Stranger in Right Field

  To Paul Michael

  Copyright

  Text copyright © 1997 by Catherine M. Christopher

  Illustrations copyright © 1997 by Bert Dodson

  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.

  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.

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  First eBook Edition: December 2009

  ISBN: 978-0-316-09493-1

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  The action-packed Peach Street Mudders series by Matt Christopher:

  1

  “Okay!” Coach Parker’s voice snapped. “Let’s have some quiet!”

  The commanding voice struck like a thunderbolt. Silence fell in the Peach Street Mudders’ dugout.

  “There’s someone here I’d like you to meet. Boys, this is Roberti Frantelli.”

  “Hi!” all fourteen Mudders called out.

  The tall, dark-haired boy smiled.

  “Thank you. I am happy to be here.” He spoke with a strong accent.

  Italian? Mexican? Greek? Alfie Maples wondered. He was curious about different countries and cultures. Alfie also wondered why Roberti was dressed in a Peach Street Mudders uniform, as if he were going to play in the game against the Stockade Bulls. He waited eagerly for Coach Parker to explain more about the stranger.

  But the coach just said, “Roberti is going to warm up with you outfielders. So let’s get out there and show him how the game is played!”

  An outfielder? I hope it’s not right field! Alfie thought. Ever since he’d joined the team, Alfie had been the starting right fielder. But he knew he wasn’t the best player on the team. He sometimes missed easy catches, and he didn’t do too well at the plate, either. Still, he hustled during practices and always tried to learn from his mistakes.

  Alfie adjusted his glasses and jogged out onto the field. As he passed the bleachers, he spotted a strange-looking man. Unlike most of the fans who were dressed in shorts, T-shirts, and sunglasses, this man wore a business suit. When the rest of the fans rose to their feet to cheer for the Mudders, he stayed seated.

  Even without his glasses, Alfie would have picked the man out of the crowd. The man raised a hand and waved at someone on the field. Alfie turned in time to see Roberti wave back.

  “Hey, Alfie, look alive!”

  The shout from José Mendez made Alfie snap back to attention. He waved his glove in the air to signal he was ready to catch.

  “Roberti, back up so we can throw to you, too,” José called. “We’ll go around from me to you to Alfie to Barry. Then we’ll mix it up. Okay, guys?”

  The ball started around slowly. At first, all the boys, including Roberti, made clean catches. Then, at a signal from José, the exercise became more difficult. The ball was thrown high or at the ground on purpose, forcing the catcher to jump or run in low to retrieve it. Since they weren’t throwing in a circle any more, each player had to be ready to catch at all times.

  Alfie watched Roberti carefully. To his surprise, the newcomer couldn’t seem to get his glove on the ball. By the time Coach Parker called them in for the start of the game, Roberti Frantelli was red-faced from having chased the ball over and over—and the other outfielders were giving him puzzled glances.

  Why did the coach let him on the team? the looks seemed to ask.

  Alfie felt a little sorry for Roberti. But he also felt relieved. After all, he’d worked hard to earn his position as starting right fielder. Seeing Roberti play made him feel he would be able to keep that position, no problem.

  2

  The game against the Stockade Bulls started a few minutes later.

  “We’re up first,” Coach Parker told the Mudders. “Regular batting order and starting positions as usual, fellas. And I want to hear some chatter from this dugout!”

  As the boys gave a cheer, Coach Parker called Alfie and Roberti over to him. He said, “Alfie, as a favor to me, I’d like you to keep an eye on Roberti. Make sure he understands everything that’s going on out there. Kind of coach him through the game. Okay?”

  Alfie was surprised. It was clear that Roberti could barely catch a ball in a simple practice drill. But now the coach seemed to be saying that Roberti didn’t even understand about baseball! If the coach thought that, why had he put Roberti on the team in the first place?

  Alfie didn’t get it, but he nodded to let the coach know he’d help out. At least he might have a chance to ask Roberti a few questions, like where he was from, if he was visiting or moving to town—and who the man in the business suit was.

  Coach Parker clapped his hands a few times and trotted out to the third-base coaching position. Alfie sat down next to Roberti as Barry McGee, the “Hit-Away Kid,” picked up a bat and headed toward the plate.

  “Okay, Barry! Okay, kid!” Alfie yelled. Even though his mind was on the boy beside him, he wanted the Mudders to know that he was rooting for them one hundred percent.

  “A long one, Barry!” Nicky Chong called out from the bench.

  Barry pulled down on his helmet as he stepped into the batting box. He let a ball and a strike go by him. Then he belted the next pitch. A high fly to center!

  Adzie Healy of the Bulls made an easy catch of it, and Barry was out.

  “Nice try, Barry,” Alfie said as the outfielder returned to the dugout.

  “Yes, nice try,” Roberti echoed. Barry glanced at both boys, shrugged, then slumped down on the bench.

  First baseman Turtleneck Jones was up next. He took two balls and two strikes, then fanned. Trent Farrell, the Bulls’ lanky left-handed pitcher, seemed to have his fastball working well.

