Color

4. Dilemma

Trotting off the field, Henry could feel the burning stares from the Pioneers players as the teams switched sides. Boos erupted from the white stands, spreading like wildfire from one section to the next, until the entire stadium buzzed like thousands of angry hornets.

"It's just an exhibition game," Coach had said earlier. "We pay our respects to those draftees. We get us a scrimmage before the season. It'll all be fine."

Fine, my foot.

True, the opening ceremony had gone without a hitch. A megaphone man announced each army cadet by name before Mayor Dunlop delivered a fiery speech. "I have no doubt these young cadets will make Hester and our fine country proud as they journey abroad to fight and defeat the Kaiser and his evil empire." On that dramatic note, the fans cheered along with both teams, umpires, vendors, and security guards throughout the stadium.

Before the opening pitch, opposing dugouts traded some good-natured banter, ranging from who had the best arm to who could run the fastest. Then Coach Brown and Coach Elliot from the Pioneers met halfway between the dugouts and shook hands, a moment captured by a young, sandy-haired photographer armed with a box camera set on a tripod.

The game underway, the Pioneers struck first with a solo home run in the first inning. They punched in another run in the second. Finally, Henry answered with a monster homer in the top of the fourth. With momentum in their favor, the Rooks almost tied the game, and that probably gave the Pioneers enough of a scare to bring the fight to them.

In the bottom of the fourth, the game took a turn when the Pioneers started sliding into the bases feet first, aiming spikes like bayonets. Coach Brown argued it was supposed to be an exhibition, and that made the head umpire laugh so hard, his cheeks glowed a mocking red.

In the span of four innings, the colored players got gashed in the shins, shoulder-checked trying to tag out runners, sucker-punched, shoved off the bases, and beaned four times by fast balls. Not to mention the insults and slurs. Some folks even covered their children's ears.

But Henry heard everything. Endured everything. He had collected every verbal and physical abuse in a mental piggy bank that was going to get smashed open with his next at bat.

Now in the dugout, Coach Brown belted a new tune. "Watch your backsides out there. They done turned this show into a fight." Outside, the crowd was deafening, and a chant repeated over and over: Rooks are done, Pioneers have won.

Henry turned his gaze beyond the dugout. To the outfield. To the Pioneers, warming up, like a cocky bunch on a school yard waiting for the next victim to pick on. He knew most of the Pioneers players' names, but three stood out: Jake Westin, the pitcher; Rusty Ryan, catcher; and first baseman Garrett Hayes. They had dealt him and the Rooks the most vicious attacks.

Along the first base line, a hunched backed announcer, wearing a black tuxedo and bow tie, shuffled around like a four-foot-two penguin. The fans quieted as he raised a huge silver megaphone to his lips and shouted, "Ladies and Gentleman! For the Rooks, Charles Parks up, Maurice Jones on deck, and Henry Louis in the hole."

Henry leaned against the dugout wall. He studied the wooden scoreboard in left field, wanting to get the situation straight in his head: Top of the ninth, 1–2, Pioneers on top. This was the Rook's last shot to win the game.

And so the ninth inning started with Old Man Charles, knocking a looping fly ball that fell to its death in the glove of the second baseman. A new guy, Henry thought, one with lanky arms and enough facial hair for a two-pound wig.

Next up was Maurice "Flash" Jones, five-foot-four of rail-thin muscle and lightning speed. No lie, he could run the bases in 14.7 seconds. And as fast as Henry was, he had only bested Maurice once in a one-hundred yard dash and only after the speedster tripped near the end.