Free Plunking Reggie Jackson by James Bennett Page B

a lifting program to strengthen your arms and legs.”
    â€œI suppose. Now get on out of here—go to world history. I need to get some work done today.”
    Coley took the books to his locker before he returned to the library.
    For his birthday Coley got his own credit card. Visa Gold. His dad got a new lawn tractor, the top-of-the-line John Deere, all shiny green with a huge mowing deck. It was parked in the driveway, where Ben Burke sat high in the saddle, leafing through the owner’s manual.
    â€œFor Coley’s birthday you bought yourself a lawn tractor?” asked his mother sarcastically.
    â€œIt will benefit him, too. It’ll mean he’ll have to spend less time on yard work.”
    â€œOh, please. Since when did anyone other than Trinh do any yard work around here? Besides me, I mean.”
    Coley knew how right she was. The only chores he or his father did around the house were touch and go. They hired Trinh for all the heavy lifting.
    â€œThis is just a toy,” his mother said.
    â€œBut it’s a toy I don’t have,” his father pointed out.
    â€œNot true. You already have a tractor.”
    â€œ Had a tractor. I traded it in on this one.”
    â€œThe fact remains, it’s Coley’s birthday, not yours.”
    His dad lobbied his position by saying, “I’ve been trying to tell you how he’ll be a beneficiary. So will Trinh. I’d say it’s a win-win proposition.”
    â€œI’d say it’s a dramatic lesson in credit card abuse.” She turned to Coley to add, “This is called impulse buying. People with credit cards are prone to this kind of behavior.”
    His dad said, “I paid cash for this tractor,” but his mother paid no attention. She continued speaking to Coley: “There’s a giddy freedom that sometimes goes with plastic purchasing. People buy things they don’t need, with money they don’t have.”
    Dad concurred, keeping a straight face: “Your mother’s right, Son. It can be a demon for sure. A credit card demands a lot of personal responsibility.”
    Coley found it almost entertaining when his parents argued this way. Toothless and scripted, it seemed like an old shoe, so absent of malice it was more like a workout than a quarrel. If it was an argument about Patrick, though, he knew how down and dirty it could get. Would get.
    He went up to his father’s study to play back phone messages, but there were none for him. He received birthday cards from two major-league organizations, the White Sox and the Texas Rangers. He wondered how he could see this credit card as an asset; hadn’t his parents’ plastic always been available to him when he needed it?
    The day the tulip tree started to bloom behind the third-base bleachers was the day Coley pitched his first no-hitter of the season, in a game against Eisenhower. He had pitched four no-hitters as a junior, so this was nothing unique.
    Nevertheless, it wasn’t pretty, nor was it altogether satisfying. It took him three innings to really find his rhythm, by which time Eisenhower had scored two runs on a combination of walks and throwing errors. In the end Coley walked five but he struck out thirteen.
    A fifth-inning throwing error by Rico Cates was premeditated, designed to save the no-hitter. But it nearly led to another run. When one of the Eisenhower batters hit a high hopper back toward the mound, it was slightly to Coley’s left side and too high for him to reach. He leaped as high as he could but couldn’t grab it; he was pretty sure the ball had grazed the tip of his glove.
    The ball was bouncing feebly between the mound and second base when Rico swooped in to barehand it. He unleashed a hopelessly wild, off-balance throw that sailed at least ten feet over the first baseman’s head and landed beyond the restraining fence.
    â€œYou think you coulda got him?” Coley asked his