I open my notebook. I don’t meet his gaze. It looks too much like a cop’s.
The guy who might be a detective walks by, slow and steady. I don’t look up until the door at the other end closes.
Danny’s hunched over, pretending to sleep. The glove is tipped against his face. His mouth and nose are covered. He lifts the brim of the cap and peers out.
“I owe you.” Danny taps my shoulder with the mitt. He takes off my hat. He blows out a breath and leans over his knees. He watches the door the guy went through. “Felicidades on last week’s win.”
I nod my thanks. “You shoulda been there with us.”
Danny doesn’t say anything for a bit. He stares at his joined hands. “Heard you may be switching schools next year?”
I pretend that Pinchón knowing my business doesn’t bother me. Though, man, that news traveled fast. I only got Papi to agree to it five days ago. I haven’t even told Isa. I’ve been waiting to tell her in person. “Yeah. Haeres. Know it?”
“Nah. But I looked it up. After Bryan told me.”
Bryan and Danny were talking? I slide my notebook into the bag. I look at the door too.
“He’s not happy with you,” Danny says.
“Lo sé. He feels we all abandoning him.”
Danny sighs. “Least you be moving up. That school ’ta bacana.” He touches a finger to his forehead. A straight, pink line runs down his arm. It’s thinner than the scar on his lip. Dots track along it, from stitches that just came out.
Danny sees me looking. He moves the glove to cover it. He clears his throat. “How’d you get El Jefe to let you switch? He always said AHH was the best feeder for the draft.”
“The coach at Haeres said they could do better. And they’re going to use Papi’s help for weekend practices.” I don’t tell him that the coach knew all Papi’s stats. And that he’d recited Papi’s best game, play by play.
Danny nods. “Sounds like you got a smart coach.”
The coach is smart. He came to a few of my games. He’s got a different approach than Papi and the AHH coach.
“He goes by Big Red,” I tell Danny. “His real name is Tony O’Neil.”
“Related to Peter O’Neil? The pitcher from Boston?”
I grin. “It’s his brother.” Another reason Papi agreed.
“Nice.” Danny bumps my hand. We haven’t talked like this for a while. But sitting next to him on the subway? It feels just like old times, heading into Brooklyn for a practice.
Danny hands back my cap, almost like he knows what I was thinking. “Bryan’s saying now he might get a better chance in the draft, seeing as you might be heading to college.”
I hook my hands behind my head. “Ain’t nothing been decided yet. Still waiting to hear if Haeres will take me for sure.” I don’t like to think of me and Bryan fighting each other for the same thing. We’re on the same team. Doesn’t matter what colors we wear.
Danny’s leg is bouncing. A small corner of red from the bandana sticks out.
“How about you?” I ask him. “Any chance you gonna play ball again? The jersey looks good on you.”
That gets Danny to smile. He sits up. He punches the mitt. “I was never as good as you two. Not even close. Oyéme, I do not miss being yelled at by Coach. Or El Jefe.” He digs his fist into the leather. “You know what I do miss? Hanging on the field with you and Bryan. Just having fun. No scorekeeping.”
I miss that too.
“Oh, and Yaritza’s cooking.” Danny puts a hand on his stomach. “Her tacos son los mejores que nada.”
“Yeah, I’m one lucky guy.” I face him. “Hey, why don’t you come by tomorrow? Papi’s going to warm me up before practice. Yaritza will make lunch. And you can see Isa. She asks about you.”
He grins like he doesn’t care about his scar. “Isa’s gonna be in Brooklyn? ¡Guay!” Danny blows air past his lips. “Is Bryan going? You know he’s quillao about that too, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” Whenever I see him in school, Bryan rides me, asking when he’s going to get to hang out with Isa. It’s just, we’re so busy. I hardly have time to see her.
Danny chuckles. “La Princesa, ¿eh?”
I don’t say anything. Bryan called her that the other day. Not to Isa’s face. But still. I came close to punching him.
“You know Bryan’s just jealous, right? He’s always jealous of you,” Danny says.
I look away. That’s no secret.
“So, thing’s are going well? ¿Eh? With Isa?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I tell Danny about how Yaritza’s friend who works at Barclays spoke to her boss who was able to get these seats right next to the stage for tonight. They call them partial view, because you can also see part of the backstage area. When Isa realizes where we’re sitting, she’s going to climb onto one of the seats, wrap her legs around my waist, and kiss me until folks yell at us to calm down.
“I’m looking forward to cheering her up,” I say. I tell Danny what I haven’t told anyone. “I think something’s going on with Isa’s brother.”
“Why?” he asks.
“Her face changes when I ask about him. Her smile gets bigger. But it’s forced, you know? Kind of plasticky? And she never answers. She doesn’t say she doesn’t want to talk about him, but we never do. And another thing . . . She doesn’t like to talk about anything sad.”
“But that’s good, right? Wouldn’t want a whiny girlfriend. Pinchón’s always complaining about girls who don’t stop complaining.”
I look down at my notebook, safe in my bag. “I’d rather know what she’s feeling. Instead of feeling like she’s hiding from me.”
“El Jefe must love her, if he’s letting her spend the night.”
I smile instead of telling him that Isa’s only met Mami. I don’t tell him what Papi said when I first brought up Haeres. That the fancy school must have been her idea. That college must have been her idea too. How he asked if I’d met her parents, if I’d shared a meal with them. He patted my cheek when I said, “Not really,” and said I wouldn’t until I passed her rich-white-people tests and I showed her my college acceptance.
It’s harder for some people to see past what’s on the outside. But that’s not Isa. I told Papi so. He laughed and said I was a fool.
“Mami loves her,” is what I say now.
The express doors open. We’re already at Seventy-Second.
“Hey, lo siento pero I’m getting off at the next stop. I’m meeting Isa. You could come. She’d love to see you.”
“Nah, it’s OK.” Danny gives back the glove. “Maybe I’ll come by tomorrow.” He takes off my jersey. He doesn’t look me in the face as he hands it over. I don’t think I’ll be seeing him tomorrow.
I stand to get ready. “Hey, I never asked how you’re doing?”
Danny smiles. But it’s stiff and plasticky. “I’m doing great.”
The doors open. I have to get off.
•••
Isa doesn’t come to the Sixty-Sixth Street station. I wait a full half hour later than the time we agreed on. She doesn’t answer her phone. Or respond to my DMs.