Free Baseball by Sue Corbett

Author:Sue Corbett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2010-03-01T00:00:00+00:00

STRETCH

Two hours before game time Dickey had Felix set up the clubhouse spread—cold cuts, bread, condiments, fruit, a big bowl of pasta salad, bottles of water, a platter of cookies—chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin, and peanut butter.

Santi came over and loaded up a plate.

“M’ijo, es para ti, también,” he said, gesturing at the food. Felix nodded, relieved to be invited to eat. His stomach was rumbling again even though he had cleaned every morsel of his restaurant lunch.

Santi sat down at a table, off to one side of the room, and pulled out the chair next to him. Felix took it, watching Santi swallow several forkfuls of salad while he worked up his courage. Before he could lose his nerve, he asked Santi if he had ever played against the Cuban National Team.

"Sí,” Santi said, dabbing his mouth with a paper napkin. “Ellos son adversarios duros.”

Tough opponents. Yeah, Felix knew that. He sipped his water.

“¿Por qué, Felix?” Santi asked.

Felix stared at his sandwich. This wasn’t going as he planned. He’d thought he could lob a few questions at Santi like two players would softly toss a baseball to warm up their arms. But as soon as thoughts of his father entered his brain, Felix stiffened with . . . what was it?

Fear. He was afraid.

He took a deep breath. Now or never. He had to know. Did Santi remember a particular player—“¿Conoces el jugador Claudio de la Portilla?”

“Por supuesto, Felix. Todos conocen de la Portilla. Él era una leyenda.”

He was a legend? Felix felt his face get hot. was a legend? That made it sound like his father didn’t play anymore.

“Where tree-ples go to die,” Santi said, startling Felix.

“Hey! You speak English?”

“Un poquito.” Santi held his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart to show how much English he knew. “You teach me, sí?”

“Por supuesto,” Felix said, but he felt the conversation drifting away from the course he needed it to take. Felix had crept close to something, some truth, and he had to press on. “Did you play against him?” Felix asked.

Santi shook his head. “Eso era antes mi tiempo. Su cuento es muy triste.”

Before Santi’s time? And what sad story? "¿Cuál es triste?”

“La tragedia. Su pobre familia.”

A tragedy? The poor family? Felix felt faint.

One of the coaches stuck his head in the clubhouse door. “Santi, they’re looking for you in the bullpen.”

"Sí,” Santi called. “I coming.” He winked at Felix.

“Have a great game,” Felix told him, forcing a smile.

"Y tú, también, Felix el gato,” Santi said, ruffling Felix’s hair.

Felix almost threw his sandwich, uneaten, into the trash can, but at the last moment he wrapped it in a napkin and put it in a cabinet in the laundry room. He would be hungry eventually.

He left the clubhouse, needing air. He climbed the grand-stand and sat in the bleachers. His father wasn’t on the team anymore? Did that mean his baseball career was over? He realized he didn’t know how old his father was. Was he a lot older than Mami? Felix’s mother was thirty.

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