The Spy on Third Base Page 2

  “Don’t try to use your ‘powers’ in the game against the Stockades, or you’ll be sorry. And you know it!”

  Click! The caller hung up.

  T.V. returned to the table, his heart pounding.

  “Who was that?” his father asked, peeking around the edge of the paper.

  T.V. avoided his eyes. “Some kid … calling about the article.”

  “Sounds like your fame is spreading quickly,” Mr. Adams said.

  “Lucky me,” T.V. mumbled.

  Mr. Adams laid the paper aside and patted T.V.’s hand. “Don’t worry, son. This too shall pass. Pretty soon you’ll be just a regular guy again.”

  Not soon enough, T.V. thought. But in the meantime, he promised himself, he would try to put the phone call out of his mind.

  That afternoon T.V. got out his swimming trunks and went to the park pool. It was sunny and hot and he was sure a good swim would make him feel better.

  When he got there, some of the guys looked familiar. He recognized two from the Stockade Bulls baseball team. The short, husky one was Chet Barker, the Bulls’ catcher. The tall, skinny one was Stick Jolly, the Bulls’ third baseman.

  “Look who’s here! T.V. Adams, the great mind-reader!” Chet yelled. He was standing on the diving board, ready to dive off. Stick was sitting on the edge of the pool, his wet black hair matted down.

  T. V. blushed. Oh, no, he thought. Not that again.

  “See you made the headlines!” Stick’s high-pitched voice came across the pool. “Wow! A psychic! You might be on TV, T.V.! Hah!”

  T.V. glared at him.

  Stick and Chet laughed.

  “Don’t let those goons get to you,” someone said from behind T.V.

  T.V. whirled around and found himself facing Alfie. Chuck stood next to him, shuffling his feet.

  “We saw the article about you,” Alfie said. He seemed nervous. “And Chuck and I were talking.”

  “We’re sorry about yesterday,” Chuck said. His eyes were red from swimming underwater. “We acted like jerks.”

  T.V. grinned. He felt as though a block of ice had melted inside him.

  “Coming in?” Alfie asked. “The water’s great.”

  “Yeah,” T.V. said. “I’ll go change, and…”

  Just then Stick walked up to them, a crooked smile on his face. “How do you do it, T.V.? What kind of power have you got?”

  T.V. tried to keep his cool. “I haven’t got any power,” he said firmly. “I just study the batters, that’s all. Anybody could do the same thing.”

  The crooked smile broadened. “Well, look, pal. Don’t try to study us when we play you guys on Thursday.”

  Stick’s threat sounded familiar, but T.V. was sure that Stick wasn’t the one who had called. Not with that high voice.

  “He’s right!” Chet Barker yelled, springing up and down on the edge of the diving board. “It’ll never work on us! We’re the Bulls, man!”

  Then he dove, making a complete turn in the air before straightening out and hitting the water, fingertips first.

  6

  The day was gray in more ways than one as T.V. Adams waited for his turn to bat. There wasn’t a blue patch in the whole sky, as if the sun were having a day off. And T.V., gloomy as the day, had made up his mind he wasn’t going to do any “spying” in this game against the Stockade Bulls. He’d been threatened too many times and the butt of too many jokes since the game against the Green Dragons.

  And just a few moments ago someone in the crowd had shouted at him, “What’s he going to do, T.V.? Hit or strike out?”

  The person was referring to José Mendez, who was batting now. It was the top of the first inning. There was one out, and Bus was on first base. He had smashed a single through the pitcher’s box. I don’t know and I don’t care, T.V. wanted to say to the fan, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

  José drilled a line drive directly at the first baseman. Bus started to run, then bolted back to tag up. Ted Jackson, the Stockades’ first baseman, beat him to it. Three outs.

  “Okay, T.V.!” yelled that same voice again as the teams exchanged sides. “Now’s your chance to see what you can do!”

  T.V. tried to ignore the heckler, but it was hard to ignore a voice like that. It sounded as if it were coming out of a bull horn.

