Foxworth Academy (10 page)

“True, but what caused that to happen?  Yes, Frankie.”

“Bootlegging,” Frankie looked at Brett, “was caused because the government banned alcoholic beverages.  Al Capone was basically smuggling alcohol in and selling it illegally.”

“Well said, Frankie.  Yes, the 18
^th
Amendment prohibited alcoholic beverages in this country.  A period known as Prohibition.  HBO had a series about it called
Boardwalk Empire,
and a great, little known short story was written entitled
The Chemist
, about a scandal during Prohibition.  What about the 19
^th
Amendment?”

Silence.

“Ladies?” Mr. Martin said.

A hand furiously waved in the air.  “Yes, Michelle?”

“The 19
^th
Amendment guaranteed the women their right to vote.  My grandmother told me all about it.  She said it was a great day for women.”

A sarcastic grunt came from the other side of the room.

“Lance?” Mr. Martin glared at him.  “You have a problem with Michelle?  Or do you have a problem with women voting?

Lance shrugged and slouched in his chair.  “Men make all the decisions in the government anyway—why should women vote?”

There were “oohhs and ahhs” throughout the class.

“Is that so?”

“My dad said they’ll never elect a woman President.”

“Did he?  Do you know that there are twenty female presidents or prime ministers currently in power in the world?”

Lance said nothing.

“Yes, Lance, it’s true.  And I’m not talking tiny little countries you’ve never heard of.  I’m talking about Germany, India, Argentina, Brazil, Switzerland, and even Australia.”

Lance remained silent.

“So you see, Lance, there
will
be a female President in this country sooner or later.”  He changed subjects quickly.  “All right, take out a sheet of paper and a pen and get ready for our quiz.”

Moans and groans were heard throughout the class.  It wasn’t easy, but after the ten questions and exchanging the quiz with his neighbor for grading, Brett managed to get eight out of ten correct.

A
t lunch, Brett informed his friends that he’d be able to go to the movies that night.  They discussed which one, and eventually gave in to Frankie’s request and saw the movie
Alive
.  It was a tale about a family dog that was run over by a car and left for dead.  The family buried the dog deep in the back of their property, but as the title suggested, the dog was not dead; either that, or he came back to life, it was hard to tell which.  After his death, the dog was dug up by the twelve-year-old boy in the family, and together they sought out revenge on the woman who ran him over.  It was a cheesy horror flick, but it had its scary moments.

Together, the dog and the boy surprised the woman in her bedroom that night, prompting Krista to jump and grab hold of Brett’s arm once again.  This time she kept it there and looked right in his eyes for what seemed like forever.  She ended up sliding her hand down his arm and holding his hand for the duration of the movie.  Brett was befuddled.
Should I move my hand or keep it there? 
He ended up keeping it there until the credits started rolling, then casually removed it from her grasp.  She smiled at him as they got up from their seats and made their way to the aisle.

“What’d ya think?” she asked Brett.

“Eh, I think we should start picking the movies next time, not Frankie.”

Krista smiled and reached for Brett’s hand again. “I really liked it.” 

People were pushing, and through the commotion of leaving the theater, they got separated and walked outside.  He liked Krista, but how much?  Did he want to be seen holding her hand?  The group of friends met outside of the theater and talked about the movie, most of which was negative, except for Frankie, who loved it.  Krista remained by Brett’s side.

“I need to bail early guys,” Brett said.

“What? Why?” Krista asked.

“We’re leaving early for the baseball tournament and I have to get up at like six.”

Krista stuck out her bottom lip, pouting before saying, “You should have told us.”

“I did.  I told Frankie to let you guys know when his mom picked you up.”

Frankie shrugged, and then muttered something about how he’d forgotten.

“Sorry,” he said.

Krista’s eyes popped open.  “I’m so thirsty after all that popcorn; Brett come with me.  I wanna buy a bottle of water.”

Brett stammered, “My dad’s gonna be here any minute.”

“We’ll be two minutes, come on.” Krista grabbed his hand, leading him back inside the theater.  They got in line and Krista turned to face him.  “Umm, I
am
thirsty, but I wanted to ask you something.  In private.”

