Zero's Slider (2 page)

Zero and the rest of the Mudders were gathering up their gear when Coach called them over to the dugout for a team meeting.
He had an announcement to make

“First, let me say you’ve played a good game today, even though the score says differently,” he said. “Now I’ve got some bad
news. The fellow who was going to take my place as your coach when I’m on vacation was just in a bad car accident. That means
we need to find a new substitute. Or else we’ll have to forfeit the three games we’ve got scheduled for the next two weeks.”

The Mudders were stunned. Forfeit three games? That, plus the game they just lost, would put them in last place for sure!

Coach Parker looked solemnly from one Mudder to the next. Then he said, “I know I asked you all once before if you knew of
anyone who could step in and sub. Now I’m asking you to look around again. You all have my home phone number. Call me if you
need to know more about it. I’ll be looking out for someone to take my place, too,” he added. “Okay! That’s it for now.”

“We have to find someone,” Chess said to Zero as they walked out of the dugout. He reminded Zero that he was coming over to
practice pitching the next day, then wandered off to find his parents. Zero looked around for Uncle Pete.

“Zero! Over here!” he heard a voice call.

Uncle Pete was sitting behind the wheel of
his car. Zero ran over and hopped in. He buckled himself in, and Uncle Pete headed for home.

“You okay, Zero?” Uncle Pete asked. “You looked a little out of it on the mound today.”

“I just couldn’t seem to get the ball over the plate today,” Zero admitted. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I’m sure you’ll do better next time,” Uncle Pete said, clicking on the radio to a sports show.

Zero hoped he was right. He wondered if Uncle Pete was sorry he’d come to the game. He also wondered if he should tell him
about their need for a substitute coach. He stole a quick look at him.

Uncle Pete was frowning.

“Listen to this fellow, Zero!” he snapped all of a sudden. He pointed at the radio. “This announcer says ‘um’ and ‘uh’ and
‘er’ every other word! That’s no way to keep a
listening audience interested. Sentences should flow smoothly, right? A reporter should know exactly what he’s talking about
— and make it sound that way!”

Zero had to agree. He’d heard Uncle Pete’s radio show before it had been canceled. Uncle Pete didn’t just report the sports
— he made you feel as if you learned something when you listened to his show.

Zero had never seen Uncle Pete so angry. He wasn’t sure what to do.

Then Uncle Pete let out a sigh. “Sorry for the outburst, pal,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for a call from this very radio
station about a job. But I haven’t heard from them. So now I have to start looking all over again.” He glanced at Zero. “That
may mean today was the last Mudders game I’ll be able to get to this season. Sorry, pal.”

Zero looked down at his glove. “That’s okay,” he murmured.

I’m just glad I didn’t ask you about being our substitute coach! he added silently.

Mrs. Ford pulled into the driveway right behind Zero and Uncle Pete. She stepped out of the car with an armload of grocery
bags.

“Hey, guys! How about giving me a hand with this food?” she called. Uncle Pete and Zero both took a bag from her and brought
them into the kitchen.

“There are still a few bags left in the backseat. Think you can get them, Zero?” Mrs. Ford asked.

Zero nodded, ran out to the car, and returned with more bags. He dumped them on the kitchen table, then went back to the car
to make sure there weren’t any left. On the way there, his mind wandered back to Coach’s announcement.

Uncle Pete’s too busy job hunting to coach, he thought. Even if he wanted to, that is.
But why would he want to coach a bunch of little kids? Our games are probably really boring for him. Especially when I’m pitching
as lousy as I did today. He hates sloppy performances, like the one that guy on the radio gave. I’ve got to get a curveball
or something working well by the next game!

Thinking about his poor performance made Zero angry. He slammed the car door shut. Hard.

A sharp pain shot through his hand and up his arm. He had caught his finger in the car door!

Mrs. Ford and Uncle Pete must have heard his yowl of pain because they were at his side in a flash. Mrs. Ford ran to get some
ice while Uncle Pete helped Zero inside.

Zero’s finger throbbed. It was turning purple as he watched.

Uncle Pete held his hand carefully. “I have to make sure your finger isn’t broken, Zero,” he said. “This is going to hurt.”

He gently squeezed Zero’s finger. Tears ran down Zero’s face, but he didn’t cry out. Uncle Pete sighed with relief.

“Nothing broken, but you’ve got some bad bruises and lots of swelling. You’ll have to ice it and keep it elevated for now.
Then
we’ll put some bandages on it.” He looked up at Mrs. Ford and smiled. “You look about as white as Zero does. Why don’t you
both go lie down? I’ll put the food away and get Zero some more ice.”

