Authors: Sherry Gammon
Souls in Peril (8 page)
“
Enter,
”
boomed Coach.
Max pushed the door open and stepped inside. Coach looked up from the papers spread across his desk and frowned. Max immediately dropped his ga
ze
to the floor. Coach was a big guy,
about
six-foot-three and weighed a good two-
twenty
,
w
ith
a
slightly
bulging
tummy and rapidly receding hair line
.
Max guessed him to be about thirty
-
five years old.
He came around the desk and right up
next
to him.
“
How is everything going, JD?
”
Max almost didn
’
t recognize Coach
’
s voice. Instead of the usual booming baritone sound, it was soft, gentle. Max
’
s
heart warm
ed
.
JD likes Coach
.
“
Um, okay. Some of the kids are pretty mad at me for what happened. I promise, Coach, I wasn
’
t drunk or anything. It was an accident.
”
Max looked up into Coach
’
s kind
green
eyes.
“
I know. My brother
’
s
an
attorney. Don
’
t say anything, but he told me last night
the
y
won
’
t be filing any charges against you.
”
“
Really?
”
Max
’
s grin went ear to ear.
“
Really, son.
”
He patted Max on the shoulder.
“
But remember, you didn
’
t hear it from me.
”
“
No, sir.
”
“
I
’
ll talk to the team today at practice, tell them to lay-off.
”
“
I don
’
t know if that
’
s a good idea. They will probably just be
sneakier
about the abuse.
”
“
Good point. But if it gets to be too much to bear, you let me know. You
’
re not alone,
JD. P
lease remember that. I know we
’
ve talked about things going on at your home a little, and I want you to know I
’
m here for you.
”
Coach walked around to his chair and sat back down.
“
There haven
’
t been any more mysterious marks across your back, have there?
”
“
No.
”
Max didn
’
t have a clue what Coach
meant
.
“
Good. I know you swore up and down to me that no one beat you, but if I see them again, I
’
m calling social services.
”
Someone beat JD? Certainly not his mother. It had to be
Tim
.
“
Did you need something, son?
”
For a moment
,
Max forgot why he was there.
“
Oh, I can
’
t seem to remember where my locker is, or the combination for that matter.
”
“
M
aybe you should sit out for a few days. I heard you went through the windshield. Besides, we
’
re doing softball today. I know how much you hate softball. A head injury is a perfectly good excuse not to play.
”
“
Softball? I love softball,
”
Max said.
Though
not
exactly
baseball, it was close enough. Maybe when the other kids saw how well JD via Max could play, they
’
d back off. Maybe Coach would even let him play
for the team
. Max knew that was a stretch, but he lived his life pushing his body to the limit, so why not try?
“
You really did hit your head,
”
Coach laughed. He handed Max a slip of paper with the locker number and combination.
“
Suit up.
”
Max hustled to the locker and grabbed JD
’
s clothes
from inside
. They smelled terrible; Max almost retched. A couple guys around him laughed.
With a great deal of effort, Max put the stinky gym clothes on and headed out to the field. He braced himself for the abuse he knew was
about to
com
e
his way.
Chapter 6
“
Lumpy Larry,
”
groaned Jeff. Never in his life had Max been chosen last. Not ever. The humiliation choked him. He hung his head and moped over to Jeff
’
s team. He hadn
’
t seen this cruel side of Jeff before. They
had
played baseball on the same team since ninth grade
,
and never had Jeff been so downright nasty to anyone, at least not that Max had noticed. Jeff put Max last in the batting order, another first for Max, and assigned him to right field. Max didn
’
t play
outfield, let alone right.
At least there
’
s only time for two innings before class ends.
Max hustled out to right field and waited for balls that never came his way
.
“
Okay, Lumpy. It
’
s your ups,
”
Jeff grumbled
at
Max
’
s turn at bat.
“
Don
’
t swing at it. I want you to lean into the ball and let it hit you. The pitcher
’
s been throwing to the inside the whole game. You
’
ll get first base and that will force the player on third home
.
W
e
’
ll score the winning run.
”
“
But—
”
“
No but
’
s, Lumpy. Got it?
”
Jeff
jabbed
him in the chest.
