Baseball Turnaround (6 page)

He came around in time to swing at the next pitch. He missed it for the second strike against him.

He stepped out of the box to give himself time to collect his thoughts. But his mind was a jumble. When he swung at the next
pitch, he tipped the ball for a pop-up toward first. It was easily put away for the second out.

“I guess my batting lessons were wasted,” said the coach when Sandy got back to the dugout.

Sandy suddenly remembered Coach Winston’s advice on correcting his stance.

“Sorry, Coach, it just slipped my mind,” Sandy mumbled. But the coach was already focusing on the next batter.

Left fielder Philip Wood made the third out, sending the Raptors back onto the field.

Sandy grabbed his glove and started out toward third base. He carefully avoided looking at the stands but felt Perry Warden’s
stare all the same.

What is it with that guy
? he thought.
Why does he have to keep hounding me
?

N
o matter how hard he tried, Sandy just couldn’t put Perry Warden out of his thoughts. In the third inning, a fly ball came
sailing in his direction. Sandy should have put it away easily. Instead he was staring at the dirt between his toes, miles
away in thought.

Luckily, the roar of the crowd woke him up and he managed to make the catch. But he was off stride, and his peg to first went
wide. Runners advanced from first and second to second and third. With the Raptors down 2–0 and only one out, the Ravens had
a chance for a real breakaway.

Coach Winston shook his head on the sidelines. “Come on, Comstock! Let’s keep your mind on the game!”

“Yeah, Sandy, that should have been an easy out,” the Raptors’ shortstop hissed at him. “Our third
baseman last year could have done that play in his sleep.”

Sandy jabbed the dirt angrily.
Why don’t you just come right out and say you wish he was here instead of me? I know you’re thinking it, and so does everyone
else!

Mitch finally ended the half-inning by putting the next two batters away without incident. It was midway through the game.
If the Raptors were to win it, they had to come alive.

“What’s wrong with you guys?” asked the coach, stalking up and down in front of the bench. “Wake up! Let’s play some baseball
out there! Let’s hear some chatter at least! Jimmy, get up there and show us your stuff.”

Jimmy Dobson wasn’t a long ball hitter, but he hit them hard. Now, in the bottom of the third, he was the leadoff batter for
the Raptors. Their hopes were centered on him for the moment.

“Come on, Jimmy! You can do it!”

Jimmy did do it. He smashed a line drive that sizzled by the pitcher. It practically skimmed the top off second base before
slashing through the turf into
center field. It was one of those low hits that can be scooped up if the timing is right.

But the Ravens’ center fielder was off the mark. By the time the ball made it to the third baseman’s mitt, Jimmy was dusting
off his pants and grinning.

“That guy should have been moving toward the ball way before he did,” Sandy remarked to no one in particular. “I’ve fielded
tons of those hits without a problem by doing that. Anyone who plays center field should know how to pick those up.”

Sandy felt a pair of eyes on him. Tony Cataldo was staring at him.

“What do you mean, you’ve fielded tons of those?” Tony asked. His tone was anything but friendly.

“I used to play center field,” Sandy replied.

“Oh, yeah? Were you any better there than you are at third?”

“I was a lot better than some people I know!” Sandy retorted.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tony asked angrily.

Coach Winston cut in. “Knock it off, you two. Pay attention to the game.”

Tony stood up and headed for the water jug after giving Sandy a nasty look. Sandy pretended he didn’t see it. Instead, he
focused on the plate. He was just in time to see Mitch Lessem strike out.

Now the top of the batting order was up. It wouldn’t take much to send Jimmy home. Mark hadn’t gotten a clean hit yet and
was out to redeem himself. He worked the count up to 2 and 2, then proceeded to pop off five foul balls in a row — all of
them to the left. If Jimmy didn’t pay attention, a caught ball could turn into an easy double play. Mark woofed the next pitch
to strike out, so the runner remained on third.

Now it was Frank’s turn to bring it all home. He had walked on his first at bat but singled his next two times. He was a definite
threat.

The Ravens figured that out, too. The pitcher walked the second baseman again.

With two men on base and two outs, Sandy strode to the plate.

