Danny snorts. “Not like we gotta try hard. Kiara’s been sniffing around since Memorial Day weekend when you hit those five home runs.”
“Four homers. Not five.” Bryan rips at the foil. “Kiara’s been following after you since algebra with Mrs. Nolan. What was that? Two years ago? And besides Kiara, there’s Franny.”
“And Julissa,” Danny crows. Bryan’s cleats sink into his thigh. Danny yelps. What did he think was going to happen when he mentioned Bryan’s ex?
I open the bag, show them the nine remaining bundles. “You don’t both shut it, these gonna be mine.” They stuff their mouths with what they got left but their eyes are still laughing at me. I don’t need no girl. Not when my hand is gripping a mitt and I’m hurling a ninety-mile-an-hour ball. I reach for my water, gulp at the straw. “Anyway, you know what Papi says about las mujeres.”
“Who says you have to tell El Jefe?” Bryan’s cheek is balled up with taco. “It’s not like you live with him.”
I turn over the wraps, reading the labels on what’s left. Papi has a way of knowing things, even if you don’t come out and tell him. They don’t call him El Jefe for nothing.
A woman with two boys gets on. One’s about Robi’s age. His mami sure is giving us the stink eye. Her nose hides in her sleeve. Yeah. Yaritza’s cooking isn’t shy in the smell department. But what are we going to do? We’re starved from an hour and a half of drills. And a two-hour game.
The train swings into Dekalb. Danny hoots as Bryan stands and lifts one foot. The fool keeps his balance as he chomps what’s left of his tortilla like he’s a gator in some cartoon. I lean back in my seat, stretching my legs. Train’s only going to get more crowded. The boy who looks like Robi digs into the shopping bag his mami’s holding. He comes back out with a baseball cap. Not Mets. Yankees.
I lift off my own cap and push back sweat-drenched hair. I tug down the brim and meet the boy’s smile with my own. My hat doesn’t have an N or Y on it. The letters AHH are stitched into the navy fabric in the same font as the Yankees’. We’re still in Brooklyn, not Washington Heights, so not everyone is going to recognize it stands for Alexander Hamilton High. But if you know about high school baseball and you recognize the names of two Hall of Famers and three Rookies of the Year, you will. The boy’s mami stops fussing with the younger boy. Her eyes flit from Danny to Bryan to me. I know what she sees—three morenos in dirt-stained sweats taking up a row and a half of seats. She tugs at her son’s sleeve till he looks away. Guess she doesn’t know what AHH means either.
The doors crash open. Folks pile in.
“Muévete.” I slide over the empty seats between us and push Danny toward Bryan. Bryan’s standing, one cleat still off the floor, taco held high like he means to mash it into the ceiling. I rise and snatch it away. I hand it to Danny who downs it before Bryan can grab it back. Bryan knocks Danny’s cap clear across the car. Danny dives for it. He pops back, hat pulled nearly down to his nose. The brim doesn’t cover his upper lip, one side smooth, the other bumped with a red line snaking down from his nostril. But it hides his eyes so he can’t see people looking at him. His abuela’s still angry his mami didn’t bring him to New York right after he was born. She’s always going on about how if he’d had the surgery here instead of in DR it would look better. Bryan and I tell him it’s not so bad. But still, he never takes off that cap.
“Y tú. Siéntate.” I hold the last of the tacos. I don’t hand them over till Bryan takes his seat like I asked. I keep the suadero for me. The boy who looks like my baby brother isn’t there anymore. The mami’s moved them to the other end, as far from us as possible. I concentrate on the warm fold of corn and grilled meat. I chew and close my eyes again. Bryan’s telling some story about when he and Julissa went to some party. He reminds me if I ever went with him, Kiara would be waiting for me and I wouldn’t have a girl problem. I take another bite. The top of a Yankees hat sticks above a cardboard box. The hat tips forward as if the boy is looking at his hands or his feet or the ground. It’s just like Papi said. If that mami had seen us on the field, it’d be different. She’d be wanting her sons to be us instead of trying to keep them away. I could make a fist, stick out my thumb, then count on that one hand the number of times someone’s met me not on the field, not in uniform, and actually respected me. Baseball is what makes people take notice of me.
•••
“Alex, montro, come on!” Danny’s calling me from the door. I snap up and follow him to the platform.
“What you dreamin’ about?” Danny cranes his head back to me as we aim for the tunnel to the 1, 2, 3.
Bryan jabs me with an elbow. “Not what. Who?” He smirks. “Kiara, right?” I wave him off but show him a grin. They both start hooting. The local and the express come at the same time. Bryan goes for the express but I jerk my chin at the local.
We get on, the conductor screaming at us to wait till others get off. It’s crowded, so we’re stuck by the doors.
“Why you don’t want the express no more?” Bryan’s question is an accusation. “You do know it’s faster, right? That’s why they call it the express.”
I give him my back. I gaze out at rainbow graffiti on concrete walls. I trace the curves of balloon letters on the glass. Bryan likes to argue. I don’t.
“Manito, to ’ta frio. We got to change at Ninety-Six anyway,” Danny says.
Bryan’s reflection scowls. He likes to get his way. And he doesn’t like to be ignored. At the next stop, Bryan mutters as he squeezes in tight next to me and Danny. At Fifty-Ninth, a couple people get off. None get on. Bryan rolls his shoulders and adjusts his cap. “Been meaning to ask, why don’t you ever take El Jefe up on his offer to stay with him and Yaritza on the weekend? Bet Robi would love that. And maybe then he wouldn’t make us run all those extra drills.”
I have spent the night with them. Robi’s mostly the reason I do it. But me staying over doesn’t guarantee Papi’ll be in a good mood. Plus, I don’t like leaving Mami alone in the apartment all night. Unlike Papi, Mami doesn’t have anyone else. Bryan lives with his abuela. Danny too. They’d understand if I told them. But I don’t.
“What, and miss riding the train with you pendejos?”
Danny chuckles. Bryan barely cracks a smile. He’s still angry about taking the local.
“Hey, Bry, how ’bout you and me head to Hood Park when we get back?” I nod at my ball bag.
“You kiddin’? We just finished practicing.” Bryan rubs his thumb into his palm. “Yo, chan, I need a rest. Plus, I got someone to meet. And before you ask me, it’s not Julissa.”
Danny tsks. He bumps Bryan with his arm. “Don’t you got work to do?” He peers at me. I have a science lab to write. But practicing the new pitch Papi taught me, showing Papi I’m serious, is more important.
I hold up the ball, two fingers on the red seams. My thumb cradles the bottom. “This is work.”
Danny looks down and shrugs a shoulder. “I’ll go.”
He’s not as good a catcher as Bryan. But I only need someone to toss the ball back to me. I wait for Danny to look up then give him my winner’s smile. His face lights like he just got named MVP. We’re coming up on Lincoln Center. I scan the platform, hoping Bryan and Danny don’t notice. The door opens. I duck out, make a show of letting others in. Some girls with buns get on the car next to ours.