Thumb on a Diamond (7 page)

“No, Bette,” said Dad softly, taking the catcher's mask from her. “The only person who wears a mask is the one who catches the balls that the pitcher throws.”

“But any of us could get hit in the face.”

“The catcher has the highest chance of getting hit, Bette.”

“Then can I be the catcher? I'd like to wear the mask.”

“The catcher has to be able to catch,” said Dad calmly.

“Oh,” said Bette, tossing the mask back onto our pile of equipment.

Dad turned to face Coach Darling. “You play with the mercy rule, don't you?”

“The mercy rule?”

“Yeah. If one team is leading by more than ten runs after two innings, then the game is declared over without the rest of the game being played.”

“I suppose we use that rule if it's in the book,” said Coach Darling slowly. “It's never happened, though.”

“Well, it will probably happen today,” said Dad.

Coach Darling nodded. He smiled sympathetically at us and jogged back toward his team. He pulled out a whistle and blew it, gathering his team together.

Dad seemed to think it was a good idea to give us a pep talk, too. He didn't have to call his team together. We were all sitting and lying on the grass, rubbing it and looking at it.

“I suppose,” said Dad, “that I should tell you how we might be able to win if we concentrate. But the truth is that we don't even know what to concentrate on. Each of you should pick the player that is stationed at your position in the field and watch that player closely. Copy what that player does. When we're out on the field and a ball is hit toward you, try not to let it get past you. If you can't catch it, just stop it. If you happen to hit the ball when it's your turn to bat, then first base is to the right and not to the left the way it is at home. Run to first base and stop. If Mr. Entwhistle tells you to run to second base, go – fast. That's it. Remember, have fun. Now, let's play some baseball!”

We got to bat first, which was great since everyone who wasn't batting could watch the kids in the field and see what they were doing.

Big Bette went up to the plate, carrying a huge bat on her shoulder. The fielders moved in close, thinking that if Big Bette did hit the ball it sure wouldn't go far.

The players from Kamloops started to yell things at Big Bette, saying she couldn't hit and looked too weak to even swing the bat.

“Hey!” yelled Susan. “Be nice! That's our friend up there and she can't help it if she's small!”

“Susan,” said Dad without turning his head.

“Yeah?”

“What they're doing is part of the game. They're trying to rattle the batter. They can do that. All teams do that. When they're batting, they'll yell at our pitcher. It's part of baseball.”

“I memorized the rules,” said Susan, “and that is not in there at all.”

“Trust me, they can do it,” said Dad.

“So we can make up insults and yell at their team?” asked Robbie. “Why didn't you tell us?”

Robbie cupped his hands and yelled out toward the pitcher, “Hey, you on the pitcher's mound. How can you throw with all that snot hanging out your nose?”

The pitcher threw a ball over Bette's head. Her bat stayed on her shoulder. He didn't throw the ball high because of what Robbie said. He threw it high because Big Bette's head wasn't all that far from the ground. Bette stood in a slight crouch to make her strike zone even smaller.

“Ball one!” yelled the umpire.

“Come on, pitcher! You couldn't tell the difference between a strike zone and a crossing zone!”

“Robbie,” said Dad softly.

“Yeah?” asked Robbie.

“I know it is all right to shout insults. Still, I would try to be a little less provocative.”

“What does provocative mean?”

“It means likely to make the other team angry.”

“Why can't I be provocative?”

“Because Bette will probably get on base but this Kamloops team is going to beat us very, very badly. Never show fear but never provoke a sleeping lion, either.”

“Take your base!” yelled the umpire.

Big Bette stood at home plate, the bat on her shoulder.

“He walked you,” yelled Dad. “You can go to first base.”

Big Bette nodded and dropped her bat. She started jogging toward third base.

“You know that first base is over there,” yelled Dad, pointing.

“Right,” said Big Bette as casually as she could. She jogged across the infield to stand at first base with her hands on her knees. We could see the Kamloops players look at each other, puzzled.

