Free Center Field by Robert Lipsyte

here’s the deal-break question. Who was the greatest center fielder of all time?”
    She was so over the top that Mike felt relaxed with her. He rubbed his chin and pretended to be thinking deeply. “Well, my dad would say Mickey Mantle and I think you would say Willie Mays but I say Billy Budd.”
    Her shriek stunned the room. Trembling old peoplefroze. “I’m taking this boy home with me. I love him!” She threw one big soft arm around Mike’s neck and hugged him. “Brains and brawn, you can’t beat it.”
    She let go and lurched off to the coffee and bagel table. Mike felt a smile crack his face. He liked the way everyone was looking at him. He searched for Kat. She was pretending to be busy with her camera, but she was laughing.
    â€œReal character,” said the skinny Goth kid who had looked familiar last week. “She used to be an actress.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Nick.”
    Mike suddenly recognized Nick Brodsky, a senior. He was much thinner and more Gothed out than he’d been during football season. Eyebrow rings, which the coaches would never have allowed, black eyeliner, spiky black dyed hair, and a web tattoo crawling up his neck. He’d been a good wide receiver, fast and smart; he could read the defense and beat the corners. Mike liked to practice against him. It lifted his game. He was sorry when Nick quit the team. Something about drugs, maybe even dealing. Tori had heard he was working off his sentence buying cigarettes in local stores so the cops could bust them for selling to underage customers. How had he not recognized Nick last time? Pay attention, Coach had said. Stay in the now.
    â€œDidn’t get a chance to talk last week,” said Nick. “I wasn’t dissing you.”
    â€œNo offense.”
    â€œNo defense.” They laughed. It was an old football joke. Mike was glad there was another jock in the room. “I heard about you and Zack. He can be intense.”
    â€œI should’ve stayed cool.”
    â€œThen you wouldn’t get to be here.” Nick’s whole body rippled when he laughed.
    Kat was walking backward, shooting video. When she passed them, she snapped, “Bond on your own time, boys, we got to set up.” Still in a bad mood.
    Nick whispered, “Tigerbitch!”
    â€œShe’s okay.” Why’d I say that, thought Mike.
    Nick rolled his eyes. “You kidding?”
    Mike finished setting up the chairs and got himself a bagel and orange juice. At least they had the regular stuff here, no pulp. I should remind Mom, but she’s so busy these days.
    He watched the old folks. It looked like high school, pushy people grabbing seats at the computers, shy ones hanging back, gossipers in the corners. The old Yankees lady was reapplying her makeup. He wondered if she was really interested in computers or just lonely. Why am I thinking about her?
    After a while, when one of the computers was free, he amazed himself by walking over to her and saying, “I’m no brainiac, but I can help you get online and surf around.”
    â€œNow that would be grand,” she said. She extended ahand. “I’m Regina Marie. What’s your name again?”
    â€œMike.”
    â€œAn excellent name, simple and to the point.”
    He helped her settle into the chair in front of a desktop. “Is there somebody you’d like to send an email to?”
    â€œAll dead, honey. What do you look at when you, uh, surf?”
    â€œBilly Budd’s got a website. Would you like to look at that?”
    â€œNot exactly Willie Mays, but what the hoo.” She laughed deep in her throat.
    Mike logged onto the website and showed Regina Marie how to click onto links. She laughed when Billy appeared and said, “How can I help you, young baller?”
    â€œYou know, I was one once,” she said.
    â€œA young baller?”
    â€œActually, that meant something else