Wild Pitch Read online

  Books by Matt Christopher

  Sports Stories

  THE LUCKY BASEBALL BAT

  BASEBALL PALS

  BASKETBALL SPARKPLUG

  TWO STRIKES ON JOHNNY

  LITTLE LEFTY

  TOUCHDOWN FOR TOMMY

  LONG STRETCH AT FIRST BASE

  BREAK FOR THE BASKET

  CRACKERJACK HALFBACK

  BASEBALL FLYHAWK

  SINK IT, RUSTY

  CATCHER WITH A GLASS ARM

  TOO HOT TO HANDLE

  THE COUNTERFEIT TACKLE

  LONG SHOT FOR PAUL

  THE TEAM THAT COULDN’T LOSE

  THE YEAR MOM WON THE PENNANT

  THE BASKET COUNTS

  CATCH THAT PASS!

  SHORTSTOP FROM TOKYO

  LUCKY SEVEN

  JOHNNY LONG LEGS

  LOOK WHO’S PLAYING FIRST BASE

  TOUGH TO TACKLE

  THE KID WHO ONLY HIT HOMERS

  FACE-OFF

  MYSTERY COACH

  ICE MAGIC

  NO ARM IN LEFT FIELD

  JINX GLOVE

  FRONT COURT HEX

  THE TEAM THAT STOPPED MOVING

  GLUE FINGERS

  THE PIGEON WITH THE TENNIS ELBOW

  THE SUBMARINE PITCH POWER PLAY

  FOOTBALL FUGITIVE

  THE DIAMOND CHAMPS

  JOHNNY NO HIT

  THE FOX STEALS HOME

  SOCCER HALFBACK

  JACKRABBIT GOALIE

  DIRT BIKE RACER

  THE DOG THAT STOLE FOOTBALL PLAYS

  THE TWENTY-ONE-MILE SWIM

  RUN, BILLY, RUN

  WILD PITCH

  Animal Stories

  DESPERATE SEARCH

  STRANDED

  EARTHQUAKE

  DEVIL PONY

  Copyright

  COPYRIGHT © 1980 BY MATTHEW F. CHRISTOPHER

  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

  ISBN: 978-0-316-09610-2

  Contents

  Books by Matt Christopher

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  To my sons,

  Marty, Dale, and Duane

  1

  No one on the Lancers’ bench, including Eddie Rhodes, paid much attention to Puffy Garfield during the first inning when he said that the Surfs had a kid by the name of Phil Monahan playing first base for them.

  So the kid was a snappy first baseman. Big deal! There were a lot of snappy first basemen. Whatever else Puffy had to say about this Phil Monahan didn’t impress Eddie enough for him to bother listening any further.

  At the top of the fifth inning, as Eddie was grabbing his bat from the bunch standing in the metal rack, he heard Phil Monahan’s name mentioned again. He looked up to see who was bringing it up this time, and saw that it was Paul Norcross. Paul was sitting next to Tip McDonald, the Lancers’ husky catcher, and Tip looked as if the name meant something to him.

  Eddie waited a couple of seconds to see if he could hear any more about this Phil kid, but Coach Inger’s voice cut into his thoughts.

  “Get on, Eddie. Let’s turn this ball game around.” The Lancers were trailing the Cobras by two runs, 4–2.

  “He’s got a long handle on it, Eddie,” said Puffy, who was short and squatty and had arms like overstuffed sausages. “Just grab it and heave it.”

  “I’ll do that,” said Eddie, grinning.

  He moseyed up to the plate in his easygoing stride, took two cuts at the ball, then let four straight ones, all inches away from the plate, go by.

  “Take your base!” said the ump.

  Eddie turned and winked at Puffy.

  “Cheap,” Puffy snorted.

  Eddie tossed the bat toward a small kid in a baseball uniform, who darted after it, picked it up, and dropped it into the rack. Eddie trotted to first base.