  But then José walked, and T.V. Adams doubled. A single from Nicky Chong knocked them both in for two runs scored.

  As Alfie stepped to the plate, he saw Nicky watching him with a hopeful look that seemed to say, “Drive me home!”

  Coach Parker clapped his hands from the third-base coaching box. “Keep it going, Alfie!” he called. “Make it count!”

  Alfie took a deep breath and readied himself for the first pitch. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Roberti lean forward, his elbows on his knees. Alfie could feel the new boy staring at him.

  Suddenly Alfie was nervous. A trickle of sweat ran down his back. One thought ran through his head: How am I supposed to help Roberti get better at baseball when I have trouble playing the game myself sometimes?

  3

  “Steee-rike!” boomed the ump as Trent’s first pitch blazed by Alfie.

  “At least swing for those, Alfie,” Bus Mercer muttered from the on-deck circle. “Don’t just stand there.”

  Alfie didn’t. But he missed the next pitch by a mile. Strike two.

  “Come on, Alfie!” Bus said.

  The pitcher fired in another.

  “Ball!” boomed the umpire.

  Alfie dug his cleats into the dirt. This next one won’t get by me! he thought fiercely.

  But it did. Trent’s pitch was waist high and outside. Alfie cut at it a
nyway and swished. Strike three.

  “Rats! Made the third out again!” Alfie heard Bus say. Alfie felt his face turn red. Even though the other boys often let their teammates know when they were disappointed, Alfie tried not to make comments like that himself. They never made him feel any better, and he knew that they could make someone else feel bad.

  Roberti was sitting back with his cap pulled low over his eyes. Beneath the brim, his face was as expressionless as a fresh apple.

  Bet he wishes the coach had assigned him to someone other than me, Alfie thought dismally as he grabbed his glove and headed to right field. He took up his position and tried to put Roberti out of his mind by starting up the chatter.

  “C’mon, Sparrow! Get ’em out—one, two, three!” he called to the Mudders’ pitcher. The rest of the team picked up the chatter.

  Sparrow faced the first batter, Jim Hance. Jim laced the ball down to short. Bus picked it off and sent it to Turtleneck at first base for an easy out. The second batter flied out. But Ted Jackson drove a sizzler past Sparrow and Bus. He made it to first.

  That was it, though. Adzie Healey popped out to end the inning.

  Alfie ran in. When he reached the dugout, he hesitated a long moment before sitting beside Roberti.

  “Too bad about your hitting,” Roberti said. “How many years have you been playing baseball?”

  Alfie looked quickly at Roberti. Was the question some kind of wisecrack? Was Roberti suggesting that Alfie didn’t look as though he’d been playing for very long?

  But Roberti’s face was curious, not mean.

  “I’ve been playing for two years,” Alfie replied. “How about you?”

  Roberti gave a small smile. “I have never played before.”

  Alfie blinked. More than ever, he wanted to ask how Roberti had gotten onto the Mudders’ team. But he was afraid his question might offend the newcomer. After, all, Alfie himself had never played before he’d joined the Mudders.

  But I had to practice a lot with the guys before I played in my first game, he remembered. I wasn’t just handed a uniform.

  They sat silently for a few minutes. Alfie fished around for something to say. “Uh, is that your dad in the stands?” he finally said. “You know, that guy in the suit?”

  Roberti laughed. “Oh, no, that is not my father. That man just takes care of me. He is—”

  “Alfie!” Coach Parker interrupted. “Inning’s over! Grab your glove and get out there!”

  The Mudders had been put down in order: first Bus, then Rudy Calhoun, and last of all Sparrow had walked up to the plate only to walk back again without a hit. The score remained 2–0.

  Chet Barker led off for the Bulls. He popped up a sky-reaching fly above home plate.

  “Take it, Rudy!” T.V. shouted from third base.

  Rudy did.

  Then Trent Farrell hit one out to right field. Alfie should have caught it easily. But at the last moment, he lost sight of the ball! It bounced a few feet behind him. He scrambled to pick it up, then heaved it toward second. Luckily, his throw was right on the money. Trent held at first.

  Some good example you’re showing Roberti, Alfie thought furiously. You’re catching about as good as he was during practice.

  The inning ended a few minutes later with the Bulls held scoreless. Alfie took a seat on the bench. Roberti excused himself to get a drink of water.

  A moment later, Alfie felt someone tap him on the shoulder. It was Bus.

  “So, what do you think of the new guy?” Bus whispered.

  Alfie shrugged. “Okay, I guess. I haven’t had a chance to talk to him much.”

  Bus nodded. “Kind of funny, though, isn’t it? How he just showed up out of nowhere wearing a uniform?”

  “It’s a little weird,” Alfie agreed. “Especially since he told me he’s never played baseball before. Did you know the coach asked me to help him out?”

  Bus laughed. “You? Things are getting even weirder! Unless…” Bus’s voice trailed off.

  “Unless what?” Alfie prodded.

  “Unless the coach is training Roberti to play in right field. I mean, why else would he have you show him anything?”

