“Adam, go to the mound. You’re starting pitcher today. Eddie, play first base. Mark—”
“But, Dad,” Eddie broke in, “I’m—”
“Go cover first base!” his father ordered.
“It isn’t fair! I’m better—”
“Young man,” Mr. Gordon bellowed, “if you want to play in this game, you better get your tail over to first base
right now
!”
Eddie shuffled over to first base and I stepped up to the pitcher’s mound, a little less joyous than I’d been a minute ago. Sure, it was exciting to be starting pitcher for the day, but not at the cost of having Eddie mad at me.
Richie took his place behind the plate and I threw a few practice pitches. My arm felt good. The ball was going right where I wanted it to go. The first batter stepped up to the plate. I forgot about Eddie. I forgot that Dad was watching me pitch for the first time this season. I concentrated on every ball I threw.
My first pitch was a strike, which I took to be a good sign. The count went 1 and 2 and then the first batter struck out. An even better sign. The next kid up was Jimmy Layton, a sixth grader from my school who was good at all sports. He foul-tipped the first two pitches, let a high ball go by, then hit a line drive past Danny on third base. I turned in time to watch Jeff field it and
throw the ball to Mark on second base. Mark ran toward Jimmy, who was trying to double back to first, and tagged him out. It was a great play and our team started clapping. Then I managed to strike out the next batter and all the parents on our side burst into applause. I couldn’t stop grinning. I felt great and I didn’t care who knew it.
The rest of our team must have been feeling pretty good, too. Eddie and Richie each singled and then Mark hit a triple, sending both of them home. We all roared and cheered. Anyone would have thought we’d won the game, the way we carried on. All of the commotion must have brought the other team to their senses, because the coach put in a new pitcher and everything changed. Jeff struck out, Danny walked, one of the fifth graders hit a pop-up that the shortstop caught, and I struck out, ending the inning and leaving Mark on third base and Danny on first. We were ahead 2–0, but I felt kind of bad about striking out. I was still hesitating—afraid to connect with the ball.
But I had no problem with pitching. I tried out my new curveball and walked the first man up. Then I struck out the next two batters. The fourth man up was a mean-looking seventh grader who swung at everything I threw. On the count of 0 and 2, I threw him a fastball and he bounced it back to me. Holding my mitt low, I scooped up the ball and threw it to Eddie on first. He reached for it, but not far enough, and the ball sailed over his right shoulder, landing close to where my father was sitting. Eddie jerked around and ran after the ball, then threw it to second. Too late. The runner was safe. Mark threw it to me, a disgusted look on his face.
Eddie came running over to me, his face red with fury. “Thanks for the wild throw, Krasner.” His voice was loud and sarcastic.
I was embarrassed, flustered, and sore. “But I didn’t throw wild. You just didn’t catch it.”
“Yeah, we know. That’s what
you
say. You’re as dumb as your brother.”
“Just keep my brother out of it. You’re not so smart yourself if you have to blame your mistakes on other people.”
At that, Eddie’s face turned red. Before I could move he hauled off and punched me on the shoulder. Hard. I reeled from the pain. An arm reached out to steady me. It was Mr. Gordon.
“Are you all right?” he asked, concerned.
I nodded, afraid that if I spoke I’d say something stupid.
The umpire, a short, fat man, was glaring at Eddie. “Any further incidents like that and you’re out of the game.”
Mr. Gordon looked at Eddie. “I’ll deal with you later. Now get back on base right now or I’ll bench you myself.”
Eddie headed for first base. Then he turned and gave me a strange smile. My hand formed a fist. Boy, did I want to get him back. Mr. Gordon cleared his throat. “I apologize for my son,” he said. “Do you want to finish out the inning?”
“I sure do,” I answered, sounding braver than I felt. I walked to the mound and Mr. Gordon returned to his coaching position near first base.
“Play ball,” called the umpire.