  T.V. watched leadoff man Jim Hance tap the end of his bat against the plate, then stand with it about six inches off his shoulder. After two sharp swings, T.V. had a good idea where Jim might hit the ball — if Jim hit it at all — but he kept his prediction to himself. He wasn’t going to get involved with that sort of stuff again.

  Sparrow Fisher, on the mound for the Mudders, threw the next two pitches outside. Then Jim popped out to short left field, exactly where T.V. had thought he would. And Phil Klines grounded out to the shortstop.

  Then Ted Jackson singled, and cleanup hitter Adzie Healy stepped up to the plate. After Sparrow’s second pitch and Adzie’s first swing, T.V. had a strong hunch that Adzie was going to hit the ball to right center field.

  Sparrow blazed in the next pitch and, as T.V. had predicted, Adzie slammed it directly to right center field for a triple, scoring Ted.

  But that was it. Catcher Chet Barker — the kid T.V. and Chuck had seen at the pool — flied out to left.

  The Mudders couldn’t do anything until the top of the fourth inning, when Chuck doubled to left center field and scored on Turtleneck’s single. Then Rudy knocked Turtleneck in with a big triple to deep right field but died on third base when nobody could hit to score him.

  The Bulls had scored three times in the bottom of the second inning. And now, in the bottom of the fourth, they were going great guns again. Ralph Healy, Adzie’s brother, had started it off with a ground double to right field. And Adzie ended it with a home run over the left field fence.

  Mudders 2, Stockades 8.

  T.V. had predicted another long ball rocketing off Adzie’s bat because of Adzie’s strong swing. But, in spite of the wise remarks from some of the fans, he preferred to keep his calls to himself. Maybe they’d forget about him and keep their mouths shut.

  “You haven’t said a word to any of us the whole time,” Alfie said as he trotted off the field with T.V. “You’re not keeping mum because of what Chuck and I said to you after that first game, are you? We said we were sorry.”

  “No,” said T.V. “It’s not that. I’ve just changed my mind, that’s all.”

  Alfie gave him a long look and didn’t say any more.

  The game ended with the Stockade Bulls winning 10 to 2.

  That night T.V. received a phone call — a very short call — from a familiar voice: “Thanks, pal.”

  7

  T.V.’s hand shook as he put down the receiver. He still didn’t know who it was, but it didn’t make much difference. He had never felt more humiliated in his life.

  Suddenly, he began to feel mixed emotions. Was he right or wrong to let the fans and the Stockade Bulls needle him into keeping quiet about his predictions?

  Maybe, if he had spied on the Stockade batters and told his teammates how to play them, the score might have been a lot different, 4 to 2, or 3 to 2, say.

  He felt guilty. He had let his teammates down. Darn! he thought. I can’t win! No matter what I do!

  It was only eight-thirty when he said goodnight to his parents and went to bed. He didn’t want to stay up and think about that call and the game any longer.

  But sleep didn’t come easily. Now his mind churned with questions about his having special “powers.” Those two guys in the stands and that newspaper article had sure started something.

  The thoughts were even stronger in his mind the next day. He was sitting on the front porch, facing the street, when he said to himself, “Maybe I really am psychic. Everybody seems to think so, even that reporter. Maybe I’m a freak!”

  He hadn’t realized that he was talking out loud until he said “freak!” He turned around to see if anyone had heard him, but he
was alone.

  “Oh, boy, T.V. thought. I’ve gone bananas!

  His stomach began to feel woozy and he went inside. He lay down on the living room sofa and soon fell asleep. He dreamed that some stranger whose face he couldn’t see was chasing him. He screamed and screamed.

  Somebody shook him awake. He opened his eyes and stared into his mother’s worried face.

  “T.V.! You were having a bad dream!” she whispered. “How do you feel, dear?”

  “My stomach …” he started to say, then wished he hadn’t. He knew what she would say now.

  “I’m going to have your father take you to Doctor Erickson.”

  Just what he had figured.

  Within an hour, T.V. was on the doctor’s cushioned table, shaking like a nervous puppy. What if the doctor found something wrong with him? What if he really was different from everyone else?

  8

  The doctor set aside his stethoscope and smiled. “Worried about something, Theodore?” he asked. “Like not getting hits in your baseball games, maybe?”