Brett blushed.  He knew what was coming.  How could a girl ask
him
out?  Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around?  He panicked and spoke first.  “Krista, do you wanna like, go out sometime?”  His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes cringed as he realized what he’d just said. 

Krista’s eyes sparked.  “You beat me to it!  I was going to ask
you
out!  Of course I wanna go out.  I’ll call you Sunday.  Bye!”  She leaned up on her toes, kissed him on the cheek, and ran out of the theater.

Brett was more torn than ever.  Sure Krista was cool, she was a good friend, and not too bad looking...but a girlfriend?  That, he was not so sure about. 

T
he Ripken Stadium in Aberdeen, Maryland was named after none other than local hero, Cal Ripken Junior, who played for the Baltimore Orioles for twenty-one years.  Ripken was a nine-time all-star and was most famously noted for breaking Lou Gehrig’s record of consecutively played games, finishing his career by playing in 2,632 straight games before voluntarily sitting himself.  The stadium itself hosts home games for the Aberdeen Iron Birds, the Class A affiliate of the Orioles. 

The entire complex boasts several smaller fields; in one of them, Brett and his team were playing. There was a smattering of fans outside the fences, his father included. It was a sunny Saturday morning with a just a touch of a cool fall breeze.  Naturally, his thoughts were on the Titanic, Ally, and now Krista. 

Brett took to the batters box in the bottom of the first inning, dug his cleats into the dirt and took a few practice swings.

“Well look who it is,” came a voice from the catcher.  “Pretty boy Logan.”

Brett turned and peered through the catchers mask.  It took him a moment or two before he recognized who it was.  Lance Hawk.  He ignored him and faced the pitcher.  Although he didn’t completely ignore him because three pitches later, he struck out and lowered his head in disgust.

“Maybe next time, Logan.” Lance said, mocking him.

He went 0-2 his first two times up, after which his coach contemplated sitting him in a crucial bottom of the sixth inning at bat, as the game was tied, with one out.  At this level of play, they only played six innings so this was just like the bottom of the ninth and the pressure was on.  He took the first ball on the inside corner and the umpire yelled, “Strike!”  The second pitch he swung through a curve ball to make the count 0-2. 

“I guess it’s not your day, is it?” Lance said from behind the catchers mask.  “Not going to be your year either when you fail history class.”

Brett stepped out of the batter’s box and looked back at his coach who was nervously chewing gum in the dugout with his arms folded across his chest.  Brett didn’t have his ‘A-Game’ today, that much was apparent.  There was only one way he could get out of this situation in a positive light.  He stepped back in and crept forward toward the plate.  The pitcher wound up and threw a ball outside.  The count was now 1 ball and 2 strikes. The next pitch was the one he was looking for, high and tight.  He turned into the pitch and it nailed him on the shoulder. 

Brett grimaced from the pain, tossed his bat toward the dugout, and trotted to first base.  The manager of the other team slowly walked to the umpire behind home plate and made it clear that he was not happy with Brett’s performance at the plate.  Brett reached first base and his coach touched his shoulder and asked if he was okay.  Brett nodded and took a small lead off the base while waiting for the next batter to come up to bat.

“That the only way you can get to first?” the first baseman on the other team said softly.

Brett said nothing.

“Pretty lame.”

Brett agreed with him, but what could he do now?  Toby Matheson, the team’s best hitter, was up to bat, and it didn’t take long for him to see a pitch he liked.  He roped a line drive right over Brett’s head and Brett took off running.  He rounded second quickly and glanced at the third-base coach.  When he was just a few feet from third base, the coach wind milled his arm again and again, signaling Brett to go for home.  Brett kicked it into gear and charged.  He could see Lance preparing to catch the ball.  Brett was going to have to plow into him if he wanted to score and win the game.  His helmet was slipping off his head as he ran as fast as he could, trying to beat the throw home.  He looked at Lance crouching low about to catch the ball.  He saw the baseball enter the glove and then Lance turn toward him.

That was the last thing he remembered before he woke up in the hospital. 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“
B
rett?” a voice called.  He rapidly blinked his eyes and immediately tried to sit up.  An arm pushed on his chest, urging him to lie back down.

“Lay down, son, its okay.”  It was his dad.

He looked around the hospital room.  “What happened?”

