Centerfield Ballhawk (3 page)

José’s heart pounded as he got his bat and knelt in the on-deck circle. This was his third chance to bat. If Turtleneck didn’t
knock in at least one run, it would be up to him.

Turtleneck flied out.

José groaned softly as he got off his knee and went to the plate. He’d better hit, he told himself, or expect to warm the
pines the rest of the game.

He powdered the first pitch. It went high and deep to center field, and for a moment he felt good. That ball was going over
the fence.

It didn’t. It was too high and not out far enough. Hogie Mitchell caught it just inside the fence.

José could hear the Mudders’ fans moan as he hopped over the first base bag, turned, and headed back to the dugout for his
glove. He waited for Coach Parker’s voice, telling him
to cool it for the next two innings. Instead, Coach Parker had Tootsie Malone take Alfie’s place in right field and Jack Livingston
take Bus Mercer’s place at shortstop.

Lefty Burk singled to start off the top of the fifth. Then Nick Long popped up to third, and Henry Shaw grounded out to second,
almost hitting into a double play.

“Play deep, José,” T.V. said as Ted Shoemaker stepped to the plate. “This guy’s got power.”

Sometimes T.V. suggested where the guys should play a batter, and he was usually right. This time he was neither right nor
wrong. Ted Shoemaker walked.

“Don’t have to tell me about this guy, T.V.!” José yelled as Russ Coon stepped to the plate. He’d gotten a home run his last
time up.

This time Russ swung at the first pitch and drove it a mile high and almost a mile deep. It was going over José’s head.

José ran back . . . back . . .

The ball was dropping several feet behind José. He ran harder, stretched out his glove —
and caught it.

The Mudders fans cheered, clapped, and whistled.

“Beautiful catch, José,” Coach Parker praised him as he came trotting in to the bench. “Just beautiful.”

“Thanks,” José murmured.

“Show-off,” Barry said, grinning.

José laughed.

The whole team gave him high fives before he could sit down. He smiled. He hadn’t felt so good in a long time.

But it was at bat where he wanted to pull off the big play. His father would want to see him hit better than anyone else.

T.V. led off the bottom of the fifth with a single, and scored on Rudy Calhoun’s long double to left center field. That was
all the Mudders could do that half-inning, but the run put them in the lead, 5 to 4.

“Hey, can you believe it?” Barry said as he and José ran out to the outfield together. “We’re leading the champs!”

José shrugged. “Yeah, but remember the saying, ‘It ain’t over till it’s over’?”

“Right. Yogi Berra!”

José laughed.

Jack Taylor led off the top of the last inning for the Stingers and socked the second pitch to deep left. Barry ran back and
stood against
the fence, watching the ball sail over his head for a home run.

Oh, man! José thought. A tied-up game! Yogi was right, he mused. Maybe — just maybe — they’ll go on to win it.

Hogie Mitchell smashed out a double, and José felt that his intuition was right. Then Frankie Newhouse flied out, and Sparrow
mowed the next two down with strikeouts. José breathed easier. Now it was 5 to 5.

“You’re up, Sparrow!” James Boles, the Mudders’ scorekeeper cried. “Break the tie! Win your own ball game, kid!”

Sparrow popped out.

Then Barry singled to left, Turtleneck popped a single over second base, and José came to bat.

“Do it now, José!” Barry yelled at first, clapping his hands. “Drive it to San Francisco!”

José took three pitches, two balls, and a
strike, then belted it. The hit was one of the longest he had ever made. It sailed over the left field fence for a home run,
winning the game, 8 to 5.

José rounded the bases, listening to the whoops and applause of the Mudders’ fans. I sure wish Dad could have seen that hit,
he thought, even though it was the only one I made today. Maybe it would have made up for my other foul-ups at bat.

He was happy that his homer had led the Mudders to victory, but it didn’t boost his average up any higher than if he had gotten
a single. One hit out of four times at bat was only .250. That was a long way from .375. How he was ever going to reach that
average?

It was two days later, while he was riding his bike down Main Street, that he spotted a bat in the window of Al’s Secondhand
Shop. Suddenly he had an idea.

Maybe a new bat could help him reach .375!

Excited, he rode up to the window and saw that the bat was the right size. Then he saw the price: eight dollars. He had saved
up some money, but not that much.

