Out at Second Read online

  Stu went through a quick windup and unleashed a pitch that screamed toward the plate at top speed. At that exact moment, Manny recalled two things: Stu had a rocket for an arm—and he, Manny, wasn’t wearing a batting helmet!

  With a shout of alarm, he leaped backward out of harm’s way.

  “Interesting technique!” Stu called from the mound.

  “Very funny!” Manny growled. “Why didn’t you tell me I’d forgotten to put on a helmet? Do you have one?”

  Stu made a face. “You know my mom always makes me bring one. She’s such a safety freak! This morning alone, she made me put on sunscreen and bug spray, take my vitamins, and use hand sanitizer before I left the house.”

  Manny grinned. He knew that Stu thought his mother was overprotective. When it came to Stu’s health, she believed too much caution was better than too little!

  “The helmet’s over by the bench with my other stuff,” Stu said. “You can get it if you want. Or,” he added as Manny took a step in that direction, “you can show that you trust me and not wear it!”

  Manny stopped and looked at his friend. Stu tossed a ball up and caught it. “Come on, Manny, you know how good my aim is!” he said with a grin.

  Manny snorted and continued to the bench. “Yeah, I know your aim is good,” he replied as he fitted the helmet in place. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather keep my skull in one piece.”

  When Manny was back in the box, Stu faced the plate, reared back, and threw another sizzler. He did have decent aim; the ball flew just below Manny’s waist.

  Manny swung. Crack! The barrel of the bat met the ball cleanly, sending it soaring off into the outfield.

  “Whoo-eee!” Stu whooped. “That pill is gone!”

  Manny grinned but didn’t cheer. He didn’t want Stu to think he was bragging.

  Stu hurled five more pitches. Manny hit four of them squarely. He knocked the last one straight up into the air. Instinctively, he darted forward to make the catch, only remembering when the ball stung his bare hand that he wasn’t wearing his mitt.

  “Yowch!” he cried, shaking his fingers to ease the pain.

  “Careful! Your fingers are just as important as your head!” Stu warned. “We need all your parts in good working order if we’re going to win against the Sharks!”

  Manny laughed as he hustled to help Stu retrieve the balls from the field. “Hey, where do you think Sean is?”

  “Here I am!” Sean called from the outskirts of the field. He hurried toward them. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “No problem,” Manny said. “We were just doing a little pitch-and-hit to warm up.”

  “Now that you’re here,” Stu said, “we’ll switch to shortstop stuff.”

  “Okay,” Sean said. “Just tell me what to do.”

  Manny took off the batting helmet, scratched his head, and looked at Stu. “I’m not sure, actually,” he confessed. “Got any ideas, Stu?”

  Stu started juggling the three baseballs he was holding. “I’m full of ideas and all of them are good!” he quipped, his eyes following the path of each ball in turn. After a moment, he let them fall to the ground. “Sean, you go to shortstop. I’ll go to second. Manny, you hit us some grounders and fungoes, and I’ll talk Sean through different fielding situations as they come. Sound good?”

  Sean looked worried. “That sounds good except for one thing,” he said. “I didn’t bring any fungoes for us to hit. Did you guys?”

  Manny and Stu exchanged dismayed looks. Does Sean really not know what a fungo is? Manny thought.

  All at once, Sean started laughing. “Man, you must really think I’m a dunce! I may not have played on a team before, but sheesh! Even I know what a fungo is!” To demonstrate his knowledge, he picked up a bat and a ball, tossed the ball into the air, and hit a pop fly. “Okay?”

  Manny smiled. “Better than okay!”

  “Let’s go!” Stu agreed.

  5

  Stu and Sean grabbed their gloves and headed for the infield, while Manny took the bat and moved toward the plate.

  He started off with an easy grounder toward shortstop. Sean darted forward, scooped the ball in his glove, and covered it with his bare hand.

  “Pretend there’s a runner!” Stu called as he raced toward first base. “Throw it here for the out!”

  Sean tried, but he made the rookie mistake of releasing the ball while he was coming out of his pivot. Not surprisingly, the ball soared far off its mark.

  “Whoops! Sorry, Stu!” Sean shouted.

