Jinxed! (4 page)

“The ad said there was going to be a big surprise,” said Dad. “Do you know what it is?”

“No. Everybody's talking about it, though.”

“Maybe the surprise is that you're the new batboy,” said Dad.

• • •

As soon as I got to my room, I took a binder off my shelf and slipped Mike Stammer's card back into the plastic sleeve. The binder was just for players who'd played for the Porcupines. I had over forty of them.

I have other binders, and even more baseball cards in boxes. I have cards going all the way back to the 1950s, when my grandpa started collecting them. He gave his baseball cards to Uncle Rick, and Uncle Rick gave his—and Grandpa's—cards to me. Some of them were tattered at the corners and had worn spots on the face. Others were still perfect, even though they were twenty or thirty years old. A few were worth a lot of money, and a lot of them weren't. I didn't care. I loved them all, whether it was a Hall of Famer or a guy who was only in the majors for one season, like Mike Stammer.

I flipped the sheet over to see the back of Mike Stammer's card. The stats don't lie. Mike was a good hitter and runner. He wasn't enough of a slugger to DH, but he got on base a lot. If only he played shortstop as well
as he hit, he'd be back in the big leagues. He just made too many errors.

I didn't need the card to tell me that. I'd seen Mike on
Baseball Bloopers
plenty of times. I'd seen him run at a ball and accidentally kick it like a football. I'd seen him throw the baseball right over the first baseman's head.

That's why Mike was back at Single-A. He had to work on his game. I hope he did get better . . . but not right away.

he Porcupines played the Heron Lake Humdingers on Friday night. They also played them on Saturday and Sunday afternoons. Wally told Dylan and me to show up two hours before each game started. I wanted to get there even earlier.

On Friday, I biked to the ballpark and saw the patch of grass where Mike Stammer had been crawling around.

Suddenly, I realized what he had been looking for.

I jumped off my bike to find it.

When I walked into the locker room, it was exactly four o'clock.

“You're late,” said Wally.

“I'm right on time!” I pointed at the clock. The minute hand was right on the twelve.

“If you're not five minutes early, you're late,” said Wally. He went off to the equipment room.

“If he wanted us here at five to, why didn't he say so?” I asked Dylan.

“I don't get it, either,” he replied.

He was wearing a Porcupines uniform with
BB
on the back. Our uniforms were here!

I found my own uniform on the bench and changed into it. The pants were tight around the waist and so long in the legs that I had to roll up the cuffs, but I swelled with pride. I was one of the team!

“I was hoping for the porcupine logo,” said
Dylan. One of the Pines' logos was a fierce porcupine. Our caps had the other team logo, an interlocking
P
and
C
for
Pine City
.

 

“I like the porcupine one better too,” I told him.

The uniform was pretty cool.

“Yech!” someone shouted from the other side of the locker room.

Tommy Harris pulled a glue trap out of his locker. “Very funny, guys!” he said.

“We heard there was a rat on the loose,” said Wayne Zane.

Mike Stammer was getting dressed too. He started to put his socks on.

“Those are the smelliest socks I've ever smelled,” said Wayne Zane.

“I haven't washed them in eighteen days,” said Mike. “I'm trying to break the jinx.”

“Maybe you can break the jinx by
washing
those socks. In extremely hot water. With bleach.”

“But the last time I had a jinx, I broke it by
not
washing my socks,” said Mike. “I just can't remember how many days it took.”

“Don't wash them, then,” said Wayne Zane. “But don't wear them, either. Bury them . . . deep . . .
very
deep!”

“Here's a clean pair,” said Sammy. He tossed two socks over to Mike. “Try these—do us all a favor.”

“Ah, it's probably not the kind of jinx that socks can fix, anyway,” Mike said. He put on the clean pair.

That reminded me. “Hey, Mike, I have something for you.” I dug through my street clothes and found the four-leaf clover in my shirt pocket. It had taken me half an hour to
find it. I handed it to Mike. “I figured that's what you were looking for last night.”

“Yeah, it was,” he admitted. “I've had so much bad luck lately, I'm willing to try anything. But I couldn't find one.” He tucked the clover into his pants pocket. “Thanks, uh . . . Chad, right?”

“Yep.”

“I hope this works!”

“Me too.” I didn't really believe in four-leaf clovers, but it didn't hurt to try. “You want me to, uh . . . get those?” I pointed at the unwashed socks.

“Don't touch 'em, kid!” said Wayne Zane. “Not without a hazmat suit.”

It was time for batting practice, which everybody called “BP.” The batters took turns, swinging at easy pitches. Dylan and I ran around in the outfield to gather up the balls.
They call that “shagging,” but I don't know why. Just another one of those weird baseball words. I just know it's fun.

The Porcupines' mascot walked by, waving at the fans who were there early. “Hey, Pokey!” I shouted. The giant porcupine saw me and waved. His back quivered. The quills looked sharp, but I knew they weren't.

“Yours,” said Dylan. I turned just in time to see a ball bouncing straight at me. I fielded it and threw it back toward the pitcher's mound. Last year I'd seen the batboys and thought those kids were really cool. Now some kid was looking at me and thinking the same thing.

Wally walked into the dugout when BP was over.

“I need one of you to help out the visiting team,” he said.

“What?” I dropped the last ball back into
the canvas bag. “You want us to help the other guys?”

“That's why we have two batboys,” Wally said. “One for here, and one for over there. The other teams do the same for us when we go to their ballparks.”

“Oh,” I said. That made sense, but I still didn't like it much.

“So who wants to volunteer?” Wally asked.

I traded looks with Dylan. He was a better batboy, but I really wanted to hang out with the Porcupines.

“Well?” said Wally.

“I'll do it,” said Dylan. He didn't look very happy about it.

“Great. Thanks for being a good sport,” said Wally.

“Thanks,” I said as Dylan headed off to the visiting team's dugout. He didn't even
look at me. Now he probably thought I was a dillydallier
and
a bad sport. Maybe I should have volunteered to help the Humdingers.

“You know how to set up a bat rack?” Wally asked.

“Sure.” I didn't, but I could figure it out.

“Here's the lineup card. Go do it, and hustle.”

I did figure it out, and I hustled.

ommy Harris led off the bottom of the first inning for the Porcupines. He paused just before he got into the batter's box, checked his shoelaces and batting gloves, pulled up his socks, and straightened his jersey. He rubbed the tip of his bat and nodded to it like they had a secret agreement. Finally, he got into his batting stance.

Tommy drew a walk. The next two batters struck out, but Tommy stole second base. The pitcher was so surprised, he didn't make the throw and Tommy slid in safely.

The Humdingers' pitcher chewed his lower lip. Beads of sweat rolled down his neck. He threw a couple of balls and then a curveball that didn't curve. Sammy Solaris knocked it out of the park. The Porcupines were up by two runs! I got to trade high fives with Tommy and Sammy when they came back into the dugout. It was awesome.

Being up close, I knew something that the fans didn't: Tommy was partly to thank for that home run. He stole second base right under the pitcher's nose, and that shook up the pitcher. I never would have seen how nervous the pitcher was if I was sitting in the stands.