Comeback of the Home Run Kid (6 page)

A
s it turned out, the only teammate he found was Duane. He was huddled tinder the same tree Charlie had once stood under. When
he saw Syl heading toward him, he frowned.

Syl's step faltered. Then he squared his shoulders and continued on.

“Hi,” he said. “Want to share my umbrella?”

Duane shrugged but got under anyway.

“I've got to talk to you about something,” Syl said.

“What?”

Duane's voice was steely, not at all the tone Syl was used to hearing from his friend. Once again, he faltered. But he didn't
give up.

“You might already know what I want to tell you. At least, I'm pretty sure Kirk knows, and I think he told you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Syl plunged right in. “Remember me telling you about Cheeko?”

“The guy who looked like Eddie Cicotte?”

Syl nodded. “Yeah, him. He gave me some advice last season. I know now it was bad advice, but back then, I took it. And when
I did, I started cheating. More than what Kirk told you about that jab I took at Russ and the catch I didn't really make.”
He sighed. “I can't change what I did, but I want you to know that I'll never cheat again.”

He waited for Duane to say something. But his friend was silent.

He still doesn't trust me
. Syl's heart sank.

“Syl,” Duane said finally, “Kirk never told me anything about Russ or a catch.”

Sylvester was stunned. “He — he didn't? Then why have you been so mad at me?”

Duane grimaced. “Because you have another secret you're not telling me, that's why.”

“No, I —” Syl started to protest.

Then Duane opened his glove and removed an old baseball — the ball Syl had missed after Duke had dumped over the bucket. Syl
snapped his mouth closed.

“Thought so,” Duane said. “I'm outta here. Have fun playing with C. C., whoever he is.”

“C. C.?”
Charlie Comet
? Sylvester grabbed Duane's arm. “Where'd you come up with those initials?”

Duane thrust the baseball into Syl's hand. “They're right here!”

Syl found the writing. His eyes widened. There were two letters, and each had a down-stroke that then curved up and around
to
form what looked like a
C
. But there was also a second, smaller curve, like a hump attached to the top of each
C
, making the letters look like …
Ms!

“Tell me the truth, Syl,” Duane spat angrily. “That day in the park? You pretended your ankle hurt just to get rid of me so
you could play ball with whoever C. C. is! Some friend you are!”

Syl's jaw dropped. “What?! You don't really believe that, do you?”

Duane didn't answer. The only sound was the patter of rain on the leaves and the umbrella.

“Duane,” Syl said at last, “you're my best friend. I would never want to get rid of you.” He took a deep breath. “Can I explain
about that day? Please?”

“Fine,” Duane replied gruffly.

So Syl began talking, telling Duane how Charlie Comet had appeared right after he'd
hurt his ankle, how he'd promised to help him get his game back on, and how he'd shown him to bat lefty.

As he explained, a look of understanding grew on Duane's face. “Another mystery man,” he murmured. “Why didn't you tell me
before?”

Sylvester dug his toe into the wet grass. “You would have thought I was crazy.”

“Oh.” Then Duane started laughing. Syl looked up, suddenly hopeful.

“Guess what? I already thought you were crazy!” Duane said. “And you know what would be even crazier?
Not
batting lefty, if it helps your batting
and
keeps your ankle from hurting!”

He stuck his hand out from under the umbrella. “Hey, it's stopped raining!” He poked Sylvester in the ribs good-naturedly.
“Feel like playing some ball? I'll find Trent and Kirk and some others. I'll bet they're itching
to get in some more practice, too. Especially Kirk. He can't stand Duke Farrell and is dying to beat the Grizzlies on Saturday.
And who knows? Maybe together we can make you into a switch-hitter by then!”

Syl nodded happily and Duane took off to find their friends. Syl started to lower the umbrella. A movement in the bleachers
caught his eyes. It was Charlie. He took off his New York Yankees cap, waved, and then hopped off the stands and disappeared
into the trees behind them.

“Bye, Charlie,” Sylvester murmured. “And thanks.”

I
t didn't take long for Duane to round up some more Hawks. Trent and Kirk seemed surprised that Duane and Syl were friends
again, but Duane took them aside and explained that everything was cool. After that, the four boys and the three other Hawks
they tracked down set to work on their game.