  T.V. shrugged. “No.”

  Dr. Erickson put his hands on T.V.’s knees and looked him straight in the eyes. “Get any ribbing from people — from the fans — about that reporter’s little joke? You know, about those ‘powers’ you have?”

  T. V. stared at him in surprise. I guess everyone in town — maybe in the whole state — has read that column! he thought.

  “I think that’s your problem, T.V.,” the doctor said. “You’re worried too much about what people are saying. And all that worrying is making your stomach hurt. It happens to a lot of us.” He smiled again and patted T.V. gently on the shoulder. “You’re perfectly fine. Put your shirt on.”

  T.V. left the doctor’s office feeling like a million bucks. He was normal!

  In the car going back home, Mr. Adams said, “Look, T.V., if baseball is bothering you this much, maybe you ought to give it up and try something else. Like horseshoes, maybe.”

  T.V. grinned. “I’ll think about it,” he said.

  He liked pitching horseshoes. But he wouldn’t trade baseball for anything. He still loved it, no matter what.

  They were driving by the public swimming pool when T.V. spotted his friend Chuck Philips.

  “Dad!” he cried. “Will you let me off here?”

  His father slowed the car down. “Then Doctor Erickson was right? You were just worried about that article?”

  T.V. nodded. “That and the phone calls.”

  “From whom?”

  T.V. shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess that proves I’m not psychic, huh?” he said with a smile.

  Mr. Adams laughed as he pulled the car over. Then he put his arm around T.V.’s shoulders and got serious. “Don’t worry about them. Anybody trying to scare you with phone calls hasn’t got the guts to meet you face to face. Think about that.”

  T.V. looked at him. His father’s words tumbled around in his mind until they settled down and made sense.

  “Thanks, Dad,” he said. “See you later!”

  T.V. hopped out of the car, ran across the walk to the pool, and tapped Chuck on the shoulder.

  Chuck spun around. “Oh, hi,” he greeted T.V. “I thought you were sick.”

  “I was … in the head, mostly,” said T.V. “Who’s our next game with?”

  Chuck thought a moment. “The Bearcats,” he said.

  “They got a good team?”

  “Let’s see,” said Chuck, squinching his eyebrows. “I think they’ve split so far. Won one and lost one.”

  “When do we play them?”

  “Next Tuesday.” Chuck looked steadily at T.V. “Think you’ll be well enough to play by then?”

  T.V. grinned. “I know I will,” he said.

  The evening before the game against the Bearcats, T.V. got a phone call.

  “Adams, don’t do any spying in tomorrow’s game, or you’ll be sorry. And you know it!” a male’s voice said before hanging up.

  It was the same voice as before.

  T.V. laughed. “Yeah? We’ll see about that, buster!” he said and hung up, too.

  9

  T.V. ate a hearty breakfast the morning of the game against the Bearcats.

  “Well, how about that?” exclaimed his mother. “I guess you’ve recovered from what ailed you.”

  T.V. wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I feel a lot better, Mom,” he admitted.

  “Well enough to play baseball?”

  “Definitely!” he said.

  But he didn’t say anything about spying on the opposing batters. Right now he wasn’t sure whether he was going to or not. Maybe his father was right, and maybe he wasn’t, maybe a guy who made threats over the phone didn’t have enough guts to meet him face to face.

  T.V. thought about the man in the red sweatshirt who always sat near the dugout. He looked strong enough to rip a phone book in two. But why would he make threatening phone calls? It didn’t make sense.

  Late that afternoon, T.V. put on his uniform, got his shoes and glove, and headed for the ball park. On the way he met Mickey Stanner, the Mudder’s scorekeeper.

  “You going to spy like you did in the game against the Green Dragons?” Mickey asked.

  “I don’t know,” T.V. said truthfully. He changed the subject before Mickey could say anything more about it. “Have you told the coach that you’re moving?”

  “Yeah. But he still hasn’t found another kid who wants the job.”

  T.V. shrugged. “I’m sure he will soon.”

  “Who cares anyway?” Mickey said. Then he stomped off, leaving a baffled T.V. behind him.

