Heat: Chapters 1–14

Ramon’s plan was simple: He would cut across Ruppert Place and run down the hill to Macombs Dam Park, across the basketball courts there, then across the green expanse of outfield that the two ballfields shared there.

Papi had grown up in a time when a star Cuban baseball player, which Michael knew Papi sure had been as a young man, could never think about escaping to America, the way others would later, the most prominent lately being the Yankee pitcher Ricardo Gonzalez.

He poured more Aunt Jemima syrup on his stack with a flourish, finishing as though dotting an i.

He reluctantly went over to the screen behind home plate where they’d all stacked their bats.

But this wasn’t official pitching now, not against Manny and Kel and Anthony. This was just pure fun, from his first pitch, which he lobbed up there to Kel.

Manny was agile for someone with a body shaped like a fire hydrant.

The stories in the paper reminded everybody that El Grande, who had struggled in April, had not lost a game since his family had finally made it out of Cuba a month before, made it across the waters of the Florida Straits the way Papi and Carlos and Michael had two years before.

The blond-haired kid didn’t like looking foolish, and even tried to convince the home plate ump that the dribbler he’d hit back to Michael had ricocheted off his foot first.

At that point Michael got into line with the rest of the Clippers, shaking hands with the Westchester players, all except Justin, who somehow managed to veer off and head back to his bench just before he got next to Michael, staring hard at him from a distance, still acting more ticked off at Michael than he was at the umpire who’d just clipped him for a game.

Father Montoya came and gave him the last rites.

“It’s not your fastball I’m going to remember someday,” Manny said. “It’s your compassion.”

When it got to her, she reached up, casual, like a big-league outfielder making a routine out, and caught the ball in her glove, one he hadn’t even noticed she had on.

“Okay,” Manny said, “but let me do the talking.”
Michael said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you do not possess the ability to talk to girls in any sort of coherent manner.”

“The tools of ignorance,” Anthony said, then put his hand up, as if inviting high fives from the group.

“I’m not even dignifying your ignorance with a comment,” Manny said. “You’re a tool of ignorance.”

“You should see the two of them eat my paella,” she said.

If Mr. Lima called again, or stopped by, Carlos would say they were going to wait a few more days for their father, and if he wasn’t back by next week, then they’d just have to come down to the borough president’s office without him. For now their story was that their uncle had suffered a setback.

Manny said they were just putting off the inevitable, that they should do it now and get it over with.

It was as if she had been waiting patiently for him to look over at her. As if she knew he would. As if they really did have some kind of mental telepathy going.

Mr. Gibbs said that as far as he knew, nobody had ever questioned the authenticity of one of those baptism certificates until now.

“Gibbs said the bottom line was they had to take it to the District 22 board of directors,” Mr. M said.

Now that pitcher’s mound was his sanctuary. He threw easily at first, making sure to warm up the way he always did. Honoring his instrument, as Papi had always instructed him.

He went four innings and Kel, with all his slow stuff, this little dinky pitch he had that always seemed to find the outside corner, pitched the last two.

“Understand, we told the coaches who made the complaint that we’re comfortable with what we already have. But they’ve called the folks at the District Office. And the District Office says that because you’re such a great pitcher, and because your team has such a great chance to make it to the World Series, they don’t want there to be any controversy, the way there was a few years ago.”

Then he got out of the bus, ran up the front steps, took the stairs up to the apartment, unlocked the door, made himself a humongous chocolate milk shake, remembered with a slap to his forehead that the Yankees were on Channel 9 tonight.