Extra Innings (11 page)

The score held until the top of the fifth. Benson was tiring now, and it showed. He didn't have the pinpoint
control he'd had earlier in the game, and walked the leadoff man before going 3–0 on the next hitter. If he walked him too, it would be the Mountaineers' best scoring chance yet.

Knowing he had to throw a strike, Benson laid it in there, right over the heart of the plate. The hitter clobbered a liner right at Tiki!

Tiki froze in place, not knowing whether to head back on it or run in toward it. In the end he did neither. The ball was hit so hard that what he did was duck, holding his mitt up in front of his face to shield it from the missile.

POP!
He heard and felt the ball smack into his glove—and miraculously, it stayed there! He'd caught it with his eyes closed!

He threw it back in, trying not to let his embarrassment show. Had anyone else noticed that he'd caught it only because he was protecting his face? He sure hoped not!

At any rate the momentum seemed to shift after his catch, because Benson got the next two batters to strike out and end the threat. It was still 1–0, Eagles, with only two innings to go to clinch their division, and a play-off spot!

Deep in his bones, though, Tiki felt sure that one run was not going to be enough for the Eagles. They needed at least one more, an insurance run that would give
Ian Lloyd a two-run cushion when he came in the next inning to close the game.

Ronde led off the Eagles fifth, still batting left-handed. Tiki shook his head and smiled every time Ronde got up there and stood in the wrong batter's box. Ronde had been right-handed all his life. He did everything that way—except for this one thing, and incredibly, it had been working for him!

The Mountaineers' pitcher had been mowing the Eagles down ever since Tiki's early run. Crucially, he'd kept the Barber brothers off base, allowing him to concentrate on the hitters at the plate.

It looked like this time would be no different. Ronde swung weakly at two blazing fastballs. Then he flailed wildly at a changeup in the dirt. “Strike three!” the umpire called.

But Ronde wasn't the only one who'd missed the ball. The catcher hadn't been able to haul it in either. “Run, Ronde!” Tiki screamed, along with a few hundred others.

Ronde took a second to get the message, but when he did, he was off like a cheetah. The catcher picked up the ball, fumbled it, grabbed it again, and threw—but the throw hit Ronde in the back and bounded away into foul territory. By the time the first baseman retrieved it, Ronde was on second base. And there was still nobody out!

Tiki watched admiringly from the batter's box as his brother started dancing off the bag at second. Tiki could see the pitcher frown, his jaw tighten, and his annoyance grow obvious. He threw a ball that came right at Tiki's head!

Tiki ducked out of the way, but the murmur and boos from the crowd seemed to only make the pitcher angrier. He blazed two fastballs right past the plate as Tiki watched, obeying the
Take
sign from Coach Barrett. Tiki understood. The coaches wanted to give Ronde a chance to steal third.

But the pitches were so fast that Ronde had no chance to move himself over. Tiki took a swing with two strikes, but the ball bounced right to the pitcher, who looked Ronde back to second before throwing Tiki out at first.

Tiki was disappointed in himself, but he knew this pitcher was one of the toughest in the league and had been all season. Besides, the coaches had given him only one swing at it.

The Eagles never ran a pitcher out there for more than five innings a game. But there were other teams in the league who let their pitcher go the full seven, even if it meant that, by rule, they had to use a different pitcher for their next game.

The Mountaineers were one of those teams. That was why the Eagles hadn't faced this pitcher the last time the two teams had faced off.

If Ronde couldn't shake this monster off his game now, who knew if they'd get another, better chance?

With Lenny Klein at the plate, Coach Barrett signaled
Take
again. Ronde started juking and jiving out at second base, clapping his hands and dancing on the balls of his feet.

Tiki saw the pitcher's jaw tighten, his face redden, and Tiki watched as the pitcher finally spun around and fired a ball to second base!

Ronde dove back headfirst, his arm outstretched, but the ball was fired so hard that it beat the second baseman to the spot. He couldn't grab it in time, and the ball sailed right into center field!

Ronde sprang to his feet and sped for third, and made it easily, although he did slide into the bag. He sprang up, clapping his hands and shouting, “That's what I'm talkin' about! Yeah, baby!”

Tiki whooped and hollered. “Go Ronde!” he yelled. He was so excited, he paced up and down in front of the bench as Chris Jones came to the plate.

Ronde took his lead off third base. He kept inching down the line toward home plate. The pitcher was now looking straight at him. Ronde kept juking and jiving, faking that he was going home, then dancing back a couple of steps toward third.

The pitcher got ready to deliver the ball. He stood in his stance, as still as Ronde was jumpy. Then, all at
once, he took his foot off the rubber and flicked the ball behind Ronde to the third baseman, who was running for the bag!

Oh, no!
Tiki thought.
He's gonna get picked off!

