Zero's Slider Read online

  To Becky, John, and Richard

  Copyright

  Text copyright © 1994 by Matthew F. Christopher

  Illustrations copyright © 1994 by Molly Delaney

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO PART OF THIS BOOK MAY BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM OR BY ANY ELECTRONIC OR MECHANICAL MEANS, INCLUDING INFORMATION STORAGE AND RETRIEVAL SYSTEMS, WITHOUT PERMISSION IN WRITING FROM THE PUBLISHER, EXCEPT BY A REVIEWER WHO MAY QUOTE BRIEF PASSAGES IN A REVIEW.

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  First eBook Edition: December 2009

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ISBN: 978-0-316-09492-4

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  The First Chapter in a Lifetime of Reading

  1

  Zero Ford wished his luck would change. Maybe it was because he was tired. Or maybe it was because the afternoon sun was shining without mercy, making him sweat.

  Whatever the reason, Zero wasn’t pitching well. It was the bottom of the fourth inning, and the score was 2-0 in favor of the Bearcats. There were no outs, and Zero had already given up a hit and a walk. The count on the present batter was 2 and 0. Two more balls and the bases would be loaded.

  He wasn’t surprised when Chess Laveen, the Peach Street Mudders’ catcher, called time and walked out to the mound, his brow furrowed.

  “What’s happening? I keep giving you a target and you keep missin’ it by a mile.”

  “I know, I know.” Did Chess think he was blind?

  “Well, maybe if you cut out all that fancy stuff, you’d put a few over the plate. If you keep going this way, Coach will take you out,” cautioned Chess. He jogged back to his position behind the plate, shaking his head.

  Zero heaved a sigh. Didn’t anyone realize that he was just trying to stump the batters? His uncle Pete, who had been living with Zero and his mom for the last three months, said any pitcher who could outsmart his opponents was worth a lot to a team. Anyone could throw a fastball or a slow ball, he’d said. A good pitcher had to know how to mix up the pitches to keep the batters on their toes.

  That was when Zero decided he wanted to do something different on the mound. Something impressive.

  But so far, all he’d done was throw ball after ball.

  Cries of “Pitch it to ’em, Zero!” and “Show ’em what you can do, Zero!” came from the Peach Street Mudders’ fans.

  Zero squared his shoulders and turned to face the batter. He checked the runners on first and second, then rifled his third pitch to the Bearcats’ batter. He aimed for the mitt Chess held directly over and behind the plate, but the ball sailed outside by a foot. Chess had to spring out to grab it.

  “Ball!” boomed the ump.

  “Come on, Zero!” Turtleneck Jones yelled from first base. “Take your time! Get it in there!”

  “Strike him out, Zero! Strike him out!”

  Zero’d recognize that voice anywhere. His uncle Pete was in the stands.

  Zero knew Uncle Pete loved baseball. But since he’d moved in with Zero and Mrs. Ford, he’d only been able to make it to one of Zero’s games. Uncle Pete used to work as a sports announcer for a local radio network. But his show had been canceled, and now he was out of work. He spent most of his time looking for a new job.

  Zero was excited that Uncle Pete was there, but he was also nervous. Uncle Pete couldn’t afford to take too much time out of his job search to come see a Mudders game. Zéro wanted to make it worth his while.

  But as much as he wanted to try another special pitch, Zero decided to follow Chess’s advice. He stepped on the mound, checked the runners, and breezed in a nice, easy pitch.

  It was in there. “Strike!” called the ump.

  The Mudders fans, including Uncle Pete, exploded with a loud, enthusiastic roar.

  But the next pitch was another ball.

  Boots Finkle dropped his bat and trotted to first.

  Chess called time again and ran out to the mound. This time he had company. Turtleneck ran in from first, Nicky Chong from second, Bus Mercer from short, and T.V. Adams from third.

  Zero stared from one player to the next.

  “What is this?” he grumbled. “A family reunion?”

  2

  “You’ve got to settle down,” T.V. said. “Sparrow pitched the last game, but Coach will put him in again if he has to.”

  “At least let them hit,” advised Turtleneck.

  “Right,” agreed Nicky. “We could get them out if they hit the ball.”

  The ump came halfway out to the mound to break up the gathering. The guys split and returned to their positions. Zero turned and faced Luke Bonelle at the mound. Luke was the Bearcats’ strongest hitter. Zero really wanted to try something tricky to outsmart Luke. But with the bases loaded, he realized he should play it safe for now.

  Zero streaked in a fastball.

  Crack!

  The ball zoomed to deep right field, drawing a cheer from the Bearcats fans. As Zero watched, the ball arced down and landed about ten feet beyond the right-field foul line.

  “Just a long strike, Zero!” Uncle Pete yelled from the stands. “Pitch it to ’em!”

  Zero did, and after four more throws had the count at 3 and 2.

  He could feel the tension in the air as he readied himself for the next pitch. A hit or a ball would mean at least one run, but if it was a strike, he’d have the first out.

  Maybe I should try that curveball again, he thought. He took a deep breath and threw.

  Crack!

  The ball shot up almost a mile high and came down between first and second bases. Nicky caught it for the first out. The three runners stayed on their bases.

  Zero sighed with relief. Only two more to go, he thought.

  But it seemed the other team had figured out he wasn’t pitching a solid game. They waited out his pitches instead of swinging at them. He gave up two more walks and a single. Then Bus Mercer turned a pop fly into a double play to end the inning.

  The score was Bearcats 5, Mudders 0.

  As Zero jogged off the field, he saw that Sparrow was warming up. He wasn’t surprised when Coach Parker motioned him to join him in the dugout.

  Zero shook his head miserably and sat down beside the coach.

  “What’s happening out there, Zero?” Coach Parker asked.

  “I just can’t seem to make the ball do what I want it to do,” Zero said glumly.

  “I wanted you to finish the inning, but I’m going to put Sparrow on the mound for the rest of the game. Meanwhile, why don’t you talk to Chess about setting up some extra pitching practice time this week?”

  “I’ll go talk to Chess right now, Coach. Thanks,” said Zero. Coach is right, he added silently. A little more practice is all I need to make those fancy pitches work.

  Chess agreed to meet at Zero’s house the next morning. He slapped Zero encouragingly on the back, then grabbed a bat. He was up second, right after Bus Mercer.

  Bus was one of the Mudders’ best hitters. He started off the top of the fifth inning with a solid single. Then Chess walloped a line drive that the Bearcats’ pitcher somehow caught. One out, man on first.

  Zero watched Sparrow adjust his batting helmet and step up to the plate. That should be me
up there, he thought sadly. Sparrow popped out.

  Barry McGee took a few practice swings, then readied himself for the first pitch.

  Pow!

  The ball soared far over the center-field fence for a home run! Bus and Barry rounded the bases. Zero stood and cheered with the rest of the team and all the fans. The score now read Bearcats 5, Mudders 2.

  Those runs were the last ones the Mudders earned. Turtleneck struck out to end the inning. Sparrow kept the Bearcats from getting any more runs at the bottom of the fifth, but the Mudders couldn’t seem to get a man on base their last raps at bat. The game ended at Bearcats 5, Mudders 2.

  Zero felt awful. If only he hadn’t given up those two walks in the bottom of the fourth, maybe that score would have looked better. But there was nothing he could do about it now.

  Next time, though, he vowed silently, they won’t know what hit ’em!

  3

  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!

  4

  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!

  5

  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 appe
ared 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.