  “No sweat!” Stu called over his shoulder as he chased the ball into the dugout. “But next time, plant your feet and square off to me before you throw!” He tossed the ball back to Manny, and both infielders returned to their positions.

  This time, Manny hit a fungo just to the right of the pitcher’s mound. Stu moved in for the catch and then turned to look for Sean. When he saw Sean still standing in his original spot, he shook his head.

  “Okay, if you only learn one thing this afternoon, it’s this: When I move to the ball or to cover first, you have to cover second. If you don’t, the runner from first has a free ticket to the bag. Of course, if you field the ball, then I’ll be on second for the throw. Right?”

  Sean nodded his understanding, and they returned to their positions.

  Manny tapped a grounder that was supposed to roll midway between second and first. Instead, it headed much closer to first. He was about to call out his apologies, sure that the ball was out of play. But Stu surprised him by dashing forward, snaring the ball from the ground, and pivoting for a throw to second.

  Sean had learned his lesson and stood on the bag, waiting with his glove stretched out in front of him. The throw never came, however.

  “Hang on!” Stu said. “Sean, don’t reach for the ball until you know where it’s going.”

  Sean didn’t seem to understand, so Stu came to his side to explain further. “If you stretch before the ball is thrown, you narrow down the area you can cover. Watch.”

  He reached out with his glove as far as he could go and then moved his arm to the right. “This position would be perfect if I knew for sure that the ball was going to hit my glove dead-on. But what if it’s thrown off to the left? Now I have to move way over here.” He swept his arm in an arc to his left.

  Sean’s face brightened. “I get it,” he said. “If I hold my glove closer to my body, I can move it to meet the ball directly instead of adjusting after the throw. Is that right?”

  “Exactly!” Stu said.

  While Stu was explaining the catching principles to Sean, Manny stood to one side, nodding. He felt like a third wheel on a bicycle. He knew a lot about the game. But he was pretty clueless about everything Stu was saying!

  When he said as much to the guys, Stu laughed. “I’ll bet you know more than you think you do,” he said. “You just aren’t getting a chance to explain it because I’m doing all the talking!”

  Manny and Sean laughed, too. “Guess we’ll never get the benefit of my vast knowledge then,” Manny teased, “since you never shut up!”

  Stu continued to do most of the talking as they practiced. Sean soaked up the information like a sponge. Before long, he was making good catches and throws every time and the right decisions on when to move to the bag and when to field the ball.

  “How strong is your arm?” Manny asked when they took a water break.

  “It’s strong,” Sean replied confidently. “In fact, I’d hoped I’d get to pitch in one of our games. Guess not, though.”

  Manny shook his head. “It would have been tough putting you in the pitching rotation since the team already has Howie, Abe, and Domingo.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you can’t show us your stuff,” Stu cut in. He picked up a ball and tossed it to Sean. “Go on, get on the mound so we can see what you’ve got! I’ll hit and, Manny, you can catch.”

  Manny hesitated. “I don’t know, Stu. I didn’t bring any of my catcher’s gear.”
>
  “I can try pitching without you catching,” Sean offered.

  Stu shook his head. “You need his glove for a target. Come on, Manny. It’s just a few lousy pitches.”

  Manny knew that even one lousy pitch could still cause him some pain, but he gave in. “Okay, fine,” he said. “Be careful, though, Sean.”

  Sean nodded reassuringly and then headed to the mound. When he was out of earshot, Manny turned to Stu, glowering. “If I take a fastball in the—”

  “You won’t,” Stu interrupted, “because I’ll knock every one of his pitches out of the park.” He used his bat to prod Manny to his spot behind the plate.

  Sean took a few practice pitches to warm up. To Manny’s relief, each throw hit his mitt’s pocket without him having to move very much.

  “I’m ready if you are,” Manny told Stu. He spotted the batting helmet by the bench. “But I see you’re not. Your helmet’s over there.”

  Stu rolled his eyes. “Who are you, my mother?” Then he stepped into the batter’s box. “Bring the heat!” he called to Sean.

  “Okay,” Sean replied, “but remember: You asked for it!”

