Bases Loaded (2 page)

“Foul ball! Strike one!” the ump called.

“What do you mean, strike one?” I yelled from the ground. “I didn't even swing. Besides, he almost killed me!”

“The ball touched your bat. That's a foul ball,” the ump said, getting back down in his squatting position behind the catcher and adjusting his mask.

“Hang in there, Raymond,” Coach said. “You're a hitter. Be patient.”

“That stinks,” I said under my breath, waiting for the next pitch.

As David threw the third pitch I jumped out of the way quickly and lowered my bat so I wouldn't accidentally hit the ball again. Only this time, the ball flew right across the plate.

“Strike two!”

David was laughing harder than ever. “Got you scared.”

He was right—now I was completely nervous. Was he going to try to hit me again, would he throw a strike, or what? I stared at David and concentrated on the ball. As he was winding up I saw a smile stretch out across his face.
He's smiling because he's going to throw it at me,
I decided. Then, just as the ball left his hand, I thought,
Maybe he's smiling because he's throwing a strike and thinks I'm going to jump out of the way again
. Before I knew it the umpire had yelled, “Strike three, batter's out!” I didn't even swing.

I walked back to the dugout humiliated, dragging my bat on the ground. Everyone told me “good try” and “you'll get 'em next time” and all those other things you say when someone strikes out.

“Looked like a ball to me,” Dad called out to the umpire. Next to him, Geri rolled her eyes.

“Not even close,” came a reply from a mom on the other team. It was Brian's mom. Dad looked over at her.

“It should have been a ball,” Dad answered.

“Good call, ump,” Brian's mom said. She stared over at my dad.

“Not a good call.” Dad said it softly, but just loud enough to be heard. Brian's mom shook her head and turned back to the game.

There are six teams in our league. Most of the players go to East Millcreek Elementary, like me, and Upland Terrace Elementary. The East Millcreek kids are split up among three teams: the Giants, the Pirates, and a few on the Tigers. Luckily, Graham and I are both on the Giants.

Even though we play against all five other teams, David's team is always our biggest rival. Some years we do better than the Pirates, and other years, like last year, they do better than we do. But this year, we were determined to beat them in the Little League Championships. Next year we would hopefully be in the majors, the next league up from Little League. In the majors you get to play with the older kids. The coaches and players of the Major League teams often come by and watch the Little League Championship game looking for the best players to pick for their teams next year.

Ever since we were little first-graders, Graham and I had dreamed of being picked for the best Major League team. Last year the Marlins won the Major League Championship. Graham and I went to the final game. They clobbered the Cardinals 11-2. They were definitely the team we wanted to be on next year.

Graham was up to bat next. David turned toward the outfield. “Easy out—everyone move in closer. He can't hit that far.”

Unlike me, Graham loved the trash talk of baseball. He was our catcher, and he always said the same kinds of things to the other team's batters when they were at the plate. So nothing David said bothered him. He just smiled and got ready to swing.

The first pitch came in high for ball one. The second hit the dirt right in front of the plate. “Ball two!” yelled the ump. The third pitch came in straight down the middle. Graham swung as hard as he could and hit the ball. Unfortunately, the ball didn't go too far. It just bounced off his bat and rolled slowly to David, who picked it up with his bare hand and threw Graham out at first base.

The rest of the game went about the same way. Our team really stunk it up. We ended up losing by six runs.

“Great game, bud,” Dad said afterward as we headed to the car.

I looked up at him. “What do you mean? We got killed!”

“Right,” he answered, trying to think of something good to say about the game. “I was talking about the great hit you had.”

“Do you mean the time I fell on the ground and the ball accidentally hit my bat or the time I swung as hard as I could and missed the ball by a mile?”

“Um, the first one?” Dad said, smiling. Before I could answer he said, “Let's go get some ice cream.” That worked for me.

The rest of the weekend, I tried not to think about the game. Coach always says that once the game's over, we should forget about it and start thinking about the next game. But every game is important this year. Only the top two teams get to play in the championship game, and losing our first game wasn't a good sign.

ON MONDAY MORNING
Mom drove me to school. She said she had to talk to the secretary about something. It was a nice change from walking. We picked up Graham and got to school early, and he and I hung around on the front steps waiting for the first bell to ring. We talked about the lousy game we had Saturday and how we were going to destroy the Tigers this week. We always had one game during the week and one every Saturday. The Tigers were probably the worst team in the league.

“I think I'm going to invite Kelly to come watch the game tomorrow,” Graham said with a big smile on his face. Graham's been in love with Kelly since the first grade. “The Tigers would be a great team to show off against. You should invite Heidi to come watch.” I wasn't sure I was ready for that. I mean, I do like Heidi . . . you know, like a girlfriend. And even though I thought she liked me too, I wasn't so sure about inviting her to our game.

“I don't think so,” I said. “After that last game, I don't want any distractions. I just want to have a good game and get my confidence back. What if I get all nervous with her at the game and play even worse?”

“I really think you should invite her anyway,” Graham said, looking desperate. “I mean, this is the Tigers we're talking about. We're going to look good for sure. Plus, I heard Zach broke his finger after the game on Saturday. So you'll probably be starting pitcher.”

“I don't know,” I said. “If I invite her, she'll think I like her.”

“But you
do
like her. That's the point,” Graham said.

“But if I invite her, then she'll know I like her. And I don't want her to know I like her unless I know she likes me first. And even then . . . well . . . I don't know, I can't explain it,” I said. I knew Graham wouldn't understand. He has liked Kelly forever and always makes sure she knows it. He tells her all the time.

“Come on,
hermano
,” Graham said. “You've got to invite her.” I knew he was serious because he was calling me
hermano
. That's “brother” in Spanish, and we only use the few words we know in Spanish when it's really important or on special occasions.

