Painting the Black by Carl Deuker

Author:Carl Deuker
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

2

I knew he hadn’t forgotten about Monica Roby, any more than she’d forgotten about him. But I did think that they’d reached a sort of truce. If she spoke in class, he didn’t laugh or talk or sneer. On her part, she’d put out another issue of the Viper. I went through it word by word, expecting some new dig at Josh, but there was nothing there.

Then came the football scholarship fiasco.

The first week of February Josh started getting real tense. His eyes were always in the distance, and he hardly spoke. When he did talk, it was always the same. “Three schools are looking at me,” he said again and again, “but it all depends on what other guys do.” Then he’d bite his lip. “If we’d made the state tournament, if they could have seen me against the best, I’d have a lock on it.”

Letter-of-intent day came and his phone didn’t ring. And it didn’t ring the next day either. Not Washington State, not San Jose State, not Nevada-Reno. Sunday afternoon we were back at the diamonds throwing the ball. I could feel his anger in the speed of his fastball. “The coach at San Jose says I can walk on,” he told me between pitches, “and that if I make the team he’ll give me a scholarship next year.”

“That’s something, isn’t it?” I answered. “Lots of walk-ons end up being starters.”

“I’ll do it if I have to.” Then he looked at the baseball he had in his hand. “But if I pitch like I can pitch, I’m not going to have to.”

All through the lunch period on Monday, a steady stream of guys came up and asked if he’d gotten a scholarship. Time after time he explained he hadn’t. “You want to eat outside?” I asked after he’d gone through it for about the sixth time.

“Why should I?” he said, his voice challenging.

I shrugged. “I thought you might be sick of questions.”

“They can ask whatever they want. I don’t care.”

But when yet another guy came up, Josh picked up his tray and walked out of the cafeteria. I let him go.

You read in the newspaper how big stars complain they don’t have any privacy, but you don’t feel sorry for them. You think: I’d trade privacy for fame any day. But I felt for Josh that day. It was as though he had an open wound, and everybody kept coming up to look at it.

Then came the final insult. Just before the dismissal bell the intercom crackled, and Mr. Haskin came on. His voice was excited, bubbling with pride. “For the first time in four years, Crown Hill High School can count a National Merit Scholar among its students. Congratulations to Monica Roby on her great achievement. Hard work and study do pay off!”

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