Beheld

  “Amanda doesn’t like stuff like that,” I told Mom.

  “Every girl wants to be pretty. When you see her, tell her she looks nice.”

  “She’ll punch me.”

  “Say it anyway.”

  When Amanda and my mom came back from the salon, hours later, Mom looked the same as she always did. Amanda was unrecognizable. Gone were the bouncy red curls that clustered around her face and made me want to touch them to see if they’d spring back. Instead, her hair looked straight and poofed up like Ariel in The Little Mermaid, emphasized by the dopey green crown. I knew Amanda thought Disney princesses were stupid. She’d said so. The only Disney movies we liked were Aladdin and Ice Age. She held her hands in front of her, staring at her shiny pink nails. She had on sandals, and all her toes were a matching color. But the middle was still Amanda in her dirty baseball jersey.

  “You look . . . pretty.” I followed Mom’s instructions and tried to smile.

  She didn’t look pretty. She looked like all the other girls in school.

  “Thanks.” She stared at me, staring at her. “Are we going to play something now?”

  “Yeah. Tag! You’re it!” I ran to the door, relieved.

  Mom said, “Maybe you should play something in—”

  But we were already out.

  Our yard had a hammock section with three black olive trees and lots of bromeliads that filled with water when it rained. We used the part where the trees hung low as a sort of clubhouse, spending days there, playing that it was a cave or a pirate ship or, today, the tree where the Lost Boys lived. Except in our version, Amanda was Wendy, a much cooler Wendy who ran with the boys instead of just sewing and telling stories like my mother.

  When it started to rain, I said, “Should we go inside?”

  “Nah,” Amanda said. “We’re not getting that wet.”

  So we kept playing.

  By the end of the day, Amanda’s curls were back. The pink nail polish was chipped, and her feet were dirty. “Where’d your crown go?” I asked her when we finally went inside.

  “Oh, shoot. It must be in the bushes. Should we go get it?”

  My mother walked in and sighed. “Oh, Amanda. I wanted your father to see. Well, at least we took a picture.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, even though I wasn’t.

  Over dinner that night, Mom said, “I guess that girl was right. Amanda wouldn’t appreciate a party like that.”

  Dad sort of smiled. “Maybe next time take her to an MMA match.”

  “I wanted to take her for a girls’ day, since she doesn’t have a mother to do it with her.”

  “How was your game today?” Dad asked.

  “Good. I got on base twice and threw two men out.”

  I’d actually gotten a triple and was given the game ball, but for some reason, I didn’t want to mention that. Other dads would know about that because they’d have been there. “Can you come next week?”

  “Maybe when this trial’s over I’ll have more time. When does the season end?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “They play until May,” Mom said, “so there are plenty of games after your trial. He might play summer ball too.”

  I bet Dad wouldn’t come. I tried not to care too much. I didn’t really want one of those dads who coached, or a dad who had fits when his kid didn’t get played enough or got mad if they screwed up. Nolan’s dad had started yelling and kicking dirt like a baby the week before. He screamed at Nolan for dropping a pop fly. I didn’t want a dad like that. I was sort of glad Dad didn’t understand baseball. But it would have been nice if he’d shown up.

  4

  The next few years kind of blend together in my mind. T-ball melted into Khoury League football into coach-pitched baseball, then football, then baseball again.

  I was sort of small for football. Okay, I was really small. But everyone played. People liked me when I was seven and the oldest on the Tiny Mites team, but I knew I’d be the smallest on the Mighty Mites the next year and drag everyone down. Coach Lou suggested I try to “bulk up,” so I got Mom to drive through McDonald’s after every practice and buy me a milkshake.

  It was on one of those days, at one of those drive-throughs, that the song “Mandy” came on the radio. Mom started singing along, “Oh, Mandy, you came and you gave without tak-i-i-ing.”

  The next day at school, when I saw Amanda, I started singing it.

  “If you don’t stop, I’m going to karate kick you in the head,” she said.

  I knew she would, so I stopped.

