Free Curveball : The Year I Lost My Grip (9780545393119) by Jordan Sonnenblick Page A

side. OK, so it would have beenbad enough if AJ had just given her any old baseball, but he hadn’t. This was an incredibly special baseball. It was the game ball from the best game AJ and I had ever had together.
    â€œI can’t believe you never told me what a super-star pitcher you are, Peter!” she said.
    Were , I thought.
    â€œAdam told me all about how you and he pitched a no-hitter together in the championship game two years ago. That must have been amazing! He even brought me a copy of the newspaper article. And he told me all about how you played hurt last year, and you were too brave to tell anybody.”
    Brave or moronic , I thought.
    â€œHe told me not to say anything about this, but he said you were training really hard to get back into playing condition for this spring, even though the doctors said you might not be able to play yet.”
    Kill me , I thought.
    â€œSo, umm, I had this idea that maybe I should take your picture holding the baseball. What do you think?”
    I had no idea what to think.
    â€œI mean, my mom said she thought it was a sexist idea for a photo shoot: Man with Tools. She said you didn’t pose me with, like, a Betty Crocker baking set. But I wasn’t trying to be like that. I just thought the baseball would show something deeper about who you are … that is, if you don’t mind … Peter, would you please talk to me?”
    I started to talk, but there was a catch in my throat. I cleared it, and tried again: “Gimme the ball.”
    â€œReally? You don’t mind?”
    I shook my head and held out my hand.
    Angelika gave me the ball. I turned it over in my fingers, and a huge lump grew in my throat. Suddenly, in my own head, I was back on that field, two years before. We had been playing in Emmaus, Pennsylvania, in a big park, and there were train tracks passing maybe a hundred feet away, parallel to the third base line. As a pitcher, the line of sight was pretty strange, too, because there was a parking lot directly behind the backstop. It was a blindingly sunny, baking-hot day, and a horrible glare was coming off this onewhite SUV parked right over the umpire’s left shoulder.
    The grass had just been cut, and the whole place smelled a little bit like onions.
    When I came back to reality, I realized Angelika had been clicking away. Also, that she had stopped. “Oh, my God, Pete,” she said. “Are you crying?”

It wasn’t long after that when I got the first of Grampa’s scary phone calls. I was on my way home from school when my cell started vibrating. I assumed it would be AJ, or my mom. Or Angelika. Nobody else ever called me. I made a guess that I was talking to AJ, so I answered, “Sup!”
    The phone clicked, and the line went dead. That was a little unusual, but not so crazy. Our town is kind of hilly, so we get a lot of dead spots. I shoved my phone back in my pocket and kept walking. About ten steps later, I felt the buzz again. This time I just said, “Hello?”
    There was a long enough pause that I almost hung up. Then I heard Grampa groaning, followed by, “Peter? Peter?”
    â€œGrampa? What’s wrong? Are you OK?”
    â€œI … I … can you come over here?”
    Grampa only lived about a mile from our house. “Why? What happened?”
    â€œI fell.”
    Oh, geez. “Grampa, are you hurt? Let me hang up and call 9-1-1.”
    â€œNo! I’m not dying. I just fell.”
    â€œLet me call my mom. She can get there much faster than —”
    â€œPeter, please — don’t tell your mother. Just come over here. Please?”
    Grampa never said “please.” Twice in one breath had to mean that things were pretty bad. But what was I supposed to do? It’s not like they train you for this in Grandparent First Aid 101. “OK, I’m coming,” I said. “But it’s going to take a while. I’m about a mile and a half