Nick came up to bat. He held his bat above his shoulder and glared at the pitcher. He swung at the first three pitches and missed them all.

The next two batters struck out, too, and it was time for the Kamloops team to hit.

I ran out to the field, pulling on my glove. I took my position, hands on my knees, focused and ready and praying that nobody hit a ball toward me. I figured that if I looked mean and acted like I knew what I was doing then maybe the batters would try to hit the ball somewhere else.

Nick pitched. Dad figured that Nick was our best athlete and that he would pitch the hardest and the fastest.

Maybe so, but the Kamloops Kangaroos seemed to like hard and fast pitches. Kamloops scored eight runs in the first inning. We got somebody out when a runner should have stayed at first but tried for a double. We got another out when Little Liam caught a fly ball and the third on a strikeout. When Nick got his strikeout we all cheered and ran out to hug him like we'd won the World Series.

“Hey, at least you got plenty of practice out there,” said Dad as we ran to the dugout. “And you all have a better idea of where to throw the ball when there's a hit.”

It was my turn to bat.

“Remember what I said,” whispered Dad. “You'll never hit the ball very far if you just use your arms. You have to twist your shoulders and use your whole body.”

I nodded and walked up to the batter's box. I tapped the plate with my bat several times like I had seen some of the other players do. I glared at the pitcher, held the bat above my shoulder and waited for the first pitch. I didn't swing when it came, mostly because it hit the catcher's glove before I even thought about swinging.

“Strike one,” yelled the umpire.

I swung at the next pitch and hit it foul. It felt good to hit something. I watched one of the fielders casually walk over, pick up the ball and toss it back to the pitcher.

I hit the third pitch over the second baseman's head and ran to first base for a hit.

The team cheered, of course, and Mr. Entwhistle gave me a pat on the shoulder.

“Do you want to try to steal second?” he whispered.

“What do I do?”

“The next time the pitcher starts his wind-up, you start running for second. Slide when you get close.”

I waited and ran when it felt right. I would have made it, too, if I hadn't started my slide too early, head down and arms extended toward second base. If my arms and fingers were three times as long I still wouldn't have reached the bag. The second baseman had to walk over to me before he bent down and tagged me.

“You're out!” yelled the umpire.

I felt ridiculous and didn't even want to stand up. I was hoping the cloud of dust would hover, hiding me for as long as possible.

We lost sixteen to nothing in two innings.

When the game was over, Dad walked over to shake hands with Mr. Darling from the other team.

“Your kids have never played baseball before, have they?” asked Mr. Darling.

“No,” said Dad. “Playing in this tournament was the only way I could get the school board to let me bring them to Vancouver.”

“Tell you what,” said Mr. Darling, looking back at us. “The ball diamond's still free. What if my team gives your team some lessons?”

“Could they?”

“Sure. Hey,” said Mr. Darling with a laugh, “maybe we can help you actually win your next game. It could happen. Who are you playing?”

“Vancouver.”

“Oh,” said Mr. Darling.

9
WHY NOT?

I UNDERSTOOD MOST
inventions. I knew planes could fly because I'd seen them in the air. Besides, we studied airplanes in school. We learned how the curve of the wing creates lift, with the air moving faster across the bottom of the wing.

It was also easy for me to understand how a room could be heated because in New Auckland, we cut down trees and chopped up logs. We put logs in cast-iron fireplaces and lit them and felt the temperature rise.

I even understood how refrigerators work. We had a refrigerator, run by a generator.

But what I couldn't understand was how the air in an entire hotel could be chilled with air-conditioning, creating huge indoor spaces that were colder than it was outside.

At home, Dad got mad at me when I left the refrigerator door open, telling me how I was wasting energy and saying things like, “What are you trying to do, cool the whole house?” But nobody seemed to think it was wasting energy to cool huge indoor spaces in cities.

We saw enormous bridges and buildings. We rode the Skytrain, which was pretty exciting, and we saw endless rows of houses and sidewalks filled with people and thousands of cars and trucks, all of which made noise.