The first time Sylvester took up his lefty stance, his teammates peppered him with questions about it. Duane stopped them
by pointing out that batting lefty didn't hurt Syl's ankle. “And since we all know how good a batter Syl can be when he's
in top form, I
think we should help him be the best lefty he can be!”

The others shouted their agreement. No one questioned him any further — much to Syl's relief.

The diamond was muddy because of the rain, but the seven boys were having too much fun to care that their clothes were getting
covered with dirt. The only thing Syl kept clean was the baseball Duane had given him. He thought he might do a little research
on those initials when he got home.

But the next morning, the baseball was nowhere to be found.

Sylvester did locate something else he was interested in, however — the old photos of his grandfather. He and his father looked
at them together at the kitchen table. Syl picked up a posed shot of his grandfather and stared at it.

“I always knew you looked like Grandpa
Syl,” Mr. Coddmyer said. “You've got the same nose, eyes, and chin!”

“Think I got my love of baseball from him, too?” Syl asked.

“Maybe,” his father replied. “Want to keep that photo?”

Syl nodded and then put the photo aside to look at the next. This was an action shot, taken from behind home plate during
a game. Number 12, his grandfather, was chasing down a fly ball. The runner, meanwhile, was hotfooting it to first. Syl couldn't
see the runner's face, but he could make out the team name on the back of the uniform.

Baxter Springs Whiz Kids
, it read.

Syl's heart beat faster. Mickey Mantle's old team! He quickly riffled through the rest of the photos, hoping to find a clear
shot of that runner or his teammates.

But the photographer had obviously been interested only in Sylvester Coddmyer the
First, not the Whiz Kids. Syl found out why when he saw a note the photographer had written on the back.

Taken by Julia West, April 14, 1947
. Sylvester grinned. Julia was his grandmother, Grandpa Syl's wife. No chance she'd have taken photos of an unknown player
on the other team, not when the love of her life was on the field!

Syl tucked that photo with the others back into their box and then put the box and the posed shot of his grandfather in his
room. Then he set off for the baseball fields.

Sylvester had told his friends that he didn't want to test out his lefty batting abilities in front of the coach, at least
not yet.

“I'm not ready,” he insisted, and so they had agreed to keep mum. They had also agreed to meet him back at the field after
dinner. It turned out they all wanted to get
some extra practice so they could beat the Grizzlies on Independence Day.

Thanks to all the extra practice, Sylvester's lefty swing improved. His ankle, too, was scarcely bothering him anymore and
he could bat righty without pain. Still, he didn't want to give up on becoming a switch-hitter. He remembered how Charlie
had said he had gone far in baseball in part because he could bat both right and left.

Maybe someday
, Syl thought,
I'll follow in his footsteps
.

The Fourth of July game was scheduled for ten o'clock. Sylvester and his parents arrived at nine-thirty for warmups. Syl was
dressed in his new maroon-and-white uniform, with the word
Hawks
emblazoned across the chest. On the back was the number 12. He'd chosen it in honor of his grandfather.

The Grizzlies were warming up on an adjoining field. Sylvester wondered if Duke Farrell was there.
Maybe he's away for the holiday
, he thought.

But Duke was on the mound, hurling pitches as hard and as fast as ever. Syl remembered how one of those pitches had hit him
last season — and remembered how Duke had promised to get even with him when they next met.

He quickly pushed both memories out of his head.

The umpire blew his whistle at ten o'clock sharp. The Grizzlies were up first, so the Hawks took to the field.

Sylvester thumped his fist into his glove as the first Grizzly batter came to the plate. “Here we go, Burk, here we go!” he
yelled. “One-two-three, one-two-three!”

Burk Riley wound up and threw. The ball
zoomed on a line and socked into Eddie's glove.

“Strike one!” the umpire called. The Hawks fans cheered.

Burk got the ball back from Eddie, stared down the batter, and threw again.

Pow!
The batter connected and the ball bounced through the infield grass toward third. Duane scooped it up and fired it at A.
C. Compton at first. Toe on the bag, A. C. caught it moments before the runner tagged the base.

