CHAPTER FOUR
The next morning as I put my cereal bowl in the sink, my mom handed me my brown bag lunch and said, “Congratulations on making the team. But like your father and I said last night, stick to those studies. Don’t let anything slide.”
“Yeah, Mom, don’t worry, I got this.” I took my lunch and headed out the door. It was a warm, sunny morning, perfect for rolling the windows down and playing some tunes on the way to school. I slid into my green bucket seats and flipped my stereo on. I pushed a tape by Iron Butterfly into the slot to hear “In A Gadda Da Vida.” That tune felt like my theme song—with that driving beat, I could conquer anything, be it baseball or girls!
As I headed toward school, I sang along with the lyrics: “In a gadda da vida, honey, don't you know that I'm lovin' you. In a gadda da vida, baby, don’t you know that I'll always be true.” I swung into the high school parking lot beating my hands on the steering wheel to the driving bass and funky guitar solo. Whenever I played with Royce, I would cut loose on that part. Some pretty girls turned their heads as my music blasted out the windows. As they smiled, I started to slow down, but a little voice inside my head said: Don’t overdo it. This is not the right time or place. Get your ass in school.
I drove past them, parked, and grabbed my book bag out of the back. I saw Susan up ahead, walking with her best friend, Nicole.
She stopped, waved, and as I got closer, said: “Congratulations on making the team!”
I grinned. Boy, good news travels fast.
But as I got closer, I could only mumble a shy, “Thanks.”
At that moment the guys pulled into the lot, beeping their horns to get my attention. They drove alongside us, and Ted leaned out the window of his sports car and said, “Jump in, Mike, we’re going to get breakfast—my treat.”
Susan looked at me, a little surprised, and then said under her breath, “You're going to skip class?” Nicole also stared at me, curious to see what I would do.
“It’s only once.” I smiled and got into Ted's car. Susan half-smiled back, shrugged, then turned and walked off with her friend to class.
As Ted tore out of the parking lot, he said, “Making points with the ladies today, huh?”
“Nah, just saying hello. We were talking about schoolwork, nothing important. And they were congratulating me on making the team.”
“Yeah, sure. I’ve seen the way you look at her at Mario’s. With you making the team—anything’s possible.”
Ted pulled up to Cristo’s, a little diner on the Post Road, a favorite of the locals. Dave pulled into the slot next to us, and everyone piled out. I felt like a member of the gang, like in West Side Story, only we all dressed in our own way, making our individual fashion statements. And Ted looked the coolest in his brown suede jacket and white Adidas sneakers with the black stripes.
The waitress behind the counter—the owner’s wife—said, “Hello, boys! Early breakfast today?”
Ted answered for all of us, “Sure, we’ll have pancakes and bacon—my treat. We’re celebrating Mike making the baseball team.” Now I realized he was going to pay for everyone, not just me. Boy, it’s nice to be “King!”
“I was thinking about having your usual ready for you but a little bird told me to hold off—there was something special about today.” And she bustled off into the kitchen.
We all sat at the counter talking about last night’s game—the Yankees against the Red Sox. Ted was not much of a conversationalist. He’d only speak if you asked him questions, usually stuff about girls at school.
So, I turned to him and said: “I made the team, but where are the women? It’s a package deal, right?”
He just smiled and said, “All in due time. You got to learn how to act around them first.”
Ted was always talking to some popular girl at school. He was the center of attention with all the pretty ones, especially at parties. It wasn’t his height—he was average, probably around 5’10”, and it wasn’t anything particular about his looks. He had dark, wavy hair cut similar to Mick Jagger, but you wouldn’t have picked him out in a crowd. Maybe it was his striking blue eyes? They had a certain intensity—almost hypnotic, like he was staring straight through you. And his shy but powerful presence could catch anyone’s attention—male or female, young or old. He was almost like a cult leader, and back at his house on the hill he held court in his bedroom, a third-floor private club designed to awe his guests, with a powerful stereo, extensive 8-track collection, posters of The Stones, The Beatles, and Los Angeles Lakers basketball star Jerry West taking a legendary jump shot, and the finishing touch—a refrigerator stocked with cold brew. His father, George, was a businessman constantly traveling, and this gave Ted the freedom to entertain friends however he wished (within reason of course).
Everybody who grew up with Ted knew that his mother died when he was around eight. His father remarried when he was a teenager, and he never got along with his stepmother. She never came up the stairs to his room, and he rarely came down. Through his father’s remarriage, he had a much younger half-sister. He got along with her well…there was just that tension with his stepmother hanging over his head. I guess that’s why he always enjoyed going to breakfast in the morning with his buddies, rather than eating at home. He never wanted to be at that house on the hill, unless he was upstairs in his room, hanging with his friends.
After we finished eating, it was time for us to get back to school. All these new things happening to me were a little hard to believe. Ted timed it perfectly—we got back when classes were changing so we could slip in and meld with the crowd. I realized I’d missed Kaplan’s class but figured I would catch up with him tomorrow. All I could focus on was finishing the day and getting to baseball practice. Ted said, “See ya later.” I gave him a nod and headed to biology—one of my favorites. I was flying high. I was finally doing the things I wanted to do. And in control of my life. Or was I?