But it was the little things that surprised us the most.

We weren't used to seeing strangers. Each of us knew the name of every person in New Auckland and knew when each person had been sick or done something brave, like when Robbie's dad picked up a distress signal on his radio and took his boat out in a storm to save some amateur sailor. It bothered us to walk down Vancouver streets and not be able to stare at each person's face and really know that person.

Big Bette saw her first horse. We all saw it, of course, but Big Bette screamed when the policeman and his horse trotted around a corner, heading toward us. Big Bette wasn't expecting to see a horse in the city.

The policeman stopped and told us the horse's name was Jubilee. He was a big brown horse with a black mane. Big Bette tried to pat him on the head but she couldn't reach. The policeman whistled once and the horse stomped one foot and lowered his head. Big Bette rubbed his neck and stared deeply into his eyes.

“My trip,” she said with a sigh, “is perfect.”

We went to eat at a place that served huge burgers, with French fries that came wrapped in grease-soaked newspaper to keep them hot.

At dinner we all talked about the game. We sat at our tables with our mitts on our laps and when we weren't eating we'd sort of slip a hand inside and punch the pocket so it felt like a baseball smacking into the glove.

Mr. Entwhistle ate a hamburger just like the rest of us, but he ate it with a knife and fork, cutting the burger into pieces and chewing slowly. None of us laughed, but we all stared when he wasn't looking. Mr. Entwhistle talked about how we had played and how we could play better. It took him a while to say anything since he didn't believe in talking when he had any food in his mouth. He'd say about a sentence while he was cutting his hamburger and then he'd stop while he chewed and swallowed.

“Mr. Darling, the coach from the other team,” said Mr. Entwhistle, “told me that Susan and Thumb tossed the most unusual pitches in practice. These pitches are not fast and they don't curve terribly far, but Susan and Thumb can toss them sidearm with spin. The Vancouver batters will be as disturbed by the strange wind-up as you were by the escalator. And even when a batter hits one of these odd pitches, there is an excellent chance that the ball will spin out of bounds. He is thankful that Susan and Thumb did not pitch against his team.”

“He thinks we can win a game?” asked Susan.

Mr. Entwhistle shrugged. “Anything is possible,” he said. “I am a classic example of that statement. I once wanted to be a painter. Instead, here I am living in a fishing village on the edge of the world coaching baseball, a game I have never had the honor to play. As you will see when you grow up, anything can happen and often does. You can certainly win. It's a game.”

“What's the other team like?” asked Robbie.

“They're the Vancouver champions,” said Dad. “They don't lose many games. They're big. They're strong. They have a terrific hitter named Jack Sachmo. They have a couple of good pitchers but I don't think they'll use them against us. They'll save their best pitchers for other teams.”

“Do we have a chance?”

“Probably not,” said Dad. “But I can tell you that the other team's players are absolutely sure they can beat us. If we scare them and scare them early, they might panic and try too hard. Can we win? Why not?”

10
THE SECOND GAME

WE ACTUALLY WARMED UP
before our second game, throwing the ball back and forth and swinging the bat.

“Play ball!” yelled the umpire.

Susan turned and looked at me. She actually grinned. She looked back at Robbie, who stood next to second base, and then over at Big Bette and the others. We were all grinning. I reached down with my bare hand and rubbed the grass for luck and tried to remember to breathe.

Little Liam was our catcher. He crouched down low and held out his glove as a target.

Susan twirled the ball in her hands until she got a good grip on the seams. She pulled her arm back sideways, like she was getting ready to skip a stone on the ocean. She threw the ball, and it curved away from home plate and then veered straight for the batter. He fell to the ground. The ball bounced out of Little Liam's mitt and spun on the ground like a top.

“Ball one!” yelled the umpire.

The batter brushed himself off and glared at Susan. Susan looked back at me and made a face. I walked slowly over to her.

“I can do the height just fine,” said Susan, “but it's hard to get the ball to go right over the plate. I'll get it in a couple of pitches.”