Prime Time Pitcher (6 page)

Sara studied him for a moment, then nodded. Together they walked into the school to start the day.

A
ll week long, word buzzed through the halls that Koby Caplin was going to be on TV. Koby couldn’t sit down in any class without
being mobbed. Lunchtime was the same thing. Only when Dan and Buck pleaded with the students to let Koby “act natural” did
the filming go smoothly.

Yet even then, everything wasn’t one hundred percent normal. By Thursday, Tug had stopped walking to school with Koby. At
first Koby tried to draw Tug back into the picture. But with school, practice, and the film, Koby had hardly any free time
for that.

Finally it was Friday, the day of the rematch against Greenview.

At the start of school, the film crew set up near
the trophy case in the front hall. When Koby and Sara arrived, they hurried Koby into the spotlight. Dan started firing questions
at Koby. Koby, used to the lights and do’s and don’ts of filming by now, settled in to answer them. All the while, the audience
around him grew bigger and bigger.

“And this is how I hold my fastball. I grip the ball like this,” Koby said, holding up his hand with a pretend ball in it.
“Then I snap my wrist right before the release to get the ultimate velocity with my pitch.”

Mr. Tomashiro appeared outside his classroom door. He approached the film crew.

“Excuse me,” he said in his best “trying to keep cool” voice. The students opened a path. “Homeroom is starting now. Koby,
come along.”

“OK, Coach T.,” Koby said. He glanced back into the camera. “You need to be sure that your grip on the ball is —”

“Now!” ordered Mr. Tomashiro. Buck and Dan helped to disperse the crowd.

“OK, folks,” Dan said as he gently nudged the students to move. “Time to get to class.”

“Well, gotta go!” Koby said. Looking into the still-running camera one more time, he added, “School
comes first! You have to study hard and take that discipline with you onto the field.”

As the camera shut off, Koby thought he saw one student mouth to another, “Oh, brother.” But he wasn’t sure.

Mr. T. followed Koby into homeroom, with Dan and Buck close behind. Koby saw Buck click on the camera and point it at Mr.
Tomashiro. Mr. T. didn’t appear to notice.

“Here are today’s announcements. Retakes for class pictures will be today and Monday. All signed permission slips for the
seventh grade overnight camping trip to Sander’s Pond must be handed in to me by Monday or you won’t be able to go. And, as
you all must know, or hopefully know, today is the big rematch against the Greenview Green Jackets. We had a great crowd at
our last home game. Let’s see if we can even do better with today’s crowd. It’s going to be a good game. See you there at
three.”

“Uh, Coach T., could I add a few words?” Koby stood up.

Coach Tomashiro’s eyebrows shot up, but he nodded.

“I’ll be on the mound today for the Cardinals,”

Koby said, “and let me just say how much I’ve appreciated everyone’s support so far this season. It really helps me to hear
you yelling my name. So come on out and keep up the good work!”

When Koby’s impromptu speech was over, Mr. Tomashiro dismissed the class to their first period.

Dan and Buck gathered their gear and followed Koby into the mad rush in the halls. Koby spotted a familiar figure up ahead
of him.

On impulse, he cried, “Hey, there’s Tug! Catch this shot!”

Koby ran up to Tug and drew him into camera range before Tug could protest. With his arm around him, Koby said in his best
cheery voice, “Tug McCue has a tough job, catching my fireballs. He even has to use a special oversize mitt in order to soften
the blow!”

Tug frowned slightly, but he recovered fast. “Yeah, and it comes in handy for fielding Koby’s wild pitches, too.”

Buck and Dan laughed, and Buck cut filming. When they were out of earshot, Koby pulled back from Tug. “Why’d you say that?”
he demanded.

Tug shrugged. “It’s true. Your pitches are wild
sometimes. Besides, it’s not any worse than what you said about me. Made it sound like I needed a glove as thick as a mattress
to catch your heat without hurting myself!”

“Well, don’t you?” Koby started to retort.

Dan interrupted before the argument could escalate any further. “Well, we have enough school shots for now. We’ll see you
on the field for the game this afternoon.”

Koby followed them a few paces down the hall. “You don’t use everything you film for the documentary, do you?” he asked anxiously.

Dan and Buck exchanged glances. “No,” said Dan. “Only the stuff that seems relevant. In this case, only stuff that helps viewers
understand what middle school athletics are all about.”

