“Why not?” Phil asked.
“You’re not a senior,” Dare answered.
“Oh,” was Phil’s witty comeback.
“I’ll talk to Tracy. Who’ll organize everything?” Pam asked.
I decided they could all die, as far as I was concerned, when they turned and waited for me to take the lead. Then I remembered I had people who worked for me. I would call Lexi and let her figure it out. It would give her an excuse to not have to work for her psycho client, Chloe Larkin.
“Because I owe Cassidy a favor, I’ll do it,” I said.
“Hey,” Cassidy complained.
“Did you tell them your big news?” I asked Cassidy and then turned to the table before she could stop me. I wanted to make sure she couldn’t back out of going to USC. “Cassidy got a scholarship to be on the USC rowing team.”
“We’ll be roommates?” Pam asked excitedly.
“The rowing team? What does she know about rowing?” Dare asked, raising the obvious question.
“Want to tell me about the drones?” I fired back, and when he didn’t seem to want to follow up, I added, “Dare got a hickey.”
Chaos ensued when everyone had questions about the multitude of different topics that had been presented and that we hadn’t gotten a chance to discuss yet. We didn’t have any actual dirt most days, but we hadn’t seen each other in a week.
I had a twinge of guilt for my role in this when the voice of Chrissy, Dare’s significant other, pierced through the mayhem.
“What hickey!?”
Everyone stopped and looked at Dare.
“David …” Dare started and then looked at me for help.
“On my flight home, I was told I should start my own rock band and name it ‘Heavy Meddle.’ It looks like my work here is done,” I said and saw that Gina had a satisfied smile.
Usually, she considered it her job to stir the pot.
As though I’d planned it, the bell rang. Sometimes it was better to be lucky than good.
On the way out of the cafeteria, I explained to Chrissy that I’d made the whole story up to save Dare’s butt for passing notes in math class. Dare and I were both shocked when she offered to give him an actual hickey so he would have some cover. He suddenly decided my ill-conceived ruse was genius. Funny how his perspective changed.
◊◊◊
After school, I was in one of the coaches’ conference rooms with Moose, Coach Haskins, and my dad.
“I told David that while he was on spring break, I would look into how to make him safe on the ball field. I made a lot of calls to a variety of people, and we came up with an assortment of ideas, many of which we discarded. We also uncovered another problem concerning umpires and officials.
“It seems they’re being abused at an alarming rate. Remember the game where the parents attacked the umpire?” Dad asked.
We all nodded.
“This is becoming a thing, and what we witnessed wasn’t an isolated instance. Similar confrontations have happened all over the state,” Dad shared.
“How has it become okay to do something like that?” Coach Haskins asked.
“That’s a much bigger question, and I’m not sure how we fix it,” Dad said and then got us back on track. “I have a draft of a letter the state High School Athletic Association is sending to every school and official who works a sporting event, like umpires in baseball.”
Dad handed out copies.
The letter basically said safety at sporting events was something that would be taken seriously. Included was a litany of items, including protection of fans, players, and officials from any kind of abuse or physical harm. It specifically listed intentionally throwing at opposing players. This wasn’t the major leagues, this was high school ball, and they wouldn’t stand for it.
The letter went on to say that each school district had to hold a meeting where all volunteers, hired officials, coaches, and athletic department personnel attended. Someone from the state police would be in attendance to explain the current laws on the books that applied. And further, that the state police would be available to be at games if the district decided it was warranted.
The letter made it clear they were serious. They’d gotten the governor, the director of the state police, the attorney general, and the High School Athletic Association director to all sign it.
“That is the warning, but it doesn’t help if someone decides to throw at David anyway,” Moose said.
“I called Devin Range, and he has something for you,” Dad said as he grabbed a duffle bag out from under the table.
He pulled out a new helmet and what looked like a bodysuit, similar to a wetsuit I would wear diving. The suit reminded me of a mouse pad in that it had a slightly rough outer layer but had some give to it.
“Does this have the orange goo in it?” I asked.
Devin had given me gloves with the stuff to try at the last photo shoot I did for them. You could punch a wall, and your hand would be protected.
“He’s calling the orange goo ‘Liquid Armor’ now. They’re working with another company that’s bidding on military contracts for the next generation of ballistic combat shirts and pants. The outer material is supposed to be reusable. I guess older technology would do what’s called ‘spidering,’ making it one-time-only protection. Not that David is going to be shot, but it was something Devin was excited about,” Dad explained.
“It looks like it’ll be hot,” Moose said.
“Devin assured me its moisture-wicking properties give it a degree of breathability. The gear they’re designing for the military has to be usable in different environments, including the desert,” Dad said.
“This is supposed to work better than the helmet?” I asked.
“That had a design flaw,” Dad explained.
“I’ve heard that before,” I said doubtfully.
“So, we test it,” Moose suggested.
“How would we do that?” Coach Haskins asked.
“Get David suited up and have him stand in front of the pitching machine. We should start at full speed and work our way down,” Moose suggested.
“I think you have that backward,” I said, knowing he was pulling my chain.
“There’s something else you need to be aware of,” Dad said. “We had to buy this for David. Devin couldn’t give it to him without the NCAA getting interested. This is a prototype and not scalable for mass production yet. It wasn’t cheap.”
Dad shared the number, and it took all of us aback. I thought my football helmet was expensive. This was five times that price.
“I better be able to use this for football too, for that kind of money,” I said.
“Devin said you should try it out. If it doesn’t work, he’ll take it back,” Dad assured me.
“Have you decided whether you’ll play ball?” Coach Haskins asked me.
“I can’t see why not,” I said to make the coaches happy. I then turned to my dad. “Thanks. I’m in awe of what you got done in a week.”
“I wasn’t sure I would until one of Governor Higgins’ aides told him about the issue officials had been having at games. With that information, he could justify taking action without singling you out. From there, he pulled in others who helped craft the response. The governor said it reminded him of when my dad had been involved. Instead of bickering back and forth, everyone saw a common goal and actually did something,” Dad shared.
“Regardless, you got the ball rolling. Thanks, Dad,” I said and gave him a hug.
“Go get dressed. We need to see if this gear works,” Moose said.
◊◊◊
I put my new liquid-armor suit on under a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and walked out to the batting cage. Moose took great pleasure in firing off the first pitch. The ball caught me square in the chest. I felt the impact, but it didn’t hurt. It was like someone had shoved me.
“Crank it up. If this works on the highest setting, we’re good,” I said.
The next pitch, you could hear the air part as the ball knifed into my chest. This one stung, but nowhere near what it felt like when you caught a pitch on your bare skin, which I had experienced too many times. I doubted I’d even have a bruise.