Baseball Turnaround (5 page)

Chuck’s lower lip stuck out. “I told you, I can’t do it!” he said angrily. “Every time a ball comes my way, I drop it. But
I don’t care. It’s just a stupid game, anyway.” He pulled his glove off and threw it on the ground.

Sandy bent down, picked up the glove, and dusted it off. “Hey, listen, everyone flubs a play now and then. No one expects
you to be perfect. But we do expect you to try.” He handed the glove back to the young boy. “So why don’t you give it a few
more tries, okay?”

Willoughby reluctantly put the glove back on his hand. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll try again.”

“That’s my man,” Sandy said. He stood up and saw Mr. Richards waving at him. “I gotta go for a minute, but you keep on doing
the drill.”

Sandy jogged over to Mr. Richards. With a satisfied nod, his probation officer said, “Nice work with that boy.”

“Yeah, well, seems he was having an attitude problem. I figured I should try to correct it before he turned out like me.”
He gave a lopsided smile.

Mr. Richards smiled back. “He could turn out worse,” he said. He handed Sandy a packet of papers. “Here, read and sign this.
It says you’ve finished your community service as required. Once this paperwork goes through, the whole incident will be wiped
from your record. What do you say to that?”

“I say, where do I sign?”

S
andy didn’t think anything could have made him any happier than signing those papers. But two days later, he had to stop himself
from grinning like an idiot.

The Dolphins had won their last game the night before. Chuck Willoughby himself had made the final out with a good clean catch.
Coach Richards and his brother had taken the team for pizza to celebrate. Then, to Sandy’s surprise, the kids presented him
with a handmade plaque that read,
To Sandy, a Good Coach and a Good Friend, from His Team, the Dolphins
. Beneath it, everyone had signed their names. Sandy had hung it on the wall in his new bedroom.

But now, that moment seemed miles away. It was Friday afternoon. The Raptors were playing a
scrimmage game so their coach could check out his players. Sandy stood in center field. The cool green grass was under his
cleats, his well-oiled glove was on his hand, and a brand-new Raptors baseball cap was on his head.

Now’s my chance to show everyone what I’m made of
, he thought with determination.
Clean slate, isn’t that what they call it when you start out fresh
?

A high fly ball soared into the air in front of him. He ran in and scooped it up before it hit the grass, then rifled a clean,
fast, and right-on-the-mark throw to third base. He’d been doing the same thing all practice. He caught everything that came
his way and made sure the others could do the same.

Batting practice started out a little less sure. But the Raptors’ coach helped him adjust his stance so that he could get
a little more heft into his swing. He missed the first two pitches as he adjusted to the strange new feeling. He belted the
third ball high and deep … deep … yes! It went over the backfield fence.

“Nice, very nice, Sandy,” said Coach Winston. “Now we have to work on consistency. You have to
be able to deliver on a regular basis. Let’s give Pete Phillips a rest. Head out to third base. Get a move on it.”

Sandy was startled.
Third base? I’m an outfielder. What’s he doing putting me at third? I’ve never played third before
, he thought. He shot a look to the center field position. Tony Cataldo, a burly fifteen-year-old, stood there, waiting for
the next ball. Sandy recalled the coach welcoming Tony warmly at the beginning of practice.
I bet he’s the one who played center for the Raptors before. So how am I going to get myself back to that position
?

“Heads up!” shouted the coach. “Let’s see some ball playing out there!”

Luckily there wasn’t much action at third that inning. Sandy fumbled around but managed not to disgrace himself. His throwing
arm came through on a long peg to first base that hit the mark for an out.

But the real excitement was in the outfield. The coach must have told the pitcher to give the hitters something to sink their
teeth into. The balls soared from left to right, but especially to center. Sandy watched Tony carefully. The big teen’s game
seemed
a little off. His throws weren’t quite as clean as they should be. There was no doubt that he could play the position — Sandy
just thought he could play it better than Tony.

When practice ended, the coach had them all seated on the bench for a talk.

