, Ward-boy,” he said, clamping a large hand on the boy’s bare shoulder. “You want to spend some quality time perfecting your curve ball, son. It’s breakin’ a little short.”
“Yes, sir. I will.”
“I’ve got some time tomorrow, so plan to stay late. With me spotting, we’ll correct the problem.”
Ward managed to contain his grin. “Yes, sir,” he said, and quickly pulled his shirt over his head.
“So, Nick,” Coach turned, folding his arms across his chest, “I like the way you’ve been shaping up at first lately. ’Course, you had an off day today, but it happens. Yesterday, two doubles in one inning. That’s good—” he was nodding “—very good. Plan to come tomorrow with Ward and we’ll work out a couple of plays. The two of you make a solid pair, Ward pitching and you at first.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
“Hang in there.”
“I plan on that, sir.”
Then, leaning against the closed lockers, the coach sobered. “I heard about your folks, Nick. Too bad about that. It’s tough.”
Extremely embarrassed, Nick looked at his feet. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled.
Tyson pushed away from the lockers and reached out to grip Nick’s shoulder in a gesture of gruff sympathy. “Hey, it’s one of those things, son. You don’t want to think you’re one of a kind there, no way. You ask around, you’ll find a quarter of the kids in the school been through the same thing.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your mom and I spoke about it this morning,” he said.
Nick looked up, startled.
“Yeah. I promised her I’d find time to talk if you want.”
“That’s okay, Coach,” Nick said, mortified. “I’m okay. Honest.”
“Well…” Smiling, Tyson stepped back. “If you need a friend—besides Ward here,” he laughed heartily, “you know all you have to do is knock on my door.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, you two finish dressing and get your butts outta here. Practice is over, it’s chow time.”
Both boys were motionless, watching the coach head out past the shelves of neatly-stacked sports equipment. Just then, Jason emerged from the lockers, and when Tyson spotted him, he motioned him over and slung his arm around the quarterback’s shoulder. Coach had a way of bonding with his athletes that paid off big time for them. Sportswise, he’d put Rose Hill High and the Mustangs on the map in Texas, and that was saying something, considering the size of the town and the passion that infused high school sports in the state. In a moment, three more varsity players appeared and fell into step with Jason and the coach. Like Jimbo and others before them, the four made up the core elite of the Mustangs, and with the magic of Monk Tyson’s coaching setting the stage—barring any accidents or injuries—all were destined for outstanding careers in sports. Just like Jimbo.
“Jeezum-pete,” Ward breathed as the group moved along with the coach like a god in their midst. “What do you make of special attention from The Man himself?”
Grimly, Nick pulled his shirt over his head, then grabbed his glove and stuffed it inside his gym bag. “I don’t know.”
Hearing something in his voice, Ward turned. “What’s wrong?”
“Can you believe my mom?” he asked, zipping the gym bag with a vengeance. “Coach’ll think I’m some kind of chickenshit weakling, like I need somebody to hold my hand and tell me everything’s gonna be all right now that my dad’s walked out on us.”
“Aw, I think you’ve got him wrong, Nick. He’s just being, you know, nice. Like, some of the guys here are closer to Coach Monk than to their own dads…those guys he’s talking to now, f’r instance. He was probably just paving the way if you should need, you know, help…or something.”
Nick straightened up and looked at him. “Do I look like I need help?”
Ward shrugged. “Maybe not that kind of help. But he’s offering to coach us, like privately, so I don’t know about you, man, but me—just name the time and place and I’m there.”
Standing with his gym bag in his hand, Nick eyed Coach’s chosen few with a mix of awe for their talent and envy for their good luck in being part of a tight circle. All were older than Nick and Ward—juniors and seniors mostly. It would be tough to penetrate that clique, Nick thought, but Ward was right. Coach had opened a door just now and he wasn’t about to refuse. The trouble with his mom and dad made him feel pretty rotten, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Grown-ups were going to do what they were going to do and what he thought didn’t count. He didn’t have control over anything in his life anymore except here at school. Making varsity next year—a year earlier than ninety-nine percent of high school athletes—was a hard goal, but with Coach Monk’s help, he was going to bust his butt to do it.
Nick slung the gym bag onto his shoulder. “Let’s go, Ward. You heard Coach. It’s chow time and I’m hungry.”
It would have been easy for Rachel to slack off at her job because of the meltdown in her personal life, but she’d learned a lesson when she’d failed to sense Jack Ford’s despair and a young life had ended tragically. As much as she’d like to take a leave of absence and devote herself to the care and comfort of her own children as her family tried to adjust to the change in their lives, there were kids at Rose Hill High whose needs were just as urgent. Jason Pate, to name one.
Not that Jason wanted her help. He sat across from her now in her office, polite, respectful and so bent on stone-walling her that she was truly tempted to give up and