Zero and Mrs. Ford nodded at the same time. Mrs. Ford sank into a chair in the living room. Holding his hand gingerly so as
not to bump it, Zero lay down on the couch and closed his eyes.

Then suddenly his eyes flew open again. He looked at his injured finger. The finger was on his right hand — which was attached
to his right arm. His
pitching
arm.

Mrs. Ford jumped up at the sound of Zero’s moan.

“What’s wrong?” she asked anxiously. Uncle Pete poked his head in from the kitchen.

“I won’t be able to pitch in Friday’s game!” cried Zero.

Uncle Pete chuckled. “Of course you will,
Zero,” he said. “The swelling will be down by tomorrow morning, and the bruises should be almost gone by Friday. You’ll barely
feel the pain.”

But Zero wasn’t so sure. He looked doubtfully at his finger and tried to imagine curling it around a ball.

I won’t even be able to hold a ball, he thought dismally. How will I be able to throw one? I’ll never improve on the mound!

But later that afternoon, his finger felt a little better. The ice had kept it from swelling too much, and Zero was able to
bend it a little.

Uncle Pete decided it was time to bandage it up. When he had finished, Zero’s forefinger stuck straight out. But he could
still wiggle his other fingers and thumb easily.

“You’ll only need this getup for a day or two — probably even less. Then you’ll be as good as new!” Uncle Pete said cheerily.

Zero hoped he was right. But in the meantime, what good was a pitcher whose throwing hand was in a big bandage?

A lot of good I’ve been to the team lately, he thought. First I ruin the game because of my sloppy pitching. Then I’m too
chicken to ask Uncle Pete to coach for us. And now
this!

Zero didn’t know how he fell asleep that night, but he felt a little bit better when the morning sun woke him up.

He was putting away his breakfast dishes when Chess appeared at the back door.

“Ready for a little practice?” Chess asked.

“Oh, man, I forgot!” Zero said. He held up his bandaged finger for Chess to see and explained what had happened.

“Wow!” exclaimed Chess. “Does it hurt?”

Zero touched the finger carefully. It didn’t feel as bad as it had yesterday, but it was still a little sore. “Uncle Pete
says it could take a
day or two to heal,” he said glumly. “But I’d still like to try pitching anyhow.”

“That’s the spirit!” came a voice from behind Zero. Uncle Pete stepped into the kitchen. “It could feel kind of funny when
you throw because of the bandage.” He glanced at the clock above the kitchen sink. “I don’t have a lot of time this morning,
but I’ll show you how to hold the ball, if you like.”

Zero’s heart leapt.

“Just let me grab my glove and ball!” he cried.

One minute later, Zero, Uncle Pete, and Chess were in the backyard. Uncle Pete had changed into an old sweatsuit and was holding
a tattered old glove.

“Let’s try a couple of easy pitches first, Zero, then we’ll move on to some fastballs. Okay?” said Uncle Pete.

“Okay,” Zero agreed. He plucked the ball out of his glove and held it clumsily.

“Try not to think about that finger,” Uncle Pete advised. “Grip the ball with your three other fingers. Concentrate on hitting
the target Chess is giving you.”

Zero nodded. He eyeballed Chess’s mitt, then threw an easy pitch.

Smack!
It landed solidly in Chess’s glove. Chess hadn’t had to move an inch to catch it.

“Strike!” Uncle Pete called from the sidelines. “How’d that feel?”

Zero caught the ball Chess lobbed back to him.

“Not bad,” he replied. But he really wanted to try throwing something with a little more power behind it.

He reared back and threw as hard as he could. This time the ball soared a foot above Chess’s glove.

“Whoa!” Chess yelled as he leapt and made the catch. “Take it easy, Zero! That one almost landed in your kitchen.”

Zero’s stomach did a flip-flop. He was afraid to look at Uncle Pete.

Uncle Pete came up beside him. “Zero, I know you can do better than that. Your mom told me you pitched a lot of good games
for the Mudders last season. But if you’re going to throw that hard, you need to remember to move your pitching arm as smoothly
as possible. Try to make it all one motion. And think about giving your wrist a snap at the end. That will give each throw
a little extra power. Okay?”

Zero nodded, grateful for the advice. It sounded so simple.

Chess got in position. Zero stared at Chess’s big catcher’s glove. He threw, concentrating on making his motion smooth.

A strike!

Chess tossed the ball back and called, “A few more like that, Zero!”

Uncle Pete nodded. Zero glowed with happiness. That felt good!

Zero continued to pitch. All the while, Uncle Pete was yelling encouragement from the sidelines.

“Thataway, Zero! Blaze another one in there! Show ’em what you’re — ”

Uncle Pete stopped in mid-yell. At the same time, Chess gave a yelp and stood up. He stared in disbelief at the ball in his
glove.