I wound up to throw my first pitch, still shaky. I was positive that my throw to Eddie was good. And even if it wasn’t…
“Ball two,” the umpire called out.
I gritted my teeth and tried one of my fastballs.
“Ball three.”
I looked around. Eddie was still smirking. Everyone else just stared back at me. Everyone but Danny. He gave me the all-right circle with his thumb and finger. What the heck, I thought, feeling a little better. I’ve nothing to lose. I concentrated and pitched a curveball.
“Strike one.”
Another curveball. The batter decided to swing. He hit a fly ball near second and Mark was under it for the third out. Thank God the inning was over.
We won 4–2, our second win in a row. Boy, did our team cheer and yell—everyone, that is, except me. Mr. Gordon gave us a good pep talk, about how we worked together to win as a team. He spoke about “the unfortunate incident” that had better not happen again, all the time giving Eddie a dirty look. Eddie looked down at the ground while his father was talking, but the minute we were dismissed he grinned at me strangely, just as he had after his father had reprimanded him.
Dad offered to take me to Friendly’s for an ice cream soda, and I said okay. We didn’t talk in the car; Dad must have known I didn’t feel like it. He always knew things like that.
We sat down in a booth and I ordered my usual—pistachio ice cream with hot fudge sauce and nuts. Dad ordered a cup of coffee.
“You’re some pitcher,” he said. “I’m really very proud of you.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, suddenly shy. Dad wasn’t one for compliments.
“I mean it.” He smiled. “And just for the record, your throw to first base was good.”
“Was it? I thought so, only—”
“Only that Eddie came on so strong, you began to wonder. He’s some nasty kid, punching you like that. No wonder Jeremy doesn’t like him.”
“I can’t understand why he’d do a thing like that,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s almost like he can’t admit he’s not Superman on the baseball field.”
“Forget about it and eat your sundae. Your ice cream is beginning to melt.”
I smiled, appreciating Dad’s tact. But I couldn’t forget about it. Eddie had changed. Everything had changed.
CHAPTER
5
I kept pretty close to home the next few days. Monday morning I dreaded going to school, but I couldn’t turn into a complete hermit, could I? I expected everyone in school to look at me like I had two pairs of eyes. I mean, they must have heard about what happened between Eddie and me on Saturday. And although Danny and Mark didn’t have a high opinion of Eddie, I could tell lots of kids thought he was pretty terrific. But no one said a word about it, not even Danny.
“I won’t be able to work on the sets the next few days,” he told me during lunchtime. “My sister and I have to stay at Mark’s house this week because our parents went on a cruise.”
“Oh,” I said. I shrugged my shoulders as if I didn’t care, but I really felt as though Danny were deserting me.
“I’ll see you at the softball game,” he said airily.
The softball game! I sure wasn’t going to play in that game and let Eddie have another swipe at me. That strange grin he gave me twice let me know he didn’t care what the umpire or his father had said. He’d get back at
me. “I—I can’t play this week. I have to help Jeremy with his work.” Since we were in the same class, I couldn’t very well tell Danny that I had too much homework.
Danny looked at me in a funny way, as if he knew I was lying. I could tell I was blushing from the way my face felt warm. Thank God the bell rang, marking the end of recess. Danny and I walked into the building, neither of us saying one word.
After school I walked home slowly, thinking that maybe I
was
making too much of what had happened Saturday. But I couldn’t help it. Whenever some kid other than my friends Billy and Kenny from my old neighborhood started in on me, I just crumbled. Oh, sure, I said all the right things and even got into a few fistfights and held my own, but inside I always felt that the other kid came out ahead. That soon all the other kids would turn on me and make fun of me—like they made fun of Jeremy. I guess that’s what came of having a brother like Jeremy. If someone hurt my feelings, I withdrew. Like a turtle, my mother always said.
The house was unusually quiet since Jeremy didn’t come home until three-thirty. I took some chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk, then started on my homework.
“Oh, you’re home,” Jeremy said when he walked through the door.