  Eddie stayed on first until he got the bunt sign from Coach Inger at third. Touching the tip of his blue cap to show he understood the sign, he stepped off the bag and took a lead.

  For just a few seconds his mind drifted to the name Phil Monahan again, and he wondered what could be so significant about a kid’s playing first base that he would be mentioned twice within five innings. What was special about the guy? Was he a seven-foot giant, or what?

  Well, he’d find out soon enough, he figured.

  He saw Larry lay the bunt down to third, and Eddie bolted to second. The Cobras’ third baseman made a play on it and threw Larry out. Eddie, safe at second, was now where he was planned to be — in scoring position.

  He took his lead again, keeping his eye on the shortstop, the second baseman, and the pitcher. Rod Bellow came through with a double to the left-field fence. Eddie ran to third, then made a dash for home.

  “Hit it!” Dale Strong yelled as Eddie came pounding toward the plate.

  He wasn’t crazy about sliding. He seldom slid. He liked pitching better than fielding or hitting or running. But if sliding into a base meant scoring a run, he’d just have to slide.

  He hit the dirt, and dust swirled and curled up around him like smoke.

  “Safe!” yelled the ump.

  A cheer boomed from the Lancers’ fans. There were about eighty people in the grandstand and bleachers, half of whom cheered for the Lancers.

  Eddie got up and brushed himself off as he headed for the dugout.

  “Nice slide, Pitch!” Tip said to him, white, gap teeth showing in a wide grin.

  “Of course,” said Eddie immodestly.

  He and Tip had been friends since the day Eddie had moved to Argus, a small town on the southwest coast of Florida. Eddie’s parents had purchased a gift shop at Bahia Vista Plaza, after having sold their home in Ohio. Tip was a native Floridian, and his father was a cop.

  Puffy, sitting near the end of the dugout, leaned toward Tip and said, “Hey, Tip, you going to tell him?”

  “Tell him what? Oh, yeah,” Tip said.

  He beamed, and a mischievous look came into his eyes.

  “Shove over,” Eddie said.

  Tip and Tony Netro moved to give him room. He sat down and looked at Tip.

  “Tell me what?” he asked.

  “You know Phyl Monahan?”

  Eddie frowned. “No. All I heard was that he’s a first baseman. What’s so hot about him?”

  “It’s not a him. It’s a her. Her name’s Phyllis. They call her Phyl.”

  Eddie’s jaw slacked. “Huh?”

  Tip chuckled. “You heard me.”

  “A girl? And she plays first base?”

  Tip nodded. “And from what Puffy says, she’s good.”

  Maybe she’s good on a girls’ team, Eddie reflected. But on a boys’ team? He doubted it. Not that he had anything against girls. He knew some who were pretty nice. But as a ballplayer? No way. He really didn’t think they belonged on the same diamond with the guys.

  Eddie looked over at Puffy an
d caught his eye. “You know her?”

  Puffy pushed out his lower lip and shook his head. “No. She lives in the Parkdale school district. That’s where most of the kids go to school who play with the Surfs.”

  “She big?”

  “You mean is she tall? No. I’d say about average.”

  Tip squeezed Eddie’s knee. “The Surfs are playing on Number Two field. What do you say we hightail it over there after our game? If they’re still playing we can get a look at her.”

  Eddie shrugged. Why should he go over there and watch her play? Seeing ballplayers there from another team might just swell her head, anyway. Being on a boys’ team might have already swollen it a size or two.

  “I don’t know,” he said, reluctant.

  “Why not?” Tip winked. “Maybe she’s got something else besides legs.”

  Puffy Garfield laughed. “Yeah.”

  They turned their attention back to the ball game, and watched Dale pop out to the shortstop. Rod ran off second a few steps, but got back before the shortstop could make a play on him.

  “Knock ’im in, Lynn!” Puffy yelled to the next batter, Lynn Pellman. “You’re hittin’, man!”

  Lynn was the Lancers’ cleanup hitter. So far he had singled and grounded out. Pitchers had heard of his reputation as a long-ball hitter and tried never to give him a good pitch.