  It was in the beginning of second grade that Amanda showed up at school and ran to my desk.

  “My mom’s back,” she said.

  “Back?” I knew nothing about Amanda’s mother except what my mother had said in the first place, that she was a druggie. And I’d never met her since kindergarten. There was that.

  “She lives in Miami now. She moved in with my grandma, and she’s coming to my game Saturday, and I’m seeing her tonight.”

  “That’s great.”

  I didn’t know what I expected Amanda’s druggie mom to look like, maybe like the high school kids at the park who always looked a little dirty. Or the skinny homeless person we’d seen downtown, the one my mom wanted to give a dollar to, but my dad said would use it to buy heroin. But when I met Amanda’s mom, she didn’t look like either. She looked like a normal mom, a little brighter, with her yellow hair, pink lipstick, and aqua workout clothes that fit a little tight.

  She came to pick Amanda up from playing over at my house. She drove up in a two-seater red car, which didn’t look like a car anyone else’s mom drove. We already knew she was there before she rang the doorbell. Mom raced to get it, Amanda and me behind her.

  “Hi,” the woman said. “I’m Jackie Lasky, Amanda’s mother.”

  “Laura Burke. Nice to meet you.” Mom’s eyebrows looked weird, frozen in the middle of her forehead.

  “Nice to meet you. Mandy, do you have your things?”

  Amanda ran to get them. My mother cleared the doorway for Mrs.—Jackie—to come in. “Amanda’s told us so much about you.”

  Amanda had told us nothing until that day. But that day, she couldn’t shut up about her. Her mom was living back in town. Her mom was looking for a job at Macy’s. Or maybe Bloomingdale’s. As one of those ladies with pink or white coats that did people’s makeup. Then she’d get a discount there, and she’d take Amanda and me to lunch at the mall. When we were alone, she’d said that her mom and dad were getting back together. My mom didn’t know about that one. I didn’t think Tim did either.

  “She’s a great kid,” Jackie said.

  “She is a great kid,” Mom agreed. “Tim’s done a great job with her.”

  Jackie blinked. “Tim’s a great guy.” She looked at me. “Mandy said you’ve been friends a long time.”

  I fidgeted with my hands. “Since kindergarten.”

  “That is so great, so great that Mandy’s got such a nice little boyfriend.”

  I wanted to tell her mother that Amanda hated being called Mandy, but I didn’t think Amanda wanted her to know. Neither of us liked people calling me Amanda’s boyfriend.

  Amanda came back with her backpack then. “We’re just friends, Mom. I’m too young for a boyfriend.”

  “Of course you are. I was just teasing. Maybe I can take you kids to the movies Saturday.”

  “I have softball then,” Amanda said. “Travel team.”

  “I know that,” Jackie said. “But after softball.”

  “Maybe,” my mother said in a way I knew meant no. She didn’t like me to go in cars with people she didn’t know.

  “Or we could all go,” Jackie said. “We could meet after the game and all go to the movies together.”

  “I’ll have to check our schedule,” my mom said in a way I still knew meant no. I knew our schedule. I had a football game at eight, and Amanda’s softball game was usually at ten. So we’d all be done by lunch.
Amanda knew it too.

  “Please,” Amanda said.

  “I just have to check,” Mom said again.

  “Sure.” Jackie pulled something out of her wallet, a card. “Call me when you decide, and if you need a makeover, I’m an independent consultant for Aurelia Cosmetics. I could show you what to do about those fine lines.”

  “I’ll keep you in mind.” Mom was smiling big. To Amanda, she said, “Why don’t you have your dad call me?”

  “Okay.” Amanda walked to the door.

  “Aren’t you going to thank them for having you over?” Jackie asked.

  Mom laughed a little louder than usual, a fake laugh. “Amanda always says thank you.” And then she actually patted Amanda on the head, which was something my mom would do, but not something anyone would do to Amanda.

  I didn’t remember if Amanda actually did always say thank you. But she said it then. Then she took her mother’s hand and pulled her toward the little two-seater. They roared off with the top down.