“Out!” shouted the umpire. The fans whistled and clapped.

Steve Button was up next. Steve was a blow-hard, but he was also a powerful hitter. Sure enough, he clobbered Burk's third
pitch. The ball soared high in the sky, heading to a spot between center and left field.

“Take it, Syl!” Kirk cried.

Sylvester put on a burst of speed, stuck out his glove, and nabbed the ball before it hit the ground.

“Out!” the umpire called. Syl grinned and threw the ball back to Burk.

“Only one more!” Duane cried.

But the next batter laced a sizzling grounder between first and second for a single. Then Duke strode to the plate. He knocked
the dirt from his cleats, adjusted his helmet, and stepped into the batter's box, twirling the bat in small circles over his
shoulder while he waited for the first pitch.

Burk blazed one in, but it was too far outside.

“Ball one!”

The next pitch was also a ball. And the third was so close to Duke's midsection that he had to jump out of the way to avoid
being hit. With the count 3 and 0, Duke naturally let the fourth pitch go by — and looked angry
when the umpire called it a strike. On the next pitch, he seemed to take that anger out on the ball.

Crack!
A deep blast to center field.

“I've got it!” Sylvester backpedaled and got under the ball. At least, he thought he got under it. At the last second, the
sun blinded him and the ball fell behind him.

“Rats!” He spun, picked it up, and hurled it to Bus Riley at second. Too late! The runner was safe, and Duke stood on first
with a smug smile.

“The throw is to any base!” Coach Corbin reminded his team.

But the Hawks didn't have to throw the Grizzlies out, for the fifth batter went down swinging.

“Start us off, Trent,” the coach said. “Then it's A. C., Kirk, and Sylvester.”

Sylvester's stomach did a flip-flop. Coach Corbin had put him in the clean-up spot. If
Trent, A. C., and Kirk all got on base, it would be up to him to hit them home.

But Trent didn't get on. Neither did A. C. Duke's pitches were so fast and hard they both struck out looking. That brought
up Kirk. He lambasted his former teammate's first pitch down the third baseline. The third baseman missed the catch and by
the time the Grizzly left fielder got the ball, Kirk was safe at second.

Now Syl walked to the plate. He got into a right-handed stance and waited.

Zip!
Duke's first pitch blurred by him for strike one. So did the second.

Syl stepped out of the box and took a deep breath. Then he stepped back in, gripped the bat's handle, and stared down at Duke.
I'm going to hit this pitch if it's the last thing I do!

Instead, the pitch hit him, right in the ribs!

“Take your base!” the umpire called. “And
Farrell, watch where you're putting that ball. I don't want any injuries today.”

Duke nodded obediently, but Sylvester didn't miss the smirk on his face. He knew then that Duke had hit him on purpose.
Okay, now the score is even
, Syl thought.

I hope
, he added silently.

Unfortunately, Eddie flied out to short to end the inning scoreless.

Neither team scored in the next two innings either. But in the top of the fourth, Steve Button slugged a homer over the left
field fence. There was no way Kirk could have caught it, but still, he pounded his fist in his glove as if disgusted with
himself.

Burk looked shaky after Steve's homer. He gave up a single to the next batter, and walked the one after that. Runners on first
and second. No outs.

Luckily, Burk settled down and struck out two batters. Then the next one ground out
to second and the dangerous scoring situation was defused.

Still, the score was 1–0 Grizzlies. The Hawks needed to get on the board.

They didn't. Duke gave up only one hit in the bottom of the fourth before retiring the side.

As Sylvester returned to the outfield, he thought about his own two at bats. Besides the first inning walk, he'd hit a foul
ball that the third baseman had caught for an out. He knew he'd get up again the next inning. Maybe then he'd get a hit.

The Grizzlies started the top of the fifth with two hits to put runners on first and second. Then the third batter hit a grounder
to short. Bus grabbed the ball and made a clean throw to Duane for the out. The next play was a duplicate of the one before
it, with the same result. The nail-biter inning finally ended when a batter popped out to Burk.

In the dugout, Sylvester was checking to see when he'd be up when Snooky Malone called his name.