  Tom Hayes didn’t give him one, and Lynn dropped his bat and trotted to first.

  Paul Norcross took two cuts, then struck out, leaving the two men stranded.

  Tip buckled up his knee guards. “Let’s hurry out there and get this game over with,” he said.

  “This is just the middle of the fifth inning, Tip,” reminded Eddie, getting up. “And we need more runs to take this game.”

  “Come on, guys,” said the plate umpire. “Hustle.”

  The teams exchanged sides, Eddie going to the mound to start pitching the bottom half of the inning. After the first inning he’d been doing fairly well. He had a strong arm, a curve, and a slowball that worked now and then. His father had taught him how to throw it. It wasn’t an easy pitch. He was able to throw it so it would hardly turn, but controlling it was something else. He had a reputation for being wild, anyway. He had a good day if he didn’t dust off at least two batters during a seven-inning ball game.

  He got by the first Cobra batter (a pop-up to first), struck out the second, then caught a high bouncer to throw out the third batter himself

  Tip, Tony, and Puffy made it a quick one-two-three in the top of the sixth, and Eddie held the Cobras scoreless when they came to bat.

  He led off in the final inning, hoping he could do something memorable for a change. So far he hadn’t done enough to create even a ripple of excitement.

  He did now, lambasting a triple off the left-field fence.

  Standing and waiting for one of the next batters to knock him in, he got to thinking about Phyl Monahan again. He had to admit that if she was playing with the Surfs she must be good. Maybe he’d be pitching to her one of these days.

  He watched Larry pop out to short. Then he scored on Rod’s long sacrifice fly to deep center field.

  “Nice sock, guy,” said Tip as Eddie trotted in to the bench and sat down, breathing a little heavily.

  “About time,” Eddie said. He’d been due.

  The Lancers now ripped the game wide open as Dale came through with a double, followed by Lynn’s walk and Paul’s second triple of the game. Tip flied out to left for the third out, and the Lancers led, 6–4.

  “Let’s hold ’em, men!” Coach Inger yelled as they took the field the last half of the inning.

  Eddie threw in warmup pitches, faced the first batter, and dusted him off. He didn’t do it intentionally, but the jeers from the Cobras’ fans made him wonder if they thought he might have.

  He finally walked the guy.

  The next batter hit into a double play, and the next flied out to left, ending the ball game.

  Eddie saw Tip throw off his mask and his belly guard, and start rapidly on his shin guards.

  “Still going over to watch the Surfs?” he asked.

  “Sure!”

  “Okay!”

  He tossed the equipment over to where the mascot was piling bats into a bag. Then he straightened his cap, picked up his mitt, and headed for the gate.

  “Let’s go.”

  Eddie saw Puffy waiting for them. In a few seconds all three were walking briskly off the diamond to field Number Two.

  2

  Doss Park was a huge complex of three baseball fields located about a half a mile away from the city of Argus. Each field was equipped with lights for night games, and had a grandstand and bleachers that would seat a thousand spectators.

  So far the seats had never been filled to capacity, so when the boys walked in through the gate of Number Two field and saw the packed stands, they thought they were seeing a record crowd.

  “Look at that,” said Puffy, surprised. “It’s jampacked.”

  “She must be the draw,” said Tip.

  “She’s probably getting a big charge out of it,” said Eddie. “Like a movie star.”

  They found a place to stand next to the third-base bleachers. Eddie looked at the scoreboard and saw that it was the sixth inning. The Surfs were playing Tanglewood and had first bats. They were leading, 8–5.

  “Who’s batting?” Puffy wanted to know.

  “The Surfs,” Tip observed.

  “You see her?” Eddie asked.

  “I don’t know what she looks like,” answered Puffy.

  Eddie started to look over the players sitting in the dugout behind first base. They all had their uniforms and caps on, and looked pretty much alike. Some had long hair, some short.

  “Come on, Lee! Blast it!” yelled a fan.

