“I think so. He just made varsity and he doesn’t throw as hard as Raz, but his accuracy and control is unreal. He just stays calm, no matter what.”
Dylan interjected again, “Jordan’s a contact pitcher. The batter might get a piece of the ball, but they won’t get a base hit. The ball will be a grounder or fly out, easy to catch.”
Chris mulled it over. “So they’re competing for starting pitcher and they’re friends? That can’t be easy, can it?”
“They’re buds, but hey, it happens on a team. Only one can be the ace.”
Chris was settling on Jordan, but he would need to separate him from Raz to exert the maximum influence on him. The competition for starting pitcher might be the wedge, and all Chris had to do was hammer it hard.
The hallway ended at the entrance to the boys’ locker room, and the door was propped open. Trevor gestured inside. “I’ll show you where the coaches’ office is. Coach Natale should be there, the JV Coach.”
“Lead the way, boys.”
Chapter Eight
Chris followed the boys down a ramp to a lower level and they entered a large locker room with benches and blue lockers, which was emptying. Trevor and Dylan dropped him off, and Chris walked the short hallway to the coaches’ office, spotting Coach Natale through the window. Chris knew from his research that Natale taught Health, his wife Felicia was a reading specialist at the high school, and their twin girls were in fifth grade at CVMS. They owned a white poodle but Chris didn’t remember the dog’s name. Then it came to him—Snowflake. Confirming, no imagination.
“I’m Chris Brennan, the new assistant,” Chris said, when he reached the entrance to the office, and Victor crossed the room with an eager grin, his meaty hand extended.
“I’m Victor Natale, welcome!” Victor pumped Chris’s hand with vigor. Natale was short and chubby, with an affable Italian-guy vibe. He had large brown eyes, a big nose, and thick lips, his fleshy face framed by thick black hair. “I coach the JV team with my assistant Dan Bankoske. He’s already in the gym. So I hear you’re from Utah?”
“Wyoming. Everybody knows everything here, am I right?”
“Bingo!” Victor laughed. “My wife told me. She’s on the Instructional Support team. She heard it from Anne in the office.” He spread his arms broadly. “Well, this is our palace. The empty desk is yours.”
“Thanks.” Chris crossed to the empty desk and set his backpack on the black desk chair. The windowless room held four black desks facing the wall, and the other three desks were cluttered with forms, three-ring notebooks, and Inside Pitch, Coach & Athletic Director, and Covering All Bases magazines. Black file cabinets lined the opposite wall next to a dorm-size refrigerator, old microwave, and a Keurig coffeemaker.
“So, Chris, what’s your deal? You single or married?”
“Single.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Looking to meet somebody new? My sister-in-law’s about to free up. You can take her off my hands. I can’t get her out of my house.”
“Not yet, thanks.” Chris thought Victor was likable but he didn’t need a friend.
“Lemme know. Did you get the free iPad? It’s from the Boosters, God bless them.”
“Yes.” Chris unzipped his backpack and took out his new iPad.
“You downloaded the software, right? It’s like that app, MLB Dugout.”
“Right.” Chris had downloaded the coaching software as per Hardwick’s emailed instructions, but he had also created secret player files. “Any pointers for working with Coach Hardwick?”
“Ha!” Victor’s dark eyes glittered. “The kids call him Hardass behind his back. Also Hardhead, Hardwood, Hard On, and Hard Dick.”
Chris chuckled, happy to be taken into confidence so quickly. “He’s not exactly Santa Claus.”
“Understatement of the year.”
“Are you friendly with him?”
“Is anybody? That’s why Kwame left. Couldn’t take it another minute. Hardwick goes through assistants like Kleenexes.” Victor chuckled. “You know the secret to getting along with him? Follow the Bible.”
“Really? I didn’t know he was a man of faith.” Chris hadn’t seen anything in his research about Coach Hardwick’s being religious or he would’ve worn a crucifix.
“No, not that Bible. Hardwick’s Bible. He emailed it to you. He calls it the Bible.”
“Oh, that Bible.” Chris remembered the packet of information that Coach Hardwick had emailed him. He had it with him in his backpack.
“The Bible is the Gospel According to Hardwick. If you follow the Bible, you’ll get along fine with him. The Bible is his program, his rules, rain or shine, off-season to postseason. To be fair, you can’t argue with results. He wins.” Victor yakked away. “I follow the Bible because it’s good for JV and varsity to be consistent. But I use more emotional intelligence than he does. I like to get close to my players, get to know them personally. Hardwick’s not like that. He’s old-school.”
“I think it’s okay to get close to the players. You can still retain your authority.” Chris processed the information. If Hardwick didn’t get close to the players, it gave him an opening with the boys.
“I agree.” Victor smiled, his approval plain. “But keep it to yourself. Follow the Bible. Stay in your lane. The kids, too. They know what’s expected. If the kids follow the Bible, Hardwick doesn’t sweat anything. Like hair, for example. Take Raz. Mike Sematov.”
“I have him in class.”
“Good luck. What a wackadoodle. He pitched last season. Throws hard. A great fastball but major control problems on and off the field.” Victor snorted. “If you have him in class, you know what he’s like. Hair down to his shoulders like Lincecum. Wears a man bun. Hardwick doesn’t care. He even told Raz that his hair had superpowers like Samson. Now the kid’ll never cut it.”
Chris smiled. “So Raz is the starting pitcher? What about Jordan Larkin? I heard Coach Hardwick might start him instead.”
“Larkin? Love that kid.” Victor’s coarse features lit up. “He played for me on JV last season. He’s a great kid. A quiet kid, shy, but great.”
“Really.” Chris was targeting Larkin, more and more.
“Then over the summer, he grew. That’s the kind of thing that happens in high-school ball, I see it all the time. The kids grow, put on muscle. Or they sharpen their skills, improve their mechanics, go to a camp. Larkin came into his own. He’s got the stuff. He’s bringin’ it. The team’s losing with Raz pitching. I think Hardwick will start Jordan.”
“How did Larkin improve so much?”
“God knows. He didn’t go to camp, he can’t afford it.”
“Do you think Raz taught him?” Chris was fishing. “Or maybe he learned from his father?”