  The teams took their infield practice. Then, promptly at five-thirty, the game started. The Bearcats had first bats.

  T.V. watched the leadoff batter closely as he tapped the end of his bat against the plate a couple of times, then faced the Mudders’ pitcher, Zero Ford. Sparrow was supposed to pitch, but he was home with a cold.

  He’s going to drive one to left field, T.V. predicted as he watched the batter.

  And that’s just what Horace Robb, the batter, did. He powdered Zero’s third pitch to left field, directly at Barry McGee, for the first out.

  T.V. watched Jack Walker, the Cats’ second batter, closely, too, and predicted that he was going to drive a long ball to left field also. After two straight strikes, Jack slammed two out there. Both went foul. Then Zero struck him out.

  “Aren’t you spying this game, T.V.? Or are you going to keep it all to yourself?”

  T.V. glanced at the bleachers and saw the same two guys he had seen at the other games — the short kid with glasses and the man in the red sweatshirt. The man smiled and waved.

  T.V. returned the wave and turned his attention back to the game.

  Suddenly it broke wide open as Boots Finkle walked, Luke Bonelle doubled to left center, and Jim Jakes singled, scoring two runs. Then Rusty Carson flied out to center for the third out.

  The Mudders got a fat zero at their turn at bat, and the Cats came back and earned three more. 5 to nothing.

  Oh, wow! T.V. thought. This is turning into a disaster!

  Chuck led off in the bottom of the second with a homer that dazzled the crowd. But that was all the Cats allowed the Mudders. They came to bat in the third, leading 5 to 1.

  “They’re beating the tail off you guys, T.V.,” the kid with the glasses said. “Lucky for that homer, or it could have been a shutout.”

  T.V. felt his heart pound, but he kept his tongue.

  10

  Jim Jakes led off in the top of the third for the Bearcats and slammed a sharp single over shortstop Bus Mercer’s head. The hit brought a round of applause from the Cats fans and a ripple of laughter from the kid with the thick glasses.

  “Keep it going, you Cats!” the kid said. “Lay it on good and heavy … like peanut butter on a slice of bread!”

  Out to get my goat, T.V. thought. Well, he’s got it. But this is as far as it goes. Dad’s right. Whoever threatened
me on the phone did it just to scare me. He doesn’t have the guts to say it to my face.

  I bet it was that kid, he thought. It had to be someone who was at every game, and it couldn’t be any of the Mudders. He doubted it was the man in the red sweatshirt — he seemed friendly.

  T.V. turned to look at the kid in the stands and met his eyes squarely. Then T.V. smiled, looked away, and began to concentrate on the next batter. He had had enough. He was going to spy again … starting now!

  He watched Rusty Carson swinging his bat, and thought: he’s going to hit it to me!

  And Rusty did. T.V. caught the sharp, bouncing grounder, pegged it to second, and Chuck relayed it to first for a double play!

  “Close in, José!” he shouted to the center fielder.

  José moved in closer and only had to take two steps forward when Drew Zellar popped him a fly.

  Zero led off the bottom of the third with a single, starting off a hot inning that netted the Mudders two runs. Both were on a triple that T. V. had cracked out to right center field.

  No one scored again until the top of the sixth, when Rusty Carson homered over the left-field fence. T.V. had warned Barry to play deep on him, but Barry was no giraffe. He could never have caught that long, hard fly.

  Bearcats 6, Mudders 3.

  “Our last chance, T.V.,” Chuck said as T.V. stepped up to the plate.

  T.V. took a called strike, then streaked a single through the infield. Bring me in, Chuck! he pleaded silently at third base.

  Chuck popped out.

  Then Turtleneck walked and Alfie doubled, bringing the Mudders one run closer.

  “Get a hit, Rudy!” T.V. cried when he reached the dugout. “Don’t let them die there.”

  Rudy struck out. “Oh, no!” T.V. moaned. It looked hopeless.

  Two outs, and Zero came to bat. T.V. was sick. He could tell Zero was going to strike out. He just knew it.

  “Watch it, you guys!” he shouted, kiddingly, to the Bearcats outfielders. “This guy’s going to belt it out of the lot!”