  The batter was a tall kid with hair down to his collar. He took a wild cut at the ball, and, from the umpire’s cry, they knew he’d struck out. Head down in disgust, still holding his bat, he retreated to the bench.

  “I know how you feel, kid,” said Puffy sympathetically.

  The next batter walked up to the left side of the plate, tapped it twice, then got ready for the pitch.

  “This Phyl Monahan,” said Eddie. “She bat left or right?”

  Puffy shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I told you I’ve never seen her.”

  “Send it out of the lot, Mike!” cried a fan.

  Tip smiled. “Well, we know that’s not her,” he said.

  Eddie forgot his adverse feelings about a girl playing on a boys’ baseball team, and he smiled, too. Mike, wobbling to the plate, was big and round, and the back of his shirt was stained with sweat. “Catcher” was written all over him.

  He laced out a fly to center, and was only halfway to first base when it was caught.

  The Tanglewoods came in; the Surfs went out. Eddie watched to see which player would be heading toward first base.

  “There she is,” Tip said.

  Then Eddie saw her, too. She was holding her mitt in her hand, folded over. Two long, blond pigtails stuck out from underneath her red baseball cap and bounced on the back of her neck as she trotted out to her position at first base.

  “She could pass for a boy if it weren’t for those pigtails,” said Tip.

  “Yeah,” said Eddie.

  He hoped that a ball would be hit to her. He was anxious to see how she’d handle it. Playing first base was no picnic.

  He watched her field the grounders that the infielders threw over to her and had to admit she looked good at it. She was right-handed. She squatted down with both hands, scooped up the ball, straightened up, and threw to the next fielder with grace and ease.

  Well, you couldn’t judge a player’s ability much by these warmup throws, Eddie told himself. It was how you performed in a game that counted.

  Tanglewood’s first batter drove a long fly to deep center field for a double. The next guy bashed one to the shortstop, who faked the runner back to s
econd, then pegged to first to get the hitter by two steps. Phyl Monahan stretched to make the catch, then quickly got off the bag and got set to throw to third when the runner on second made a motion to run there. He stopped, and she tossed the ball in to the pitcher.

  “Well, what do you think?” asked Puffy.

  “Think?” echoed Eddie, frowning. “She hasn’t done much. All she’s done is catch a ball.”

  “Right,” agreed Tip. “My little sister can do just as well.”

  She had another putout during the half inning, and then a chance at a high-bouncing one-hopper. She leaped, grabbed it, came down on both feet, stepped quickly to the bag, and touched it for the third out.

  “What grade is she in?” Eddie inquired, mildly impressed at her performance.

  “I figure eighth or ninth,” said Tip thoughtfully.

  “Then she’s about thirteen or fourteen.”

  “I’d say so.”

  The teams exchanged sides and Eddie watched to see if Monahan was going to bat. He was anxious to see how she did at the plate, too.

  The first Surf grounded out to shortstop. The second drove a hot liner through the third baseman’s legs and beat it on to second base.

  “Hey, look who’s stepping into the on-deck circle,” Tip said. It was Phyl Monahan.

  The guy at the plate took a called strike, waited out two pitches, then lined out to second. Two outs.

  A cheer went up from the fans as Monahan stepped to the plate. She leaned the bat against her thigh, rubbed her hands a couple of times, then grabbed the bat and got set.

  Tanglewood’s pitcher was a tall left-hander with a fast overhand delivery. His first pitch to Phyl came in high, and she let it go. The next was even with her chest, and she swung at it. The crack of the bat was solid. The ball shot out to short center field, and she took off for first.

  She could run. Her pigtails bobbed on her neck, and her shirt ballooned on her back as she sped to the bag. Her fans cheered her, letting her know they loved what she did.

  Puffy looked at Eddie. “How’d you like to pitch to her?”

  Eddie shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “You might have your chance.”

  “Not right away, I hope,” he said.

  There was just something about pitching to a girl that rankled.

  “As soon as next Tuesday,” said Puffy.