I grinned. For some strange reason I was glad to see him. He looked sloppy as usual—his polo shirt half out of his pants.
“Boy, do I have a lot of homework,” he said, dropping his books on the kitchen table. “Review, review, review. That’s all those teachers know.”
“I’ll help you,” I offered, glad to have something to do.
“How can you?” Jeremy asked, suddenly suspicious. “You’re only in the sixth grade, remember?”
I goofed. Jeremy knew I could read and do math better than he could, but he hated to admit it. “Well, you show me what you have to do,” I said, “and we could do it together. Like a game.”
His face brightened. “Yeah, that would be nice. Too bad Mrs. Dawson doesn’t come today. She’s never here to help me when I really need her.”
Jeremy put a cookie in his mouth just as the phone rang. He ignored the ring as he always did. But I didn’t want to answer the phone. What if it was Eddie? It rang again.
“Answer it,” I told him.
“You answer it,” he mumbled through his half-chewed cookie. “I’m eating.”
The phone rang again.
“Please,” I said. “I won’t help you with your homework if you don’t.”
“Oh, all right.” Jeremy picked up the phone at the end of the fourth ring. “Hello,” he said angrily into the receiver.
“I’m not home,” I whispered, but he was too busy listening to the caller to hear me.
“Just a minute,” he said into the receiver. Then he turned to me. “It’s for you. Eddie Gordon.”
“I told you, I’m not home,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Just a minute,” he repeated into the phone. At least he had the sense to put his hand over the receiver. “What do you mean,” he asked me, “you’re not home?”
“Just tell him I can’t talk now.”
I left the kitchen, not wanting to hear what he said to Eddie. After he hung up he followed me to my room.
“He said he’d call back later. Why didn’t you want to talk to him? I thought he was your friend.”
“I just didn’t, that’s all,” I snapped. “Look, if you want me to help you, let’s get started. And if Eddie calls again, tell him I’m not home or I’m busy or something. Understand?”
Jeremy shrugged. “It’s your life,” he said.
I reviewed some math with him, which was easy because it was really fourth- or fifth-grade level and this was the subject I was particularly good in. Then I got on my bicycle and went riding around the neighborhood. From a distance I could see the kids playing ball in the school yard. I wanted to stop and get into the game, but I didn’t. What if Eddie was there? He usually came down to play. I didn’t want to see him or speak to him. I was sick and tired of his insults and angry that he hit me, but as far as I could see, there wasn’t very much I could do about it except keep away. I didn’t know how Danny and Mark managed to play ball with him and not get in the way of his temper. It was probably because Mark was bigger and stronger than he was, and Eddie knew he would stick up for Danny, too.
When I finally got home Jeremy told me that Eddie had called again, to see if I was going to play ball that afternoon.
“What did you tell him?” I asked.
“That I didn’t know. That you were out riding your bike.”
“Good.”
“I still don’t get what’s going on here.”
“That’s all right,” I told him. “Don’t worry about it.”
Thank goodness Eddie didn’t call back that night. I mean, what could I say to him? Keep away—you hurt my feelings and I don’t want to be your friend anymore? Naw. That was silly. I’d just avoid him as best I could.
* * *
The next afternoon, Mrs. Dawson came to tutor Jeremy. She was a small, plump older woman who smiled a lot. From the sounds coming from the kitchen, I could tell she was making a game out of his reviewing—just like I did yesterday. Jeremy must have gotten fidgety toward the end of the hour because I heard her say, “You’ll have to pay attention if you hope to learn anything.” By the time she left, at four-thirty, she wasn’t smiling anymore.
Jeremy let out a big sigh as he closed the door behind her. “Thank God that’s over. But at least I got my homework done.”
“Me, too,” I said. I suddenly realized that I didn’t know what I was going to do with the rest of the afternoon.
Jeremy’s face lit up. “Let’s get out of here. Let’s go visit Tommy.”