“You were knocked out.  A slight concussion, but nothing too serious.”

Brett rubbed his forehead.  “My head hurts.”

His dad chuckled and replied, “It should.  You ran into that catcher pretty good.”

“Was I safe?”

His dad laughed again.  “Is that all you care about?”

“Was I?”

His dad smiled.  “Yes and you won the game.”

A smile crept across Brett’s lips.  “Cool.”

The door opened and an older man, presumably the doctor, walked in.  “Ahh, look who’s awake,” he said, taking a small pen-like flashlight out of his white jacket pocket.  He pushed a button and shined the light directly into Brett’s eyes.  “Look left.  Now right.  Up.  Down.”  He turned off the light and said to his dad, “He’ll be fine.  Keep putting some ice on the bruise on his head.  No heavy lifting for a few days.  Be mindful of his rest.  Basically, keep an eye on him.”  He walked to the door, turned toward them, and finished with, “The nurse will be here in a moment to release you.”

And she was.  Not a minute later, a slim, middle-aged woman in blue hospital scrubs came in.  She gave Brett’s dad a prescription for Ibuprofen to reduce the swelling, a blue rubber ice pack, and a few papers about the dangers of concussions.  They signed some paperwork at the desk and were on their way home, Brett sleeping most of the way.

Brett was greeted by his mother who showered him with kisses and hugs as she led him to the couch to sit down.  For the rest of the weekend, he was treated like a king.  Food and drink were constantly brought to him as he hunkered down in the basement watching sports and movies both Saturday and Sunday.  His cell phone rang late on Sunday as he was watching the Eagles beat the Cowboys 24-17 late in the fourth quarter.  He didn’t recognize the number, pressed mute on the TV, and answered.

“Brett?”

“Yeah?”

“Hey, it’s Ally.”

Brett tossed off the Star Wars blanket that was cradled around him and stood up from the couch.  “Hey, how’s it going?”

“Good, you okay?” she asked.  “I heard what happened at the game yesterday.”

“Oh that?  Yeah, no biggie, I’m fine.”

“So you think you’ll make it to school tomorrow?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Okay cool.”

“How’s Lance?” he asked.

“I heard he’s fine.  Got the wind knocked out of him but nothing major.”

Great
, thought Brett. 
Well at least I won the game
.

“Listen....” She said before being interrupted by a beep.

“Oh hold on a sec okay?” Brett said.  He looked at his phone to see who the incoming call was from.  Krista
.  Oh man. 
He pressed a button and said, “Hey Krista.”

“Hey Brett, how are you?  I heard what happened.”

“I’m fine.  Hey, can I call you back?  I’m kinda on the other line.”

Krista paused and before she could stop herself she rudely said, “With who?”

“Umm,” Brett scrambled, trying to decide what to say.

“Never mind,” she said.  “Just seeing if you are okay.  See you later.”

Click
.

“Krista wait!” but it was too late.  He flipped back to Ally.  “Sorry about that.”

“So, I was just making sure you were going to be in class tomorrow.  We really gotta figure out this Titanic mess soon.”

“I know,” he replied.  “How do you stop a ship from hitting an iceberg without telling them to literally ‘Watch out!’” 

She laughed.  “Slip them a note?”

“Mr. Martin will see us do that.”

“Did they have those card readers back then?  You know the ones you see at restaurants or in the mall?”

“Tarot card readers?” Brett asked.

“Yeah.  What if we do a reading for the captain and tell him something bad is going to happen and that he needs to change course?”

“Maybe, but Mr. Martin will still say we basically told him.  And I doubt the captain will trust two fourteen-year-old kids.  We’ve got to figure a way to do it without actually telling the captain or whoever is driving the ship.  I’ve got to figure this out.  We used to go out on my granddad’s boat all the time.”

They were silent for a few seconds before Ally spoke again.  “Well, let me know if you come up with something.”

“Okay.”

“See you tomorrow,” she said before hanging up.

Brett hung up.  He thought about his granddad’s boat.  There was something there, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.  He closed his eyes and thought back to a time when his dad was driving the boat through a narrow channel, but the beep coming from his phone interrupted his thoughts.  He looked down to see a text from Krista.