Max nodded, picked up the bat, and walked up to the plate, stepping soberly into the batter
’
s box.
T
he familiar rush he got whenever he played ball
surged
through him
. He smiled, pushed his glasses up
tight to his face, and pulled the bat back high, assuming the stance he
’
d used a thousand times before. No way was he going to let the ball hit him. He
’
d show Jeff and everyone else. Max glanced over to Jeff, who narrowed his eyes. Coach stood directly behind Jeff and gave Max the thumbs up. Max nodded. He turned to face the pitcher, who grinned widely, no doubt thinking an easy out stood before him. The ball came soaring at Max
.
JD
’
s nerves tick up.
Just
r
elax, JD. I got this
. Softball was much slower than baseball, and he knew his swing would easily hit the mark. He brought the bat around hard, so hard he almost fell over.
He missed.
He stumbled a few steps and moved back from the base.
What happened? Why did that feel awkward and clumsy? Max didn
’
t do awkward and clumsy.
“
Stay focused,
”
he mumbled.
“
Just take the hit, Lumpy. You
’
re never going to make contact with the ball. Who you trying to kid?
”
asked the catcher, a scrawny tenth grader.
“
I can do this,
”
Max insisted. He took a few practice swings, but still
,
the feeling was off.
He stepped into the batter
’
s box, and once again
,
holding his bat erect, he waited for the pitch. And again he missed, by a long shot.
Why couldn
’
t he do this? It didn
’
t make any sense to Max. He was the star pitcher. He
’
d earned a scholarship to UCLA for his skills. Then it hit him. This was a game of skill, and JD had no skill, at least not in baseball. All of Max
’
s knowledge couldn
’
t make up for JD
’
s lack of talent.
His confidence now shaken, Max stepped back into the box and lifted the bat. He would have to lean in and let the ball hit him. There was no other way. As he stood there waiting for the pitch, an image of Gabe telling him he needed to help JD came to his mind. How would letting the ball hit him help JD? Everyone already knew JD the loser. Max needed them to see JD the winner. He needed to prove he was good at softball. He took a deep breath and concentrated with all he had on the pitch. He only needed one hit. Certainly Max could get him one hit. It flew straight down the middle. Max watched as it crossed the plate in the strike zone, dead center. The p
er
fect pitch.
And
he didn
’
t even take a swing. He
’
d chickened out
–a
first for Max.
“
Strike three. You
’
re out. Team A wins,
”
shouted the ump, a short kid with snow white hair.
Before Max could chastise himself, Jeff flew across the ball diamond, his arms flailing as he screamed,
“
You freaking moron. What don
’
t you understand about letting the ball hit you, huh, Lumpy? Maybe if I beat the crap out of you, you
’
ll understand.
”
“
Jeffery
Morgan
. Six laps, now. And if you lay one hand on JD today, or any other day, you
’
ll be suspended from playing in the
game
next week. Do you understand me?
”
Coach
’
s booming voice could intimate the largest of men, let alone a twelfth grader.
“
But. . . Yes, sir.
”
Jeff turned and ran across the field to the running track.
“
Good effort, JD. I admire a man who doesn
’
t give up.
”
Coached pa
tt
ed him on the back before jogging over to keep an eye on Jeff.
“
Teacher
’
s pet,
”
muttered the catcher. Some
called out
butthead
and a couple of stronger insults
at
him on the way to his locker. He couldn
’
t believe his day. No matter what he did, he couldn
’
t seem to catch a break. He dressed quickly, shoved his stinky clothes to the bottom of his backpack to take home, and left for second period. And Emma.
His heart pounded like thunder as he entered
journalism
class
. H
e feared it would explode. Not knowing where JD usually sat, Max stood in the back, enduring another round of crude jokes about his size as the room filed with students. He didn
’
t care. Emma would be there any minute now.
Students poured into the large classroom, some settling in behind computers, other the drafting tables that lined the walls of the well-lit room.
The last bell rang;
and
no Emma. She didn
’
t show. Max was
crushed. He
only made it through first period knowing he
’
d see
her
in an hour.
Mr. Roberts, the teacher and editor of the school newspaper, sat behind a large copy machine
.
He looked up and smiled. “Hello, Jayden.” Max nodded. “How are you feeling?”