He took out his wallet and counted the money he had in it. Four dollars and twenty-eight cents. Would the shop owner hold
it for him? he wondered.

He left his bike on the sidewalk and went into the shop.

“That bat in the window,” he said to the owner, a short man with glasses. “I’ve only got about four dollars. Would you hold
it for me till I get the rest of it?”

“Sure, kid,” the man said. “I’ll hold it for two days. No more.”

José stared at him. Two days? Where was he going to get four dollars in two days?

I might be able to borrow the money from Dad, José thought, and pay him back later. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to earn
it on his own.

He wasted no time getting his father’s rake and going from one house to the next on the street he lived on. “Hello,” he said
to each person who answered his ring. “I’m José Mendez. I’ll rake your lawn if you want me to.”

But after calling on six homes and getting a polite “No, thank you” from each, he became discouraged and wanted to quit.

Then he decided he’d go for ten. If he didn’t get a “Yes, thank you” by then, that was it. He wouldn’t even ask his father
for the money. He’d forfeit the four dollars he’d given to the shop owner — and wish he had never seen that bat.

He turned left on the next block, and his hopes faded almost instantly. Every lawn that he could see looked as if it had been
raked just yesterday.

Then he walked half a block farther and spied a lawn that looked as if it needed raking badly. I should definitely get a “Yes,
thank you” here, he thought hopefully.

He didn’t get any reply at all. No one answered the door.

Three more to go, he thought, discouraged once again.

He got a “No, thank you” at the next house and a “No, thank you, kid. I’m sorry” from a man on a crutch at the next.

One more home to go. It would be a miraele
if he were hired there. He might as well kiss that bat good-bye.

He was just about ready to knock on the door when he heard a shout. “Hey, kid! Come back here!”

He whirled. It was the man with the crutch. He was motioning to José.

José’s heart leaped. Had the guy changed his mind? He raced back across the lawn and paused in front of the stoop.

“Yes, sir?” he said, breathing hard.

The man smiled. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ve sprained my ankle, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to rake my lawn. Or even
mow it. What’s your rate?”

“Four dollars, sir.”

“Fair enough,” the man said.

José took half an hour to rake the lawn. The man gave him a five-dollar bill and told him to keep the change. José’s eyes
shone like stars as he pocketed the money.

On his way home with the rake, José passed
Mrs. Dooley’s house. Her car was parked in the street, hidden from her house by a row of hedges. He noticed a gleaming new
window in place of the one he had broken, and he stopped. Even though he had paid for the damages himself, he still felt bad
for the trouble he had caused Mrs. Dooley. Looking at the shining glass gave José an idea.

He quickly ran to his garage and replaced the rake. Then he hunted around in his father’s car supplies until he found what
he was looking for — a couple of old rags and a can of car wax. After carefully reading the directions twice, he hurried back
to Mrs. Dooley’s car.

A few hours later, he stood back and surveyed his work. Mrs. Dooley’s car shone like new! José picked up the dirty rags and
walked back to his house, tired but happy.

While he was putting the car wax away, he glanced at his watch. If he hurried, he could still make it to Al’s Secondhand Shop.
He grabbed his bike and sped off.

José reached the shop just before it closed. He paid the four-dollar balance due on the bat and walked out with it slung over
his shoulder. When he got outside, he took a few practice swings. The bat felt just right. José could almost hear the solid
crack of the bat meeting the baseball. He was sure he had the answer to his hitting problem in his hands.

But I should practice hitting with it for real, he thought. He still had a dollar left from raking — just enough for fourteen
balls at the batting cage.

As he headed toward the cage, he heard the
whack! whack!
of balls being hit. He paused and looked to see who was doing the hitting.

It was Carmen, and from the number of baseballs in the net in front of her, he could tell she had been there for a while.
As he stood there, he watched her make contact with nearly every ball that was pitched to her.

He couldn’t believe it! Then he remembered what she had said about boning up on softball.
From the looks of things, she had either done a lot of reading or inherited their dad’s hitting ability.

Okay, bat, José thought, swinging one more time. Now it’s
our
turn to shine!

Two minutes later, he was batting in another cage.

Crack! Crack! Crack!
He hit the balls against the jet just as fast and hard as they shot out of the pitching gun.

Then there was another
crack!
But this time it wasn’t the bat hitting the ball.

It was the bat breaking in two.