Say It Ain't So by Josh Berk Page B

one,” I said.
    â€œYou got that right,” Mike said. His face was streaked with dirt and his hair was slick with sweat.He was sipping on a cup of water. He looked like he had been through a war. “I just don’t get it. How do you go from being perfect to being perfectly terrible?”
    â€œJust a rough outing,” I said.
    â€œYou think?” Mike said.
    â€œSure,” I said. “Happens to everyone. Happens to the best pitchers in the world. Even could happen to the Great Imperial Ashwell.”
    â€œCan you believe that stunt with the microphone?” Mike asked. “I thought Coach Zo was going to kill him.”
    â€œI’m surprised he didn’t bench him,” I said.
    â€œMe too,” Mike said. “I guess the rules are different for the great ones.”
    â€œOr the formerly great ones,” I said. “Just kidding. He’ll get it back. You’ll get them next time. Just an unlucky break.”
    Davis Gannett butted into the conversation. “Hey, you dork-buckets,” he said. “Sorry to interrupt.”
    â€œNo you’re not,” Mike said.
    â€œWell, listen,” Davis spat. “Ain’t no way the massacre we just witnessed had anything to do with luck.”
    Mike and I kept our mouths shut. We just stared at each other, then looked back at Davis.
    â€œYou think luck is going to turn a bunch of weak-hitting dork-buckets like the Griffith Griffins into a whole team of Babe Ruths? Luck has nothing to do with it.”
    â€œWhat, then?” I said. “You can’t really blame Hunter. He’s been nothing but great all year.”
    Davis sneered. “Yeah, the Great Imperial Ashwell has been great. He
is
great. But if and only if they don’t know what’s coming.”
    â€œWhat are you saying?” Mike asked.
    â€œThat he ain’t good if they do know what is coming! Do I have to spell it out for you?”
    â€œYou know how to spell?” I said. It was mean.
    Davis got right in my face. “You shut up, Lenny. I know a lot of things. And one thing I know for certain: Griffith was stealing your friend’s signs.”
    â€œNo way!” Mike said. “We have a secret system!”
    â€œWell, the secret’s out,” Davis said. “You stink.”
    For a moment I thought Mike was going to take a swing at Davis. But Coach Zo walked up and yelled, “Let’s go! Team meeting, pronto!”
    I didn’t know what
pronto
meant, but you couldtell by the way he said it that he was
not
joking around.
    Other Mike and I got onto our bikes. I didn’t have the heart to make up wacky nicknames. I just glumly snapped on the helmet and started to pedal.
    â€œHey,” I said as we rode. “Where was Davis when you ran into him?”
    â€œHere,” Other Mike said. “At the game.”
    â€œNo,” I said. “Where
exactly
was he?”
    â€œOut by the fence,” he said. “Way out there.” He pointed toward center field.
    â€œWhat was he doing out there?” I asked.
    Other Mike shrugged. “He said he didn’t like sitting where everyone could see him. Said everyone kept giving him mean looks. I think he’s right. You and Mike are both pretty mean to him. I’m not sure why.”
    â€œYou’re not sure why?!” I yelled. “He’s been mean to
us
our whole lives!”
    â€œWell, he’s different now,” Other Mike said, though Davis’s behavior just a few minutes ago was evidence to the contrary. “I thought you’d think it was a good thing that he was here to support the team or whatever.”
    â€œYeah,” I scoffed. “Support the team. Ha.”

That night, Mike called me. He wasn’t known for calling very much, so I could tell something was wrong.
    â€œHey, Newts,” I said.
    â€œHey, Len,” he said.
    â€œTough loss,” I said.
    â€œYeah,” he said.