The Ravens’ coach called for a time-out. Coach Winston took the time to talk to Sandy.

“A hit now could mean the difference in the
game,” he said, cocking an eyebrow at Sandy. “So try to remember about the new stance this time.”

“Yes, Coach,” said Sandy tightly. He hitched up his pants, tightened his batting glove, and headed for the plate.

Sandy had a good feel for how the Ravens’ pitcher played the game. He guessed that his first pitch would be down the middle
but would break to the inside, causing the batter to back off a little. If he wanted to take a chance on swinging at it, the
smart thing to do would be to back off the minute the pitch was thrown. That’s what some of the guys had started doing.

But Sandy decided that he’d be off balance enough to lose any control over where he hit the ball. Better to wait it out.

The pitch came and nearly brushed against Sandy’s waistline. He had guessed right. Ball one.

If the pitcher stayed true to his routine, the next pitch would be a little higher and slightly outside. That was the kind
Sandy really liked.

But it was too high and too outside. Ball two.

The Ravens crowd roared its disapproval. Was
their pitcher going to walk Sandy and load the bases?

Sandy knew that he should wait the next pitch out. He was ahead of the pitcher and had little to lose.

The ball zoomed down the middle for a called strike. The count was now 2 and 1. Sandy thought he knew what to expect. The
ball would probably head for the lowest point of the strike zone, and then sink. To hit it, he’d have to swing the bat in
a scooping stroke. But if he caught it right, well, good things would happen.

The ball came exactly as Sandy had expected. If it had broken any lower, he’d have had to hit the plate before he made contact
with it. But he found his mark.

Crack!

Ash wood connected with the white sphere and sent it rocketing high over the field, deep, deep, deep toward center field —
and over the fence!

Sandy jogged around the field to thunderous cheers from the stands. A cluster of Raptors waiting outside the dugout slapped
him high fives. But only one player congratulated him.

“Great hit, Sandy!” Ben Eaton enthused. “From the looks of that swing, you’d make a good golfer if you ever gave up baseball!”

Sandy smiled at him, started toward the bench, then stopped abruptly. The spot he usually took was occupied.

By Perry Warden.

Sandy immediately turned away and took another seat farther down the bench. But the redhead slid down until he was next to
him.

“Nice hit, Comstock. You must have learned something from the sports magazine you ’borrowed’ once, huh?”

Sandy tried his best to ignore him. But Ben Eaton interfered.

“Hey, Perry, you know Sandy?” Ben asked curiously.

“You mean Sandy hasn’t told about how we met in Grantville?”

Sandy shifted his eyes to Ben, then to Perry. “No,” he said simply.

“How did you meet?” Ben asked. Perry stared at Sandy for a moment, then gave a half smile.

“Never mind” was all Perry said. He stood up,
stretched, said hello and slapped high fives with a few other players, then left.

There were two more innings to play, but for Sandy, the excitement was gone. In its place was confusion. He spent the rest
of the game at third base but played only halfheartedly.

The Raptors took the win, thanks to Sandy’s three-run homer. If it had been any other team, Sandy would have been shouting
victoriously. But his mind was still on the conversation on the bench.

He wasn’t sure, but Perry had seemed to be fishing around to see how much Ben knew about Sandy and him. That could only mean
that Perry hadn’t said a word about the past trouble to Ben.

And if he hasn’t told Ben, maybe he hasn’t said anything to anyone else, either. But if that’s true, why does everyone except
Ben treat me like I’ve got the plague
?

S
andy spent most of Sunday in his room. On Monday, it was raining too hard for practice to be held. But Tuesday dawned clear
and sunny. And that was the day Sandy decided to get to the bottom of the mystery of the Raptors.

During the warm-up, Sandy took a quick look around to see if a certain redhead had appeared again. He hadn’t. When the warm-up
was over, Sandy took a seat next to Ben Eaton.

While the coach called out the starting lineup for a scrimmage, Sandy nonchalantly said, “So, it was weird that Perry Warden
was here for the game, wasn’t it?”

Ben shrugged. “He likes baseball, and he was one of our star players last year. Guess he just wanted to
come back and see how we were doing.” He turned his attention back to the coach.