  Mom decided we should all go to the movies together even though she hated movies. We planned to meet at Amanda’s softball game and see a Dwayne Johnson movie. We went over after my game.

  Amanda was playing shortstop. Tim was teaching her, he said, to be a pitcher, and Amanda and I spent hours practicing, her pitching, me at catcher. I knew she spent hours more with her pitchback. But our age played coach-pitched, and Amanda usually played catcher or shortstop.

  That day, it seemed like every ball came to her. She got maybe half of the outs, including participating in two double plays. Tim was coaching, but I noticed every time Amanda made a hit or an out, her eyes would go to the stands. After a while, I realized she was looking for Jackie. She wasn’t there. So, the next time Amanda looked up, I waved and pumped my fist at her. “Go, Amanda!”

  She smiled but didn’t wave back.

  In the fourth inning, she was at bat with runners on second and third. A hit by her would load the bases. She looked around again and missed one pitch.

  “Strike one!” the ump yelled.

  “Go, Amanda!” I screamed.

  Mom yelled, “Yeah, Amanda! Come on! You can do it!”

  The next pitch was a ball, which Amanda didn’t swing at.

  “Good eye!” Mom yelled, because grown-ups loved yelling good eye for some reason. Other people yelled it too.

  Amanda looked up.

  “Strike two!”

  “Come on, Amanda! Swing at something!” I started chanting, “Amanda! Amanda!”

  The next pitch, she hit it into the outfield. I screamed as it soared toward Sophie Rodriguez and the runner on third came home. The third base coach yelled for the next runner to keep going. The second runner scored just as Sophie caught the ball.

  I was screaming. We were all screaming as Amanda walked back.

  “Whoo, Amanda!” I yelled.

  “But she’s out?” Mom said.

  “Yeah, but she brought in two RBIs.”

  As I started explaining the concept of a sacrifice fly to Mom, I noticed Amanda looking up into the stands again.

  Jackie still wasn’t there.

  Amanda’s team ended up winning two to one.

  When we went down to wait for her, her mother still wasn’t there.

  “Great game!” I told her when she showed up.

  “It was okay.”

  “Yeah, okay. They’d have scored zero runs without you. You’re the best player on the team, probably the whole league.”

  Other people were even coming up and patting Amanda’s shoulder. No one did that on the boys’ teams. Derek Jeter himself could have been playing on our team, and no dad would have admitted he was better than their kid.

  Amanda was back to looking around. Kids had finished with snacks, and people were packing to leave. The next team was setting up.

  “We can still go to the movie even if she doesn’t come,” I said finally. “My mom would take us.” I knew my mom would prefer it. She was only going because she didn’t trust Jackie.

  “Like I want to go to stupid Game Plan if she doesn’t show up. It was a dumb idea.”

  Beside me, I saw Mom about to tell Amanda not to say stupid and dumb, but she stopped herself.

  “We can play at my house,” I said. “Or yours.”

  “I don’t want to.” Amanda looked around for Tim, who was talking to a parent behind her. She tugged his arm. “Can we leave now?”

  “Give me a sec, Amanda.”

  “I want to go home!”

  “Hold on,” Tim said.

  That was when Jackie finally showed up. She was all dressed up in a short skirt with high heels, so she stuck out among the other moms in jeans and T-shirts. Her hair looked all fancy too, and her makeup, with bright-blue eye shadow.

  “Mandy!” she yelled when she saw Amanda. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”

  Amanda ran up to her. “You missed the game. It was so great. I made four outs and got two RBIs!”

  “What’s that?” Jackie looked confused.

  “It’s where the batter hits the ball where she’ll get out, but she brings another runner in.” Mom used her newfound knowledge. “It’s called a sacrifice fly.”

  “That’s great, honey,” Jackie said. “And did you get any runs yourself?”

  Amanda rolled her eyes. “No. Those were the only runs we scored. I brought them in. We won two to one.”

  “Well, that’s good anyway. I have some good news myself. I was late because I had a job interview.”

