Joey Pigza Loses Control by Jack Gantos Read Free Book Online Page A

memories.”
    â€œDon’t you even want to talk about what happened with Mom?” I asked.
    â€œNo,” he replied. “Definitely not. Because the worst thing I ever did was mess your mom up and it just makes me feel sick to think about it.”
    â€œBut I was awful to her too,” I said. “Like, a million times. And she forgave me each and every time.”
    â€œWell, we may have that nose problem in common, but not the Mom forgiveness deal. She won’t have a thing to do with me,” he said.

    â€œGrandma told me it was your secret dream to have a family again,” I ventured.
    â€œGrandma can’t keep a secret,” he said. “She’s yappier than Pablo. Sure, I might have said that. But then after I have a few beers I’m liable to say anything—I’m one of those drinkers that for every bottle of beer I empty, I fill it back up with tears.”
    We pulled into the Police Athletic League ball-field parking lot, which was right behind the backstop.
    â€œDad,” I said, smiling. “I think we just had our first back-and-forth conversation.”
    â€œI’m sure we’ll have more,” he said, looking out onto the field, and I could tell he was already distracted. He pulled his patch off the dashboard and slapped it back onto his shoulder, then swung his door open. “But for now, we have a game to play, and I have to knock these kids into shape. Why don’t you take a seat in the dugout and just watch while I get some drills going.” He went around to the trunk, opened it, and pulled out a big bag of bats and balls.
    â€œAbout tonight,” he said. “I don’t think you’ll be playing, but don’t feel bad. You’ll be the new kid on the team and I have to use the regulars, but if I get a chance I’ll put you in so keep an eye on the game.” Then he reached out and tousled my hair with his hand and I loved it. Loved it more than anything he had said.

    Suddenly he yelled out over his shoulder at the team. “Okay, you slackers, pick up the pace! You don’t want to be losers for your entire lives, do you?” Then he began hitting sharp ground balls in their direction which scattered them like pigeons.
    After a few minutes of feeling out of place over nothing in particular I began to entertain myself as best I could. I got a pen out of the car and drew a skull tattoo on my shoulder. I took out my shoelaces and relaced them in the fancy way Dad had his laced. Some kid had left behind a bag of peanuts and I took a few and opened them up while I whistled “Peanuts” from the Tijuana Brass tape. I shoved a peanut up one nostril and covered the other with a finger. I snorted as hard as I could and the peanut blasted from its hole like a rocket from a bazooka. I fired a few at Dad as he trotted by and one of them hit him in the back of the neck and he slapped at it like it was a bug.
    I had just shoved a peanut up my nose when a tall red-haired woman in a baseball uniform walked into the dugout with a big equipment bag slung over her shoulder. For a moment I thought Mom had snuck up on me. “So,” she said, and dropped the bag on the bench which kicked up a cloud of dust, “are you the new ringer Carter told me about?”
    â€œI’m not sure,” I said with my voice buzzing like a kazoo because of the peanut vibrating in my nose. “I haven’t played yet, so I don’t know.”

    â€œWell, you can’t take the field until you have the right equipment,” she said. She unzipped the bag and reached into it, and while she did that I fake-sneezed the peanut into my hand.
    â€œBless you,” she said.
    â€œThanks,” I replied. “Want a peanut?” I held it out toward her on my palm. It looked a little slimy
    â€œDid that come out of your nose?” she asked, and squinted at me with her hands on her hips. “Your dad does the same thing.