Wild Pitch Page 9

  He looked at the crowd. As he expected, the stands were filled almost to capacity.

  They cheered and clapped as the Surfs went out on the field. Some of them yelled at Phyllis, letting her know that they were there to support her. She responded with a smile and a brief wave of her hand.

  “Hey, Larry! Hey, Larry!” Dale piped up as the leadoff man stepped to the plate.

  “Get the big one, Larry! Get the big one!” Tip yelled.

  Don was coaching at first, clapping his hands, yelling, his cap brim pulled low to shield his eyes from the sun. Mr. Inger was coaching at third, pulling on his cap brim, spitting on his hands, rubbing them together.

  Eddie looked at Phyl. She was leaning forward slightly, pounding a fist into her mitt, her voice joined in the chatter with her teammates. She was blending in well after being out of the game so long, he reflected.

  A tall left-hander named Dick Fleming was pitching for the Surfs. He looked calm, relaxed. He stretched, kicked, delivered, and in short order disposed of Larry, Rod, and Dale.

  Harry didn’t do badly, either. One, two, three — he bowled over the Surfs’ first three hitters.

  Fleming’s performance was repeated in the top of the second, but at their turn at bat Bob Adams, their center fielder, slashed out a single over Puffy’s head and went to second base on a sacrifice bunt.

  Phyllis came up, cheers and applause greeting her the minute she started for the batter’s box.

  “Talk about a celebrity,” said Don, sitting next to Eddie.

  “Yeah,” Eddie murmured softly.

  He felt a nervous twitching in his stomach. This was the part of the game he was waiting for. The part that counted for her. And for him.

  She took a ball and a strike. Then she laid into one. The ball rocketed to deep center. It was high. It looked like a sure homer. Eddie got to his feet, his mouth clasped tightly, his breath held. The fans too had risen and were cheering madly.

  The ball came down inside the park. Lynn reached high for it and caught it.

  The roar of the crowd died. There was a sound of sadness in it. But the drive had advanced the runner to third, and then he scored on D. D. Davis’s double.

  Eddie sat down, his heart beating hard. It was close to being a home run, he thought. Very close.

  Puffy started a hitting spree for the Lancers in the top of the third. His single, Larry’s double, and Rod’s triple combined to pile up three runs to put them ahead of the Surfs, 3 to 1.

  In the fourth, Phyl rapped out a smashing single, but got thrown out at second on a double play. Her slide into the bag was just as neat as any ballplayer’s Eddie had ever seen.

  The score remained unchanged until the bottom of the fifth when the Surfs began spraying the baseball all over the lot.

  “Eddie! Warm up!” Coach Inger told him.

  The call startled Eddie. He’d been wrapped up in the game.

  “Come on, Pete,” he said.

  He stepped out of the dugout, picked up one of the loose balls lying on the ground near the bat rack, and went down behind the first-base bleachers. Pete Turner followed him with a catcher’s mitt.

  He began throwing easily, feeling the kinks in his shoulders loosen until he could throw them in hard enough to make the ball sound like a rifle shot as it hit Pete’s mitt.

  He heard a familiar call and saw the coach waving him in. Harry was finished.

  But he wasn’t leaving the game. He was replacing Tony in right field.

  Eddie tossed the practice ball to Pete and took his time walking out to the mound. A few cheers and casual remarks greeted him.

  He got on the mound, tossed in a few practice throws, and was ready to go.

  Examining the situation, he saw that runners were on first and second.

  Tip trotted out to him, his shin guards, belly guard, and mask looking bulky on him.

  “Great spot to put you in,” he muttered quietly. “There are two on and only one out.”

  “How many runs they got?”

  “Two.” Tip’s eyes glittered through the mask. “See who’s second batter?”

  Eddie glanced toward the Surfs’ on-deck circle. Phyllis was bent there on one knee, grasping a bat.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  Tip slapped him on the butt. “Let’s get ’em.”

  Pierce, the Surfs’ catcher, was up. So far he had laid down a sacrifice bunt and flied out. A hit now could score another run. Maybe two. Eddie realized his disadvantages.

  He threw two low pitches, the second around Pierce’s knees. Pierce bit at it and popped up. Two outs.

  Phyl got off her knee and walked up to the plate. Her fans applauded her. A few added comments.

  “There’s your chance, Phyl! Drill it down his throat!”

