Free Plunking Reggie Jackson by James Bennett Page A

student. What’s, like, the point?”
    â€œWhat if you’re a better baseball player than he was?”
    â€œSay what?”
    â€œWhat if you’re simply superior to your older brother, even at baseball?”
    â€œMrs. Alvarez, that’s crazy. You never saw Patrick pitch.”
    â€œThat’s true, I never did.”
    â€œHe was on the Mets’ roster by age twenty. He made the big club and was going to be heading north when they broke spring training. You never saw him pitch; he was awesome.”
    â€œOkay, he was awesome. If you think so, that’s fine.”
    â€œWhat’s up with that— if think so ?”
    â€œI mean, if you really think so, that’s fine.” She was speaking softly. Her sincerity was never more evident. “On the other hand, if you were better than Patrick, how would that make you feel?”
    â€œThis is too crazy. This is nuts.”
    â€œMaybe, but why not answer the question? How would it make you feel?”
    â€œI have no idea.”
    â€œWould it kill you to think about it?”
    â€œWhy? What would be the point?”
    â€œYour older brother is your measuring stick. If you surpass him, what does that do to you? How does it affect the things you do and the choices you make? That would be the point.”
    Coley let out a deep sigh. I came here to carry some books for her and now this . “Mrs. Alvarez, this is all over my head.”
    â€œThat’s exactly what I’m talking about. That’s the easy way out, isn’t it? That’s what feels safe.” But she was smiling.
    Coley looked at the clock. It was four minutes till passing period. “I’d better get back,” he said. “I’ve got world history.”
    She was still smiling. It was a warm smile indeed. “Just bear with me another minute. I didn’t ask you to carry these books inside for no reason. Some of them are for you.”
    She pushed six paperbacks across the desk in his direction. They were all in good condition. One was called A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man . The only one he’d ever heard of was Catcher in the Rye .
    He had to smile. “Why are you giving me books?”
    â€œThese books belonged to Hector,” replied the counselor. “I’ve been sorting through some of his things.”
    Sifting through the possessions of a dead husband was a sobering notion; Coley couldn’t respond right away. “Your husband had books?”
    â€œLots and lots of books. I picked these out for you because I thought they might be appropriate. If not right now, then later, when you’re in college.”
    Coley appreciated her thoughtfulness but felt the need to be honest. “You know I’m not much good in English, Mrs. Alvarez.”
    â€œI know you’re not much good in English now . You’re an underachiever, but I think we’ve established that you’re not stupid.”
    â€œI’ve never been much of a book reader, though.” As best he could remember, the only book he’d read on his own within the past year was Tom Seaver’s book on pitching mechanics.
    â€œMaybe you will be someday,” she replied. “A book reader, that is.”
    It was hard for Coley to imagine such a development, but this wasn’t a time for arguing. “It’s real nice of you, Mrs. Alvarez, thanks.”
    â€œHector loved baseball. He saw you pitch a couple of times when you were a sophomore. I think it would please him to know that some of his books ended up in your hands.” Her eyes glistened when she spoke this last sentence.
    â€œThanks,” he said again. Then he added, “I think you’re looking for a way to improve my mind.”
    â€œI’m just hoping you’ll find a way to put more of your mind to use.”
    â€œThat would be the same thing, though, wouldn’t it? I mean, the more you use a thing, the stronger it gets, like