“Is he the guy who moved away last year?” Sandy prodded.

Ben glanced at him and nodded. “He’s been living in Grantville ever since his parents divorced last spring. I don’t think
he gets back here that often.”

“You sound like you know him pretty well,” Sandy said, hoping Ben would keep talking.

“I know he’s a good ballplayer. But when his parents were going through the divorce, I think he was kind of messed up. Turned
mean.” Ben turned to face Sandy completely. “Why are you so interested in him, anyway?”

“No reason,” Sandy said hastily. “Hey, I think practice is about to begin.”

Later on, Sandy joined Frank Maxwell in the on-deck circle.

“So, how about that Perry Warden, coming by to cheer for the team on Saturday?” he said.

Frank grunted.

“Guess you guys miss having him on the team.”

Frank shrugged. “He was a good third baseman,” he muttered.

Sandy tried again. “You ever hear anything about what he’s been up to in Grantville?”

Frank eyeballed him. “He said he was coaching some kids’ team this summer. That, and doing some stuff for the town.” He stood
up and walked to the plate, leaving Sandy behind to wonder if Frank knew what “some stuff for the town” meant. Sandy suspected
that it was Perry’s way of covering up his probation work.

Still later during that practice, Sandy cornered Mitch Lessem by the water jug. “You know, it’s too bad Perry Warden moved
away. I hear he would have been a real asset to the team.”

Mitch looked at Sandy over the cup of water he was drinking. “I’m sure if Perry’s on a ball team in Grantville, he’s giving
it his all, just like he did here.”

“You mean you don’t know if he’s playing for a team or not?”

“He dropped out of sight once he moved away. I was kind of surprised to see him at our game the other day, as a matter of
fact. I couldn’t figure out what he was doing here. Trying to relive last year’s glories, maybe.”

By the end of practice, Sandy felt he had the
answer to one important question: Perry Warden had not told his old teammates about the trouble he’d been in. Yet to his surprise,
the relief he felt was tinged with anxiety still.

The reason was suddenly obvious to him: Even though Perry hadn’t said anything yet, that didn’t mean he never would. And since
it seemed the team had for some reason decided to turn against Sandy, the likelihood was great that they’d believe whatever
Perry had to say.

Sandy was living on borrowed time. Unless he could figure out why his teammates didn’t like him, the clock might run out at
any time. But he couldn’t do that without help.

W
hen Sandy got home that night, he rushed to his room and dug through his top desk drawer. At last, he pulled a slip of paper
out from the pile of junk. On it was a phone number and a name.

Cradling the phone to his shoulder, Sandy dialed. Someone picked up after the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Coach Richards? This is Sandy Comstock.”

“Sandy! Good to hear from you. How’s the Newtown summer league going?” Coach Richards’s friendly voice put Sandy at ease instantly.

“Actually, Coach, that’s why I’m calling. Have you got a minute?”

“Shoot,” said Coach Richards.

For the next ten minutes, Sandy spoke nonstop. He told the coach everything he could remember
about the Raptors’ season from the beginning. He left out nothing: the coach’s refusal to let him play center field, the players’
curious questions about Grantville, Perry Warden’s sudden appearances, and his faltering play at third base.

“I just can’t seem to make my way with this team, Coach,” he finished at last.

Coach Richards blew out his breath in a big huff. “Okay, Sandy, I’ll tell you how I see it. This Perry Warden fellow isn’t
the only one working against you.”

Sandy was startled. “He isn’t? Who’s the other guy? Do I know him?”

Coach Richards chuckled. “Yes, you know him. You see him every time you look in a mirror.”

“
Me
? What do you mean — that
I’m
the reason no one likes me? But I never did or said anything to anyone!”

“Listen to what you just said, Sandy. From what you’ve told me, you’ve done exactly nothing to get to know your teammates.
You’ve been so busy trying to analyze everything they say and to cover up anything about your dark past, that you’ve wound
up alienating yourself from them! Friendship is a two-way
street, don’t forget. You’ve got to be open with them if you expect them to be the same with you. Remember how your positive
attitude helped the Dolphins improve!”