“You did well out there,” he said. “I think we’re in for a good summer. But we’re up against a strong team, the Ravens, in
our first game. Most of those players are returning from a winning season last year. It’s going to take real teamwork to beat
them. So come to practice tomorrow and the next day ready to dig in. I’ll be figuring out the starting lineup during that
time, which means I’ll be watching each of you very closely.”

When he heard that, Sandy decided to talk to the coach about putting him in center field.

“Uh, Coach Winston?” he called nervously. “I was hoping that in tomorrow’s practice you might give me a shot at center field.”

The coach looked Sandy up and down. “Tony’s my center fielder, Comstock. He played there last year. I don’t see any reason
to move him around.”

“But if you could just give me a chance to —”

The coach shrugged. “I need a third baseman. You’ve got a good arm, and you seem good at the plate. I might like to start
you. Or are you saying you’d rather sub in at center than start at third?”

Sandy swallowed and shook his head. “No, sir. If you think I can be your third baseman, I’ll be happy to try.”

“Okay, then. Glad we understand each other.” The coach turned his back on him and walked to his car.

As Sandy watched him go, a prickle of disappointment crawled up his spine.

He barely gave me a chance to show him what I can do. Some summer this is going to be
.

Sandy felt a tap on his shoulder. He spun around to see Ben Eaton standing behind him.

“So, what did you think of practice?” Ben asked.

“Guess I’d be happier if the coach hadn’t railroaded me into a position I know nothing about,” Sandy muttered.

“Hey, you should feel honored. Coach Winston didn’t think he’d find anyone good enough to replace the guy who played third
last year.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sandy replied. “Who was this superstar?”

“Kid named Perry Warden. I guess you should thank him for having a position at all. If he hadn’t moved to Grantville last
fall, you’d be out on your can.”

Sandy was taken aback by this new information but tried to sound casual. “Yeah, well, if I ever see him, I’ll be sure to shake
his hand.”

Ben picked up his glove and started to walk away. “Oh, I’ll bet you’ll see him. He’s sure to drop by at some point. He’s got
a lot of friends on the team still.”

W
hat Sandy had learned from Ben put him in a foul mood for the rest of the day. His disposition hadn’t improved by the next
day’s practice. He played third base with one eye on Tony in center field. Any mistake Tony made only added fuel to his fire.

This guy’s not that good
, he thought after Tony scrambled to retrieve a dropped ball, then rifled it to the wrong base.
If the coach had given me a chance, I’d have shown everyone I deserved the center field spot. I’d play a real team game
.

“Heads up, Sandy!” called the pitcher, Mitch Lessem, from the mound. Sandy snapped back to attention but missed the hot grounder
hit between short and third. He sprinted to pick it up and tossed the ball back to Mitch. The runner made it to second.

As he returned to third, a movement off the field
caught his eye. He glanced over to see what it was — and sucked in his breath.

Hunkered down against the fence was a familiar figure. A figure with red hair. Perry Warden.

“Nice play, Comstock,” Perry said mockingly. “Why don’t you go back to coaching?”

The heat rose in Sandy’s face. But he refused to show that he had heard.

Coach Winston called an end to the day a moment later and walked onto the field to pick up the bases. When he came to third,
he spotted the boy near the fence. He broke into a wide grin.

“Hey, Perry! Didn’t expect to see you here. Come by to see your old team play?” he called.

Perry stood up and leaned over the fence. “I heard from some of the guys you had some new faces here,” he said. He stared
over Coach Winston’s shoulder at Sandy. “Hope they’re not giving you any problems.”

The coach shook his head. “So far, no one’s given me cause for concern.”

“That’s good. ’Cause all it takes is one person to ruin things, doesn’t it?” Perry agreed. “Just one person.”

While the coach and Perry continued to chat, a
few of the other Raptors joined them. Tony Cataldo was among them. Sandy grabbed his glove and hurried off the field. His
mind whirled the whole way home.

This is just great
, he thought bitterly.
Am I ever going to get a break from that one
guy?
Everywhere I go, he turns up!