“Well, maybe I'll invite her to a game some other time,” I said. “Why do you care so much about whether I invite her?”

“Well, it's just that . . . Kelly would probably come if she knew other girls were going to be there. And I kind of, um . . . well, I kind of got excited about the whole idea and . . .”

“And what, Graham?” I said. He was hiding something. I could tell.

“Okay, don't be mad, but I kind of told Heidi—” Graham started.

“What? You kind of told Heidi what?” I said, grabbing him by his shoulders.

“That you wanted her to come to your next game and that you were going to invite her today,” Graham said quickly in a quiet voice. His freckly face was all scrunched up, and he took a step back like I was going to punch him or something.

“WHAT?” I yelled. “Why would you do that? Now what am I supposed to do? I can't
not
ask her, because she'll think that I'm uninviting her and that I don't like her. But if I ask her, she'll think I
do
like her. Oh, man, this is terrible.” I dropped my head into my hands. Just then I heard two familiar voices.

“Hi, Raymond. Hi, Graham,” they said together. I looked up to see Heidi and Diane standing right in front of me. Diane is Heidi's best friend. She's also the tallest girl in our school. Actually, I think she's taller than all of the boys too, except David. We've all known each other since we were little kids.

“What's wrong with you?” Diane asked.

“Nothing, I was just . . . um . . . resting my head in my hands,” I answered, putting my hands down and trying to look normal.

“Hey, Raymond was just saying how he wanted to ask you guys to come to our baseball game tomorrow. Right, Raymond?” Graham jabbed me in the ribs.

“I don't know,” Diane said, not looking too interested. “Is the snack bar going to be open?”

“Come on,” Graham wheedled. “Where else can you experience quality sporting entertainment like this?”

Diane rolled her eyes. “Right. Watching you strike out is high quality.”

“Hey, if I strike out, I'll buy you a candy bar from the snack bar.”

“Now you're talking.” Diane grinned. “Now I'll definitely be there.”

“Hey, do I get something if you guys strike out?” Heidi added.

“Yeah, Graham will buy you a candy bar too,” I added quickly. Graham glared at me. We all shook hands on the deal, and the girls went inside.

“See,” Graham said, “that wasn't so hard. It worked out perfectly.” I wasn't so sure. I didn't want to get too nervous at the game with Heidi watching.

“Come on,
hermano
,” Graham said, putting his arm around my shoulder. “You'll thank me later.” We walked up the stairs and headed to class.

“So, Raymond, how was your weekend?” David said, plopping down at his desk next to mine. “Nice foul ball you hit as you were falling to the ground. I think that was your best hit of the game.”

“I only fell because you were trying to hit me,” I said. He was really getting under my skin.

“No, if I were trying to hit you, I would have hit you—like this,” he said, giving me a hard slug on the arm.

“David,” Mrs. Gibson called out. “Why don't you sit up here by me today?” We all watched as David pushed his desk up by Mrs. Gibson's. I don't think there has been one single week this year when David hasn't had to sit near Mrs. Gibson for at least a day. And it was usually because he got caught hitting me. I wondered why she didn't just permanently move him by some girls or something. I don't think he would hit a girl. Oh well, at least I didn't have to worry about him for the rest of the day.

“All right, students,” Mrs. Gibson said, “I have something to tell you.” Usually she sits on a stool in front of the class to start the day. But today I could see that whatever she had to tell us was more important than usual. She stood in front of the class with her long, skinny arms folded. She pulled one hand out to adjust her huge glasses but then quickly tucked it back under her other arm. “First of all, please remember that this Friday is picture day. At the end of the day today I will pass out the order forms. Secondly, I will be gone all of next week visiting my daughter and my new granddaughter.”

Mrs. Gibson's a grandma?
I thought to myself. Of course, I knew that teachers were regular people, but somehow I never thought of her as actually being someone's grandma.

“I am counting on all of you to be on your best behavior and treat our substitute as you would treat me,” she continued. “Is that clear to everyone?” Lizzy immediately raised her hand, as she always does when Mrs. Gibson asks a question.

“It's very clear to me, Mrs. Gibson,” Lizzy said. “Everything you say is always clear to me.”

“Thank you, Lizzy,” Mrs. Gibson answered.

“You're welcome, Mrs. Gibson.” Lizzy continued, “By the way, can we call you while you're gone if we need to?”

“No, I'm afraid not, Lizzy,” Mrs. Gibson answered. “But I'm sure there won't be anything to call me about. Our substitute will be able to handle everything that comes up.” Everyone just looked around at each other without saying a thing. Then Mrs. Gibson wrote the spelling words for the week on the board, and the school day continued as usual.

Recess came, and everyone exited the classroom quietly. But as soon as we made it outside, we were all talking about the news. “A substitute! One whole week with a substitute!” It was the talk of the entire playground.

“This is going to be so sweet!” I said to Graham. “We've never had a substitute for that long.”

“I know,” Graham answered. “I wonder who it's going to be.”

“Who cares?” David said, moving closer to Graham and me. Then about five other boys leaned in, like they knew David was about to spill a secret or something. “It doesn't matter who it is,” David continued. “What matters is all the fun we're going to have for the next week. We can switch names and seats, make up new class rules, and basically do whatever we want. My older brother Gene had a substitute for a week once, and he said it was the best week of his life. The whole class switched seats and names, and the teacher never even knew the difference.”

I had heard stories about David's older brother Gene. He made David look like an angel. I heard he was sent to the principal's office so often that he had his own chair there. I heard even David was scared of him, and David isn't scared of anyone. I wondered if that was why David was such a bully. Maybe he just picked on me like his brother picked on him. I wasn't so sure I wanted to do all the crazy things David was talking about, but I was excited and figured a few harmless pranks wouldn't hurt.