  Stu hefted the bat over his shoulder. Manny crouched down. Sean reared back to throw. Manny widened his glove to give him a bigger target—and then gave a yelp as a mosquito bit him in the back of his neck!

  Stu glanced back at him. “What th—?” he started to say. He never finished.

  Sean unleashed a bullet pitch that was high and inside. Thock! The ball struck Stu right in the head! He staggered sideways. Then he dropped like a ton of bricks at Manny’s feet.

  6

  Manny’s blood turned to ice water. For one agonizing moment, he couldn’t move or speak, just stare down at his friend’s unmoving body.

  Sean sprinted up beside him. “Is he okay? He’s got to be okay! I didn’t know he wasn’t looking! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he babbled, his voice choked with fear.

  That broke the spell that held Manny. “Quiet!” he said sharply. Sean’s mouth snapped shut. “Hey, Stu, can you hear me?”

  There was only a faint sigh that could have been Stu or the wind in the trees. Then Stu groaned and pushed himself up.

  “Take it slow!” Manny said anxiously. “Maybe you should just lie still.”

  But Stu had already rolled over to a sitting position. He blinked rapidly but didn’t look at Manny or Sean. He didn’t say anything to them, either. In fact, it seemed as though he didn’t even know they were there.

  Then, finally, his dazed expression started to clear. He raised a shaky hand to his head.

  “Oh, man,” he mumbled as his fingers brushed the sore spot. “That’s going to leave a lump.” He looked up at Manny with a wan smile. “Did you get the number of the truck that hit me?”

  Until that moment, Manny hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. Now hearing his friend make a joke, he let it out in a long, relieved whoosh. Together, he and Sean helped Stu to his feet and walked him to the bleachers.

  “Where’s my hat?” Stu asked as he sat down. Manny saw it lying in the dirt by the backstop. The ball had knocked it clean off his head!

  “I’ll get it,” Sean said. He seemed eager to be away from Stu—and Manny couldn’t blame him. He himself felt guilty for not convincing Stu to wear his helmet. How much worse would it have felt to have caused his injury?

  Sean returned with the baseball cap. Stu took it but didn’t put it on. He just sat there looking at it.

  “Guess we should call it a day, huh?” Manny finally said.

  Sean nodded and stood up. So did Stu, but he’d barely gotten his feet under him when he lost his balance and listed to one side. He clutched Manny’s arm to steady himself.

  “Whoa!” he said shakily. “Who moved the ground?”

  Fear pricked at Manny again. He helped Stu sit down and then grabbed his cell phone and dialed the Fletchers’ home phone number. After four rings, however, the call went to voice mail.

  “This is the Fletcher residence,” the recorded message said pleasantly. “No one is home right now. Please leave a—”

  With a grunt of frustration, Manny hung up.

  “Stu,” he said, “what’s your mom’s cell phone number?”

  Stu rubbed his eyes with his fingertips, blinked a few times, and then stared at Manny. “Huh? Why do you want my mom’s cell number?”

  “So I can tell her what happened!” Manny said, coming to sit beside him.

  He didn’t think Stu’s face could get any paler, but it did.

  “Manny, promise me you won’t say anything to her! She caught me riding my skateboard without my helmet last week and hit the roof! She said she’d ground me for weeks if she found out I wasn’t using safety gear—and that includes my batting helmet.” He put his head in his hands. “If I get grounded, I won’t be able to play baseball. You know the Grizzlies need me if we’re going to win. And think of how angry Coach Flaherty would be if he found out why I couldn’t play.”

  Manny’s stomach twisted into a tight knot at the thought of the coach’s anger. And Stu was probably right: The Grizzlies did need him. Manny had filled out enough scorecards to know that Stu was the best second baseman in the league and a consistently strong hitter as well. With Jason out sick, the Grizzlies were already down one starter. How would they fare if they lost Stu, too?

  Then Manny eyed Stu’s head. He was certain he could see a lump starting to swell where the ball had hit him. “Don’t you think your mom is going to find out anyway, when she sees that goose egg?”

  Stu touched the spot and grimaced. “So I’ll just make sure she doesn’t see it.”

  Using his fingers, he combed his sweaty hair forward until it nearly touched his eyebrows. Then he put his cap on.

