Mexican WhiteBoy Read Free Page B

school halls with his head down like a ghost. Drifted in and out of classrooms without a peep. Nobody even saw him as a real person. But down here, where everybody’s skin is dark, everybody seems to be coming at him.
    He glances at a little red Honda parked down a ways in the cul-de-sac, sees a Mexican guy in a Padres cap leaning against the passenger door with his arms crossed. Guy looks just like one of the scouts that used to show up to watch Kyle at Leucadia Prep. Danny used to wonder about him because he seemed out of place with the other scouts. Why would he be down here, though? Danny wonders. Maybe this is where he lives.
    Danny steps to the trash can lid and swings through a couple times, stretches his shoulders. Feels the nerves in his stomach climbing up into his chest.
    Uno turns to Sofia, laughing. “What up with your cuz, Sofe? Cat got dude’s tongue?”
    “Just pitch ’im the damn ball,” Sofia says. “You talk too much. Maybe he could teach you somethin’.”
    Uno lobs the first pitch right down the middle.
    Danny follows every inch of the yellow felt’s flight but doesn’t take the bat off his shoulder. Instead he visualizes contact. Pictures the barrel of the bat meeting the rubber ball and where. Pictures finishing with perfect follow-through.
    Raul gathers the ball on the short hop a few feet behind the plate, tosses back to Uno.
    Danny watches Uno snatch the ball with his glove and shoot Sofia a look.
    He doesn’t swing at Uno’s next pitch, either. Instead he measures the slow arc. Shifts his weight from his back foot to his front foot just before the ball crosses the trash can lid. He plays the contact out in his head but doesn’t take a swing.
    When Uno gets the toss back from Raul this time, he throws his hands in the air and spins to Sofia. “I know you ain’t brought me another punk too scared to swing. Bad enough I gotta deal with Biscuit back there. I ain’t got time for no nervous cats.”
    “Come on, cuz,” Sofia calls out. “Swing at one.”
    The guys in the field grow noticeably restless. Lolo stands up straight, throws a dirt clod at Chico, who ducks at the last minute. Rene sits down on the grass, reties a loose shoelace. Skinny Pedro isn’t even paying attention. He’s poking around the nativity scene, talking to himself in Spanish.
    Danny waves the bat through the strike zone again. Looks back at the Mexican scout look-alike.
    Uno stares in at him, says: “You plannin’ on swingin’ at
all,
homey?”
    Danny nods.
    “Sure ’bout that?”
    Danny nods again.
    Uno rolls his eyes, wipes forehead sweat on the shoulder of his jersey.
    Manuel hops up and down on the tailgate. He cups his hands around his mouth and yells: “Hey, batter, batter. Swing! Batter!”
    Danny looks over his shoulder at Manuel. Turns his head and sees all the neighborhood kids watching from the cul-de-sac. The girl with the kid. He takes a deep breath, another practice swing. Wonders what these people think of him. The new kid. The light-skinned kid. Wonders if any of them will be his friends this summer—though it’s pretty tough to make friends now that he doesn’t talk so much.
    Uno says something under his breath to the guys on the lawn behind him. Everybody laughs. Then he turns around and haphazardly tosses the next pitch.
    4
    Danny waits on this one. Makes out white seams in a sea of yellow felt. Spinning through the air like a softball. Like a beach ball. Like a big spinning globe, the planet Earth. He locks in. Shifts his weight quick and turns on the pitch, drives the barrel through the zone.
    Crushes it.
    A muted gunshot sound carries across the lawn as the ball explodes off Danny’s bat. Everybody looks up as the tennis ball soars above their heads, a tiny dot in the bright blue sky. A distant commuter plane. A drifting bird. One of the hawks his dad used to stop and point out whenever they walked through the canyon.
    The ball clears not only the Rodriguez roof but the roof of the