  Alfie stared at the dirt between his shoes. Bus’s words stung, but not because of what he said about the coach replacing him with Roberti. No, what hurt was that Bus didn’t think anyone could possibly learn anything about baseball from Alfie Maples!

  4

  “I brought you some water, Alfie.” Roberti handed Alfie a paper cup, then sat down beside him.

  “Uh, thanks,” Alfie said. Bus raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say a word. They sat in silence, watching the game.

  Barry had made it to first, held up there while Turtleneck struck out, then reached second on a single by José. T.V. Adams was at the plate. Nicky grabbed a bat and hurried to the on-deck circle.

  A moment later, T.V. sent a smasher to right field. Barry made it home, José held up at third, and T.V. stood beaming at second. The score now read Mudders 3, Bulls 0.

  Alfie took Nicky’s place in the circle. From there he watched Nicky pop out to first.

  “Hit the ball, Alfie!” Alfie could hear Roberti’s voice loud and clear. “That’s right, Alfie, keep it rolling!” Coach Parker called.

  Alfie didn’t hit a home run, but he did connect with the ball for a blooping infield single. He beat the throw to first by a millisecond. Neither José or T.V. risked advancing.

  Bus Mercer came to the plate with the bases loaded. But to everyone’s surprise, he struck out and ended the inning.

  Disappointed, Alfie was tempted to make a comment to Bus when he met him in the dugout. But he didn’t. Bus might not be able to keep his mouth shut, Alfie thought, but I can.

  Alfie picked up his glove and saw Roberti gave him a quick smile, then glance at Bus and back at him knowingly. Alfie smiled back, glad he had held his tongue.

  As he ran into the outfield, Alfie found himself remembering his first Mudders game. He had been so scared that he was going to mess up. Coach Parker had been helpful, but mostly Alfie had had to muddle through and learn as he played. It would have been nice to know that someone was keeping a special eye on him. Maybe that’s what Coach Parker wanted him to do for Roberti.

  The rest of the game sped by quickly. Although the Bulls earned a run, in the end, the Mudders took the game, 3–1.

  Alfie joined his teammates shaking the Bulls players’ hands. Roberti stepped into place behind him.

  “Good game, good game,” Alfie said as he slapped each hand that passed him. “See you next game, good effort.” He could hear Roberti echoing him.

  By the time they’d reached the end of the line, Alfie had made a decision.

  I may not be the best player out there, he thought, but the coach must think I know something worth passing on to Roberti. So that’s what I’m going to do.

  And what if he ends up replacing you? a little voice inside him whispered suddenly.

  Alfie pushed the thought aside. He gathered up his stuff and started toward the parking lot. That’s where his mother usually picked him up after games. Sure enough, the familiar blue sedan was waiting for him.

  But it was another car that caught his eye. No, not a car—a limousine! Beside the huge automobile stood the strange man in the business suit. Striding toward it was none other than Roberti Frantelli.

  “I will see you at practice tomorrow, Alfie!” Roberti waved as he climbed into the backseat. The man in the business suit slipped in after him. Then the car door slammed and the limousine drove away.

  Open-mouthed, Alfie watched it go.

  “Wow!” a voice beside him said. It was Bus. “Look at the size of that car! Kinda makes you wonder just who that Frantelli kid is, doesn’t it?”

  Alfie nodded dumbly. He couldn’t have been more surprised than if a spaceship had zoomed out of the sky and landed in the parking lot.

  “Better watch out, Alfie,” Bus warned. “A kid like that could get whatever he wants.
Including a starting position in right field!”

  5

  That night at dinner, Alfie told his parents all about the mysterious new boy.

  “Coach Parker asked me to kind of help him along with the team,” he added.

  “That’s quite a compliment,” Mr. Maples said.

  Alfie chewed thoughtfully. “I guess so. I hope I don’t let him down. I—I’m not really the greatest player out there, you know.”

  Mrs. Maples ruffled his hair and grinned. “The coach wouldn’t have picked you if you weren’t the right one for the job.”

  Alfie thought of Bus’s comment in the parking lot. “But what if Roberti gets really good, really fast? Maybe Coach Parker will replace me!”

  Mr. Maples frowned. “I’d be surprised if Coach Parker would do something like that.”

  “You’ll have to trust that the coach will be fair,” Mrs. Maples added.

  Alfie nodded. He wanted to believe his parents. But deep inside, he knew that if he helped Roberti, then lost his starting position, he’d feel awful.

  After dinner, Alfie pulled out his favorite stack of geography magazines and started looking through them. Before too long, he was lost in the photographs of other countries. To him, the people in the pictures looked exotic. Their clothes were like costumes, and their houses and schools were completely different from what he was used to seeing every day. Even the trees and plants were strange. Yet he knew that to these people, he and his surroundings would look just as odd.

  I wonder if Roberti is from one of these countries, he thought. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t know much about baseball. I think I’ll ask him at practice tomorrow..

  6

  Practice began at ten o’clock sharp the next morning. Roberti was already at the ball field when Alfie showed up. Alfie started toward him, but Bus Mercer beat him to the punch.