  “Blast it back at him, Phyl! On the head!”

  “A home run! Pile it on, Phyl!”

  Eddie stood behind the mound, collecting his wits. He avoided meeting her eyes, and concentrated on the sign that Tip was giving him, and then on Tip’s target that looked like a big eye of a bull.

  He threw two on the outside corner for balls. And then, for one moment, he met Phyl’s eyes squarely. They were sharp and alert. Her lips were grim. There was only one thing clearly outlined in her piercing glance: she was determined to hit that ball.

  He grooved one in for a called strike, and aimed the next one for the inside corner. For just one moment he thought that the ball had gotten away from him, that it was going to be another wild shot.

  But it was just inside the plate, close enough to her to force her back a little.

  Eddie breathed a sigh of relief. The crowd hissed.

  “Tag it, Phyl!” a fan yelled.

  Eddie grooved the next one, and she swung. Wood connected horsehide. The ball shot out to deep left center field, a rainbow arc halfway between Dale and Lynn, who began busting their tails after it.

  The ball hit the fence and rolled back. Harry retrieved it and pegged it in, holding Phyl up at third.

  The crowd’s yell was like thunder.

  “You did it, Phyl! You did it!” a fan yelled loudly, and Eddie could see Mingo standing and clapping like crazy up in the grandstand behind the backstop screen.

  The next batter flied out and the inning was over. Lancers 3, Surfs 5.

  “Don’t let it get you down,” Tip said as Eddie came walking in.

  “I’m not.”

  Puffy looked at him. “You figure you’re even now?”

  Eddie shrugged. “Even with what? She got a good solid hold of the ball. What’s there to get even about?”

  Puffy smiled, and socked him lightly on the arm.

  “Right on, Eddie.”

  The Lancers picked up two runs, and the Surfs two.

  In the top of the seventh, Larry, Rod, and Dale all went down under Fleming’s smoke, and it was over. The Surfs took the game, 7–5.

  Eddie walked off the field. He felt a mixture of dejection and satisfaction. He hated to have lost the game, but that was secondary to what he was thinking about Phyllis Monahan. She could play baseball again, and stand up to his pitching without fear. Nothing was more important than that.

  He saw Coach Inger waiting for him with a smile. “Nice game, Eddie,” he said, taking Eddie’s hand. “You pitched a fine ball game.”

  “Thanks, Coach.”

  The Surfs came over and shook hands with the losers. Suddenly Eddie found himself face to face with Phyllis.

  “Good game, Eddie,” she said, her face shining with sweat.

  He smiled. “Nice hit, Phyl. You’ve really come back. Just like a champ.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  For a moment she blinked, then she turned and ran off, her cap in her hand, her hair flying in the wind.

  “Hey, Eddie!” Tip called to him. “You coming?”

  He took off his cap and wiped his forehead.

  “I’m coming,” he said. “Hold your horses.”

  Wild Pitch

  Ma
tt Christopher

  Eddie can’t stand the idea of girls playing in the same baseball league as he and his buddies. Why, he asks, can’t girls just go somewhere else and do something different?

  When one of Eddie’s wild pitches injures a girl on an opposing team, it’s easy to see why many people think he hurt her on purpose. It was an accident, but because of what he’s done, Eddie not only has to confront his guilty feelings, he also has to reexamine his ideas about boys and girls existing together as equals.

  This new Matt Christopher sports story is full of the fast action t but it also deals with a subject that is on the minds of young athletes all over the country.

  Run, Billy, Run

  MATT CHRISTOPHER

  Billy Chekko is a runner, but he has always run more for practical reasons than for exercise or competition. His family lives in the poor section of a quarry town and cannot afford a car, so Billy has to do errands on foot. For him the fastest way to get somewhere is the best, and the fastest way is to run.

  Once track season starts, however, Billy decides he has another reason to run. He:wants to join the high school team and show up the neighborhood braggart, Cody Jones. Cody is a sprinter, and Billy unwisely tries to beat him in short races even though distance running seems to be Billy’s strong point.

  Frustrated by his lack of success, bothered by problems at home, and confused by the feelings he has about a new girl he’s met, Billy finds that his life is becoming very complicated. How Billy finally gets himself on the right track at school and at home is a story that will excite anyone who’s ever wondered what it would be like to try out for the track team.