Koby wasn’t sure that that answered the question he had meant to ask, but Dan and Buck left before he could think how to pose
the query again. And when he looked for Tug, Tug had disappeared.

That afternoon before the game, Koby found Sara standing outside the locker room. She was carrying her notebook and pencil.

“Hi, Sara. Shouldn’t you be hurrying to get your favorite seat at the game?” Koby asked with a smile.

Sara frowned. “Koby, you’re supposed to give me an interview today, remember? We talked about it earlier this week and you
said —”

Koby smacked his hand to his forehead. “Oh yeah! Hold on. I just have to go in and tell Coach T. I’m going to be a few minutes
late for warm-ups,” he said.

He slipped into the locker room and looked for the coach. But he couldn’t find him anywhere. With a shrug, he reached for
the door handle to tell Sara, when the sound of voices made him pause.

“Hey, Tug, why aren’t you in there getting ready?” he heard Sara say.

“I was doing an errand for Principal Sleeper. He wanted someone to help the school nurse put away some big boxes of medical
supplies. What’s up? What’re you doing here?”

“I’m supposed to do an interview with Koby. Of course, Mr. Hotshot forgot, so now he’s in there clearing it with Coach T.”

Tug snorted. “The way he’s been this week, I’m
not sure I’d be able to handle hearing Koby talk about himself.”

Sara laughed. “Yeah, I know what you mean. But I already told Ms. Brodsky I’d do it, so the
Megaphone
is holding a space for it. I can’t wiggle out of it.”

“Good luck. Try not to throw up if you can!”

Tug’s voice got louder, and Koby guessed he was about to come into the locker room. Koby ducked behind a row of lockers until
he heard Tug go by.

That rat! he thought angrily. And Sara, too! I don’t know if I even want to do the interview now!

He debated what to do for a few moments, then decided he would do the interview after all. He still hadn’t found Coach T.,
but figured he’d just give Sara five minutes. He’d be at warm-ups before he was missed, he was sure.

He stepped out of the locker room. Sara pointed to some benches and suggested they sit there.

“You did clear this with Coach T., right?” she asked before they began.

“Yes, he said it was fine,” Koby fibbed. “So what do you want me to talk about? What it’s like to be in
front of the camera, or to be followed around all day by a film crew, or to be mobbed by kids I don’t even know?”

Before Sara could reply, someone behind them cleared his throat. Koby spun around and saw Coach Tomashiro standing by the
locker room door, arms folded over his chest.

“Excuse me, Sara, Koby. Koby, aren’t you supposed to be doing something right now?”

“Uh, Coach T., I tried to find you. Sara wants to do another piece on me for the
Megaphone,
see, and —”

Sara cut in. “Wait a minute. You just told me Coach T. had given you permission to be late for warm-ups. Were you lying to
me or something?”

Koby, flustered, tried to explain. But he gave up when he saw the fury in Sara’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He stood up. “Coach, I’ll get right out to the field and start warming up.”

“Yes, I think that’s a fine idea.” Coach T.’s voice was steely. “You know, Koby, it’s stunts like that that bench starting
players.” Koby felt his heart lunge into his throat. “However, given the circumstances,” Coach T. continued, “I suppose I
can’t do
that. But before you go, Koby, isn’t there something you would like to say?”

Koby turned back to Sara, but couldn’t meet her eyes. “Sorry, Sara. Uh, if you still want to do the interview, how about I
meet you here after the game and we do it then?”

“You know what? Just forget it. I’ll give a longer report on today’s game instead,” Sara said curtly.

“OK, Koby. Inside and into uniform.”

Just as Coach T. opened the door to go back into the locker room, Tug came out, dressed for the game. He greeted Coach T.,
who nodded and continued inside. Tug passed Koby without a word.

“Pretty quick interview, Sara,” Tug observed in a voice loud enough for Koby to hear.

“It was over before it began!” Sara spat. “That Koby really is starting to get on my nerves! What’s it going to take to bring
him back to reality?”

C
ain Park Field was at it’s best when it was SRO. The creaky bleachers didn’t creak as much when the stands were full.

This afternoon, there was extra excitement, caused by Dan Marsh and his cameraman, Buck. All week, players had been told to
get out of camera range during Dan’s interviews with Koby. Now they’d have their chance to shine in their own light.

