Bases Loaded (8 page)

“If you tell anyone about this, you're dead,” David started. “I'm not stupid and I don't need your help.” He was using the same mean words as always, but his voice was quieter, and instead of staring me in the eyes, he looked down at the ground as he talked.

“I know you're not stupid,” I said. “Let's just get started.”

We worked on fractions for the next thirty minutes. David asked me a lot of questions, and I explained things when he got something wrong. I could tell he needed the help. Luckily, I don't have any trouble with fractions. I actually kind of like them. When we finished going through the whole assignment, David closed his book and looked at me.

“Remember, don't tell anyone about this,” he said.

“Don't worry, I won't,” I said.

“Good. And don't think that this means you're not getting punched anymore.”

Even after helping him with his math, nothing had changed. David stood up and walked over to his desk.

“By the way . . . um . . . thanks,” he mumbled, not looking at me. Just then my mom appeared in the doorway.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“Good. We're done,” I said. We all walked to the car. David and I sat silently in the back the whole way home.

COACH PARKER WANTED
us to get to our game early that night. Since we had lost two games already, he said we needed to work extra hard to get back on track. He wanted to win the championship as much as we did, and if we didn't start playing better that wasn't going to happen. Once we all got there, Coach gathered us around home plate. “Okay, guys, listen up. I know we haven't worked on this yet this year, but we're going to start using some signals. Before you step up to the plate, you need to look over at me to see what I want you to do.”

I wasn't sure what he meant. I mean, what would he want us to do besides hit the ball?

“Now, if I do this,” he said, touching the brim of his hat and then sliding his hand across his chest, “it means you bunt on the next pitch. Does everyone understand?”

“Why don't you just yell ‘bunt' in Spanish?” Carlos said.

“Great idea
, hermano
,” Graham said, giving Carlos a high five. “We could learn the Spanish words for everything.” We all looked at each other and nodded.

“Let's try to stick with our signals, okay?” said Coach. “If anyone on the other team understands Spanish, he'll know what we're doing.”

I never thought of that. I guess that's why he's the coach.

“Okay, when I do this,” Coach continued, sliding his right hand down his left arm and then sliding his left hand down his right arm, “it means swing hard, even if it's a bad pitch.”

“Why would we swing if it's a bad pitch?” Zach asked.

“Well, because we want the runner on first base to steal second base. If the batter swings, it will be more difficult for the catcher to catch the ball and throw the runner out.”

Wow, I had never thought of that either. I hoped I would never have to swing at a bad pitch. There's no way I wanted to give up a strike just to make the base runner's life easier. Coach showed us another signal for when he wanted us not to swing, and then he said, “But if I clap after any signal, that means ignore whatever signal I gave you and just hit away.”

I was getting really confused. “So if you give us a signal to bunt, but then you clap after the signal, we ignore it?” I asked.

“Right,” he said. “It's just to confuse the other team, in case they're catching on to our signals. Now, since we've lost a couple of games, we need to get on a winning streak. And this year we're going to make it to the championships! Let's really work on getting the signals down in tonight's game.”

We did a little infield practice as the Astros arrived one at a time. Then we let them take the field to warm up. After a few minutes the umpire showed up, put on his gear, and yelled, “Play ball!”

We were up to bat first. Coach Parker stood by third base. Luke's dad was coaching first base. Graham was batting first today. He walked up and pounded the plate with his bat. “Give me a good one!” he yelled out.

Graham let the first two pitches go by and complained when the umpire called them strikes. He stepped out of the box and looked at Coach, who was giving him a signal. Coach touched his hat, then slid his hand across his chest and clapped.

Graham looked confused. “One more time, please,” he called down to Coach Parker. He gave him the signal one more time, and then said, “Let's go, bud. Let's get a hit.” Graham looked over at us on the bench and mouthed,
“What?”

“He said bunt,” Zach yelled.

“No, he didn't, he clapped. Just hit like normal,” Luke yelled.

“Hey, quiet, you guys,” Luke's dad called over from first base. Coach Parker just shook his head.

Graham let the first one go by as a ball and then smacked the next one. He made it to first base. Carlos was up next.

As usual, his parents started yelling to him in Spanish. Coach gave him the signal to swing no matter what. The pitch was low and in the dirt. Carlos swung anyway, and Graham stole second base. The ball bounced behind the catcher, and Graham stole third base too. Carlos's parents were still yelling. I figured they were telling him to quit swinging at bad pitches. Someone needed to explain the whole signal thing to them. The next four pitches were all balls, and Carlos jogged down to first base.

I was up next. I looked over at Coach for my signal, hoping he would tell me to just hit away. He gave me the bunt sign. I waited a second or two. Maybe he would clap after the sign, but he didn't. I hate to bunt. First of all, I can't do it very well. And second, it's a stupid kind of hit. Who wants to hit a ball and have it roll five feet away? Baseball's about home runs and grand slams, not bunts. But I followed Coach's directions and tried to bunt.

“Strike one!” the umpire yelled. I had missed the ball completely.

“Move in, everyone,” their pitcher yelled. “He's bunting.”

Coach whistled to me and gave me the signal to hit. I swung as hard as I could.

“Strike two!” the ump called out. Everyone on the other team moved back a little.