  No one said anything, and Jackie looked around like she was trying to figure out why we didn’t. Then she added, “I got the job!”

  “That’s great, Mom,” Amanda said. “Is it at Macy’s or Bloomingdale’s?”

  “Well, no. Those are my dream jobs, it’s true. But baby steps first. This one’s at Bed Bath & Beyond, and once I’ve worked long enough to get a discount, I can use it to fix up a room for you and Casey at Grandma’s house.”

  “One room for both of us?”

  “Your grandma doesn’t live in a mansion, Amanda.”

  “Does it have to be pink?” Amanda asked, which surprised me because Amanda’s room at home was pink. Then I realized Jackie might have decorated it.

  “I will consult you,” Jackie said.

  Tim finally finished with the parent. “Sorry about that. Everyone thinks their kid should be the star, when clearly”—he leaned over and whispered to Amanda— “my kid is the star.”

  Amanda giggled.

  “Ahem,” Jackie said. “Hi, Tim.”

  “Ah, hey, Jackie.” Tim looked at Amanda. “So you still want to go home?”

  “No, it’s okay. Mom got a job.”

  “Great news,” Tim said. Then he turned to my mother to make sure she was driving and ask what time we’d be home.

  Jackie did show up for Amanda’s game the next week and some other weeks when she didn’t have work. I came once and saw her, wearing green, the team color, including a big bow in her hair. She sat near the dugout with Casey and talked to Tim between plays, like she was his girlfriend. She must have studied up, because she definitely knew what an RBI was and the infield fly rule. She even had opinions on bunting.

  “I think they might get back together,” Amanda told me, gesturing to them talking after the game.

  “Do you want them to?” I asked.

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t I? You’re lucky your parents are both there.”

  Except that my dad wasn’t ever there, but I didn’t really have to explain that to Amanda. She knew.

  5

  The next year began as a good one for Amanda, but a bad one for me.

  Good for Amanda because Jackie moved back in with Tim at Christmastime. When Amanda found out, it was like the times she hit two home runs in the same game, only better because it didn’t happen as often.

  Bad for me because when we started baseball in the spring, the coach said I should stay in coach-pitched another year because of my size, even though I
was almost nine, and everyone else was moving up to the majors that year.

  “They don’t know what they’re talking about,” Amanda said when I told her on the way to Chuck E. Cheese’s. My mother said I could drown my sorrows in pizza and Skee-Ball. “You’re the best player on the team anyway.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re the best player on your team, even though you moved up.”

  I’d expected to stay in the lower division in football, where they based it on weight as well as age. But I’d been working hard on baseball. Amanda and I practiced almost every day, and I was good enough. At least, I thought I was.

  The night before, when I’d complained about it in front of Dad, he’d said, “That’s what happens when you give every kid a trophy. They all think they’re good.”

  “You’re wrong,” I said. “I know I’m good. My batting average is higher than most people, and I’m a good fielder. You’d know that if you went to the games!”

  “Watch it,” my father had said.

  As before, my mother said it was just because I was small. “You just have to grow. It’s a safety issue.”

  “Yeah, right.” Like I was some baby who’d get hit with the ball.

  When we got to Chuck E. Cheese’s, I made Mom order a large pizza, then I ate half of it.

  Jackie quit her job at Bed Bath & Beyond when she moved back in with the family, but she still did the Aurelia Cosmetics makeovers, so sometimes, Mom still drove Amanda to practices. She never asked Jackie to drive me.

  One day, when I was having a snack before doing homework, the phone rang. It was Amanda.

  “Hey, can Casey and I come over your house?”

  “Sure. When?”

  “Like, right now? Or in a few minutes? We could walk over from school.”

  I lived about a mile from school. Amanda lived farther.

  “Sure. Why are you at school? Do you want my mom to come get you?” I’d never walked from school by myself, and now, it was later, so there wouldn’t be as many people out as right after school let out.

  “No, I can do it. Just wait outside for me, okay? Maybe you can tell your mom I’m getting dropped off to work on a project for school.”