Free Center Field by Robert Lipsyte Page A

in my time, but never mind.” She rolled her eyes. “You know, I played short center field for the Kismet team in the Broadway Show League in Central Park. You ever hear of the musical Kismet ?” When Mike shook his head, she said, “I was a harem girl. Almost sixty years ago.” She clicked the mouse. Billy invited her to check out his blog. She read it chuckling. “That girlfriend of his. What do you think?”
    â€œOkay so long as he keeps his eye on the ball.”
    She laughed until she started choking. He patted her back, not too hard. She liked that. He tensed up when he noticed that Kat was shooting them with her video cam, but Kat noticed his discomfort and turned the camera away.
    The blinking alert popped up for the A Day With Billy contest.
    â€œYou should enter that,” said Regina Marie.
    â€œYou need to do a video.” Mike shrugged. “What would I say?”
    â€œTalk about center field. I was on the Today show once and Dave Garroway, bet you never heard of him, asked me to close my eyes and describe what it was like to sing and dance on a Broadway stage. Close your eyes.”
    This is too weird, he thought, but he closed his eyes.
    â€œNot so scrunchy,” she said. “Better. Okay, Mike, so what’s it like being in center field?”
    He visualized himself alone on a carpet of dark green late-summer grass, under a ceiling of blue sky, gliding toward a falling fly ball. He heard himself talking. “Center field’s part of the spine of the team. Catcher, pitcher, shortstop, center fielder. Can’t win without a strong spine.”
    When he stopped and opened his eyes, the old lady said, “Is it hard to play?”
    â€œIt’s not as hard to play as shortstop or catcher, all the things they have to keep in their minds. Center field’ssimpler that way but if you mess up it’s going to be an extra-base hit. You have to zone in on the ball, track it right into your glove, and then know what to do with it.
    â€œPeople always say Billy Budd’s a natural, like he was born a center fielder, like it’s all muscle memory and hand-eye coordination, but I know how much work went into it, thinking all the time, all the possible situations, how many on, how many outs, which base would you throw to. It’s like a math problem, there’s a right answer and a wrong one, but you have to figure it out. You can’t fake it.”
    Why am I blabbing like this? He stopped again.
    â€œWhat else do you like, Mike? Close your eyes.”
    He closed his eyes again. He was back in center field, the green grass under his feet, the blue sky above.
    â€œIt’s like being on top of the world. Seeing everything spread out in front of you. Coming at you. It’s all up to you, you’re the last chance and you’ve got all this green room to run down the ball. It’s open and clean, no foul lines or crazy angles or base runners, just you and the ball.”
    His eyes snapped open. He had drawn a crowd. He saw Zack with his mouth open, silent for once, Nick grinning and nodding. Kat had the camera aimed at him. People stood behind her. They clapped. His face felt hot.
    â€œPure poetry,” said Regina Marie. “You’re ready for prime time.”
    â€œSorry, I…” He shook his head. “I’ll show you howto move around the Buddsite.”
    It seemed like only a few minutes later that one of the old men was thanking the Cyber Club. As he reached over to log out, Regina Marie hugged him. It felt like being smothered by one of Mom’s down comforters. It didn’t feel too bad.
    On the way out Nick high-fived him. “Awesome.”
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    Back at school he thought they unloaded and rehooked more slowly than last week, as if they weren’t in such a hurry to split up.
    Zack said, “That was a good connection with that woman, Mike.” It sounded like praise from an English teacher.