After two bad pitches, the Astros' pitcher threw the ball right down the middle. I felt a home run coming on. I swung as hard as I could and hit the ball. It bounced on the ground in front of the plate and rolled about halfway to the pitcher. It wasn't the home run I'd wanted, but I made it to first without getting out. Graham stayed on third. With the bases loaded, Luke stepped up to the plate and smacked a grand slam. Our entire team came out of the dugout and cheered Luke as he made it across home plate.

The rest of the game went well. After bunting when he was supposed to swing hard and not swinging at all when he was supposed to bunt, Graham finally figured out the signals. We didn't score any more runs, but we still won 4–2, thanks to Luke's grand slam homer.

I wondered if the nickname Luke the Puke would change now that he'd hit a grand slam and was the hero of the game. Unfortunately, the next morning at school he was still “the Puke” like always. I don't think anyone really meant anything mean by it—everyone had called him that for so long, it just seemed like his real name. Even his friends were saying things like “Great game, Puke Man!” and “Long live the Puke!” He didn't seem to mind it too much. Maybe he was as used to it as everyone else was.

Then at recess I saw Graham talking to Kelly and showing her all our signals. I couldn't believe it.

“Graham, can I talk to you?” I said, pulling him away from Kelly. She smiled and walked away quickly.

“Hey, what are you doing? Couldn't you see I was talking with Kelly?” he said.

“Yeah, I saw you. You were showing her our baseball signals. What if David saw you?”

“Wait a minute,
hermano
,” Graham said, smiling. “I didn't show her our
team
signals. Those were my own signals.”

“What are you talking about? I saw you give the ‘don't swing' signal,” I said.

“Well, I'm using the same signals, but they mean different things,” he explained. “Since I didn't get to sit by her this week, I gave her some signals so I can talk to her from across the room. Like when I give the ‘don't swing' signal, it means, ‘Hi, Kelly, how's it going?' and the ‘swing' signal means, ‘What are you doing at recess?' ”

“Are you serious?” I said. “That seems a little complicated.”

“No way, it's going to be great,” Graham said. “Just watch.”

That afternoon in class I saw Graham giving Kelly signals from his desk. Kelly looked at him like he was crazy. My mom even asked him if he was all right.

Graham seemed sad after school as we walked down the school steps. “What's wrong?” I finally asked.

“Well, I was giving signals to Kelly all afternoon,” Graham said.

“Yeah, I saw you. We all saw you,” I said.

“Well, everyone but Kelly,” he answered. “She didn't respond to any of them.”

“What do you mean? How was she supposed to respond?”

Graham's eyebrows got all scrunched up, and he thought for a minute. “Hmm, you're right,” he said. “I didn't give her any signals to answer me. She probably wanted to say something, but just didn't know how. I'll have to come up with some and show her tomorrow.”

Graham smiled. “Thanks,
hermano
,” he said to me. “You always know how to cheer me up.” I smiled back and didn't say anything.

WHEN FRIDAY MORNING
came, I was feeling great. It was finally the last day with my mom in class. I had made it through the first four days. Surely I could handle one more. But when I was brushing my teeth, my mom said something that scared me to death.

“Sweetie, I have to leave a little early today, so I can't drive you to school. But I do have one more surprise for you.” My heart stopped. I couldn't handle another surprise from my mom—not after her last one.

“What is it?” I asked. I had to know. If I needed to prepare for this, I wanted to know as early as possible. “It's nothing about school, is it?”

“As a matter of fact, it
is
about school,” she said.

“What is it? You've got to tell me,” I begged.

“You'll find out soon enough,” Mom said. “See you in class.” She walked out the door and drove away without dropping even a hint about what was going on. Was Mrs. Gibson going to be out longer? Was Mom going to show our class my baby pictures?
She'd better not show the one of me crawling naked on my blanky
, I thought as I ate my scrambled eggs. I walked down to Graham's.

“Graham, something bad is going to happen,” I told him the second he walked out the door.

“What are you talking about?” Graham said. “Everything's going great. We're getting closer to the playoffs, and today is the last day your mom will be eating lunch with us. I mean, no offense, I like your mom and all. It's just hard to talk about certain things when she's around.”

“My mom is what's worrying me,” I said. “She told me she has another surprise for me today. I don't know if I can take it. I've had enough surprises for one week.” I was about to tell Graham about having to help David with his fractions, but since I promised David I wouldn't, I decided to keep it a secret. Plus, if he ever found out I told, I'm sure it would get me a huge slug on the arm.

“Relax,” Graham said. “Surprises are usually good things. Maybe she bought you a present, or maybe your family's going to a movie tonight. Hey, if it's a movie, ask her if you can bring me. I really want to see
Mega-Brain vs. the Alien Slime
. I heard that—”

“Hold on,” I said. “Look, we're not going to see
Mega-Brain
because—”

“That's all right,” Graham interrupted. “It doesn't matter what we see. I like almost all movies. I even like the ones—”

“Would you forget about the movies?” I said, putting my hand over his mouth. “My mom said her surprise has something to do with school.” Graham pulled my hand away.

“You don't think she's going to be our teacher longer, do you?” he said. “What if she's our teacher forever? What if Mrs. Gibson decided not to come back?” A look of dread came over Graham's face.

“I don't know. That's what I'm trying to tell you,” I said. “I don't think I could take another week of my mom being our teacher and everything else that goes with it.”