Coach Tomashiro tried to rein in his boisterous team. “OK, you guys, forget the cameras for a minute and listen up. We’ve
got a game to play, and the Green Jackets are going to be ready. Are
you
ready?”

“Ready!” the team yelled in unison.

“Then let’s get out there and play some ball.

Camera crew, you’ll have to stand way back in foul territory behind the dugout, OK?”

Dan and Buck gave Coach T. the “no prob” thumbs-up.

The coach called Koby aside. “I hope you’re ready to concentrate on your pitching and not the camera, Koby. Just know that
if at any time I feel you’re not giving this game your all, I’m sending Peter in to relieve you — documentary or no documentary.
Understand?”

Koby nodded silently.

“OK, good. Now, get in there and pitch the game I know you’re capable of!”

“Batter up!” yelled the ump.

Tug walked up to Koby and placed the ball in his hands. “Think you can forget about the cameras and pitch a game?” he said
tightly.

Koby took the ball without saying a word and tugged at the brim of his cap. Why is everybody getting on me about the cameras?
he wondered. Sheesh, you’d think I couldn’t handle being in the spotlight or something! Well, I’ll show them.

Koby mowed down the first two batters he faced. The crowd cheered lustily.

When Todd Woods came up to the plate, Koby had some trouble finding the strike zone. Todd crowded the plate and stayed in
there with a 3-1 count.

Then Koby threw a low ball in the dirt that got by Tug. “Settle down,” yelled Tug as the ball bounced to the backstop and
Todd took his base.

Batting cleanup was Jethro Hubbard.

Koby crouched over and put his gloved hand on his left knee. As he stared down Jethro, a movement registered out of the corner
of his eye. Shifting his gaze slightly, he saw Todd increasing his lead off first base by two steps. Todd looked ready to
fly. Prez Jefferson casually walked to the bag and firmly placed his right heel on the corner.

Koby spun and threw in a motion faster than a fly flapping it’s wings.

Prez had his glove on the bag, and the ball zoomed right into it, beating Todd’s outstretched hand by two feet. Once the fans
realized what had happened, they roared with approval.

“Thataboy, Kobe!” Prez shouted to Koby as they trotted back to the dugout together. Koby acknowledged him with a tip of his
cap.

It was the Cardinals’ turn to see what they could do at the plate. Beechie led off with a short hopper to second for a routine
out.

Koby stepped up to the plate. His eye caught a gleam of sunlight off Buck’s camera lens.

Suddenly, for the first time since the spotlight had hit him in his kitchen, he was nervous about being in front of the camera.

What if I strike out? he thought wildly.

He stood outside the batter’s box for a few seconds, trying to relax his hands as they white-knuckled the bat. When he finally
stepped in, he ended up looking at the first five pitches without swinging, running the count to 3-2.

Come on, Koby, he thought, trying to psyche himself up. You’ve got to swing at the next one.

He did. But he fouled it off. He fouled off the next pitch, too, and then hit a weak grounder back to the pitcher for easy
out number two.

He walked despondently back to the dugout, got himself a cup of water, then took the only seat available — an open spot next
to Tug. He half hoped the catcher would give him an encouraging word. But Tug just looked at him and said, “Too
bad. Wonder if they’ll keep that in your precious documentary.”

Koby didn’t have time to reply because the next batter got out. So, without a word to Tug, Koby grabbed his glove and stalked
out to the field.

Jealousy, that’s all it is, he thought. Well, if that’s the way he wants to play things, I can sure do that.

In the top of the second, Jethro walked up to the plate like a broncobuster about to ride the meanest, wildest mustang in
the West.

Tug called for a sidearm pitch to hit high and outside. But Koby, still smarting from Tug’s biting comment, decided to do
things differently. Very differently.

He ignored the signal and threw an overarm fastball that screamed toward the plate. It looked like a strike until it curved
sharply at the last moment. Tug had to move quickly to capture it.

“Ball!” the umpire yelled.

Tug hurled the ball back with such force that it stung Koby’s gloved hand. The pain just fueled Koby’s temper. He had been
planning to follow Tug’s signal this time. But instead, he ignored him
on the next two pitches — and got behind in the count, 3-0.