  “There,” he said, “how’s it look?”

  “It looks fine,” Manny said. “But you don’t!” It was true. Stu’s face was still pale, and his hands had been shaking when he put on the hat. “Please let me call your mom or dad!”

  “No!” Stu practically shouted. When Manny pulled back, he lightened his tone. “Being in the championship game is really important to me. You know that. Promise me you won’t tell!”

  Sean cleared his throat. He’d been silent up until then, but now he put in his two cents. “I didn’t throw the ball that hard, Manny.”

  Manny bit his lip and looked from one boy to the other. Both were regarding him with expressions that were half anxious, half hopeful.

  “Okay,” he said at last. “I won’t say anything, but on one condition. You have to promise to wear a helmet from now on.”

  Relief crossed his friends’ faces. “You got a deal.” Stu stuck out his hand.

  Manny shook it and then used it to pull Stu to his feet. This time, Stu didn’t lose his balance.

  “Need any help getting home?” Sean asked.

  Manny replied that they’d be fine. He hoped he was right.

  Sean lived in the opposite direction and was soon out of sight. Manny and Stu walked slowly toward their neighborhood. Every so often, Manny cast a sidelong glance at his friend. He was sure he was being sneaky about it—until Stu caught him.

  “Cut that out, will you?” Stu grumbled. “I’m fine!” Then, as if to prove his point, he turned to Manny with a wide smile. “At least, I’ll be fine once this headache I’ve got goes away!”

  Manny smiled tentatively. “Does it hurt a lot?” he asked.

  “Know those cartoons where the anvil falls on the cat’s head?” Stu said. “Well, picture an anvil the size of Texas hitting my head. That’s what it feels like!”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah, ouch,” Stu agreed. “But it’s just a headache. It’ll be gone by tomorrow, I bet.”

  “So long as you’re okay…”

  “ ’Course I’m okay,” Stu said. “If I weren’t, don’t you think I’d know it?”

  7

  Manny and Stu reached the Fletchers’ house a little while later. Manny g
ave Stu his bag of baseballs and his glove.

  “See you at school,” Stu said. “And thanks.” Then he disappeared inside and Manny went home.

  There, he found his mother high on a ladder cleaning the gutters. As he approached, she yanked out a fistful of acorns and threw them to the ground. Unfortunately, Manny was standing beneath her when she did so.

  “Ow!” he cried as acorns rained down on him.

  “Oooh, so sorry!” his mother cried. “I didn’t see you! Are you hurt?”

  “Nah, I’m fine.” Manny rubbed his head where he’d been hit. As he did, he thought of Stu. If a few little acorns can make my scalp sting like this, how bad must it have felt when that baseball hit him?

  Then he shrugged. Stu said he was fine, he reminded himself.

  At his mother’s request, Manny spent the rest of the afternoon helping with the gutters and other outdoor projects. By dinnertime, both of them were starving.

  Fortunately, Mr. Griffin had started supper. When they came into the kitchen, he lifted the lid off a big pot to peek inside. A cloud of steam billowed around his face. “Homemade clam chowder,” he announced, turning to greet them.

  Manny and his mother took one look at him and burst out laughing. The steam from the chowder had fogged Mr. Griffin’s glasses. He laughed, too, and then removed the glasses to polish them, blinking rapidly as he did so.

  Manny grinned. His father always wore the funniest expression when he didn’t have his glasses on—like he was surprised to find that the world had suddenly gone out of focus.

  It’s the same look Stu had after he got hit. The thought came out of nowhere, and he frowned.

  “What’s wrong, Manuel?” his mother asked.

  “Huh? Oh, nothing.” Manny shook his head to clear it and hurried upstairs to change.

  After dinner, the family watched a time-travel mystery movie together. It was a great film, with tons of plot twists and surprises, but very long. When it ended, he was more than ready to go to bed.

  He awoke the next morning to see the sun shining through a crack in his window shade. He stretched and got up to get ready for school. His father offered to drive him in that day, and Manny accepted. It was only after Mr. Griffin had dropped him off that he realized he should have called Stu to see if he wanted a ride, too.