Then a dark thought struck him.
What if he’s telling the coach and those players about what happened
? Memories of how his old Raiders teammates had treated him flooded his brain. So did Mr. Richards’s advice to tell the story
himself before someone else told for him.
But what can I do? They’re his friends — who’re they going to believe, him or me? I’m not even sure I want to tell them! If
he doesn’t, why should I? The less they know, the better, as far as I’m concerned!

Over and over the same questions and problems flew around his mind. But he couldn’t seem to come up with a solution to any
of them any more than he could figure out a way to move from third base to center field.

D
uring the rest of the week’s practices, Sandy kept to himself. He watched his teammates carefully to see if they were treating
him any differently. And he scrutinized everything the coach said to him.

By the end of the week, he was almost certain the coach had it in for him. Where he was chummy with the other players, he
was gruff with Sandy. He pounded him with instruction about the third base position. He barked at him to correct his batting
stance, to be quicker picking up ground balls, and to stop hesitating on his throws.

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you’re going to be my third baseman,” Coach Winston said more than once.

The constant pressure to learn the new position and the thought of Perry Warden showing up again
had Sandy’s stomach in knots. Even worse, he began to suspect that the other players knew about Perry and him. They suddenly
were asking him a lot of questions about what his life had been like in Grantville.

“So when you weren’t playing baseball, what did you do for fun?” Mark Freedman, the first baseman, queried after one practice.

Sandy looked at him suspiciously. “The usual stuff, just like anyone.”

Another heavyset boy asked if all the convenience stores had candy and soda.

“How would I know?” Sandy answered hotly. He picked up his glove and shoved it into his backpack.

“Grantville’s school is so monstrous, I bet you didn’t even know everyone in your class,” someone else challenged.

“Yeah? Well, I had my group of friends, just like everyone else.” Sandy turned his back on his teammates and hurried to his
bike. As he was unlocking it, he saw the three boys look at one another. Mark Freedman shook his head and mumbled something
to the other two. They glanced at Sandy, then nodded knowingly.

The next day only a few kids asked him any
questions. And in the days that followed, no one asked him anything at all.

To Sandy, their silence spoke volumes. They knew. And there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

That Saturday, the Raptors had their first game. They were playing the Ravens, the team Coach Winston had said was one of
the best last year, strong in every category. Sandy was slotted to start at third.

The coach’s pep talk before the game did little to boost Sandy’s enthusiasm for his position. While the other players psyched
each other up, he sat silently in the stands, waiting for the game to begin.

In the first inning, the Ravens proved that they deserved their reputation. They led off by putting four men on base and scoring
one run on a bunt before Mitch retired the side. Sandy managed to put away one sizzling drive that practically tore a hole
in his glove.

Sandy was third in the batting order. If either of the first two Raptors batters could get on base, he stood a chance of driving
in the first run. That would make the coach sit up and pay attention. Of course, if the first two batters made outs, Sandy
was in line
for ending the inning if he failed to get a solid hit. It was a win-or-lose situation.

Well, I’m going to win, whether they care or not
, he thought as he swung two bats to warm up.

“Come on, Raptors! Beat those Ravens!” called their fans from the stands.

Mark Freedman, first baseman for the Raptors, tilted his batting cap, then squinted at the pitcher. The pitcher stared back
and threw the first pitch. Mark swung at it and missed.

He missed the next two, too. One out for the Raptors.

Second baseman Frank Maxwell did better. He waited it out and took a walk on the sixth pitch.

Then it was Sandy’s turn. He put down one bat and headed with the other for the plate. Just before he got there, he glanced
toward the runner on first. As he did so, his eyes picked up a familiar thatch of red hair.

Perry Warden was sitting in the stands, as cool as a cucumber. He was staring right at Sandy.

Sandy’s step faltered.

“You gonna stand there all day or are you gonna play ball?” the Ravens’ catcher shouted to him.

With a start, Sandy stepped into the batter’s box.
He lowered the brim of his batting helmet and tried to concentrate on the game. But he couldn’t. The first pitch came right
down the middle for a called strike.