And there was no doubt that he would have been, because the ball was at the bag long before Ronde would have gotten there—if he'd gone that way.

Instead, at the very moment the pitcher thought he was faking Ronde out, Ronde was pulling a double fake by heading straight for home!

Tiki was as shocked as everyone else. He stared in amazement as the third baseman turned and fired a rushed throw to the catcher, who was so shocked that he'd forgotten to throw off his mask. The ball came in at the same time Ronde did—and bounced off his helmet!

“Safe!” the umpire called. And just like that the Eagles had padded their lead to 2–0.

“Ronde, you rule! You do!” Tiki screamed, smacking his palm on his brother's helmet as Ronde basked in the glory of a team group hug.

“Let's go!” Ronde yelled. “Let's go, Eagles!”

The pitcher was obviously rattled. In spite of a mound visit from his coach, he proceeded to give up a base hit to Chris Jones to extend the inning. With Ian Lloyd up, Chris took off for second, trying to steal. He slid into the bag, and cried out in pain, grabbing his ankle. As he did so, he took his foot off the bag and was tagged out to end the inning.

The Eagles fans moaned in disappointment, then started to murmur worriedly as Chris limped off the field, favoring his left ankle.

“Tiki,” Coach Raines's voice rang out. “I need you back at second for Chris. Jimmy, you're in right. Okay, let's go!”

As he settled in at second base, Tiki felt the anxiety rising inside him like the mercury in a thermometer. He had just been feeling really good about the team's two-run cushion. Now he found himself playing a position he hadn't practiced at for weeks, and had been demoted from for making too many errors!

At least that was how he'd felt when Coach Raines had switched him to the outfield. The coach hadn't said it was Tiki's poor play—in fact, he'd blamed it on the other kid's weak arm—but that didn't convince Tiki. He knew he'd made mistakes at second. It was a challenging position, where you had to react much faster than in the outfield.

As Ian took the mound for the top of the sixth, Tiki hoped that no balls would come his way these next two innings. His prayers were answered as Ian mowed down the Mountaineers, one, two, three.

In the bottom of the sixth, the Mountaineers' starter, still in the game, returned the favor. Incredibly, he was throwing harder now than at the beginning of the game. Three Eagles in a row whiffed on fastballs that Tiki, sitting on the bench, couldn't even see.

He trotted out to second again, knowing that this was it. The Eagles were three outs away from victory, from the division title, and from a play-off with North Side.

But he knew not to get ahead of himself. There were still three outs to get, and he knew the Mountaineers wanted this game as much as they did. They would not go down without a fight. He was sure of it.

“Don't let them hit anything to me,” he muttered under his breath.

And wouldn't you know it—of course—the first ball hit was a grounder right at him! It was hit so hard that Tiki had to make a quick swipe at it with his mitt. The ball caromed off the glove and into right field as the runner continued all the way to second base.

It wasn't really an error. But it
felt
like one to Tiki. Sure, the ball had been hit really hard. Sure, it had hooked right toward him. It would have been a great play if he'd held on to it. And if he'd been a better infielder, he might have.

Oh, well,
he thought.
No use crying over spilled milk
. He needed to keep his head in the moment, not replay what couldn't be changed.

Ian got the next hitter to pop up to Ronde, and struck out the man after that. Tiki was just beginning to think he might get away with his “error” with no harm done, when the next batter popped a ball up in his direction.

“I got it! I got it!” Tiki yelled, but there was no need
to, really. This was not the outfield. There was no one else who was going to have a chance at this ball.

It wasn't hit that high, or at all well. Tiki turned and drifted back on it, staring straight up into the sky—only to realize that the wind was pushing it back toward him and to his right. He tried to adjust but wound up turning the wrong way, and just missing it as the ball dropped to the ground.

The runner had been going with two outs and scored easily, while the hitter reached second without a throw. It was now 2–1, Eagles, with the Mountaineers threatening to tie the game.

Another error? Not technically, Tiki realized. But that didn't make him feel one bit better. He'd cost his team at least one run, and the threat wasn't over yet! There was another man at second, and he represented the tying run!

“Come on. . . . One more out, Ian. . . . Strike him out. . . . Stri—”

The ball was struck—another pop-up over his head. Tiki turned and ran back on it, already panicking. Was it possible he could make a third straight error and lose his team the game?

He felt dizzy, the world spinning as he tried to get under the ball in the swirling wind. Incredibly, it was blown back behind him, and he twisted himself around to get it, but missed!

He picked up the ball, crushed to have failed his
team, but then he heard Ronde's voice coming at him from center field and piercing through the noise of the crowd.

“He's going home! Throw it!”

Tiki turned and threw the ball to where he imagined home plate would be. (It all happened so fast, he never really got a good look.) The runner, it seemed, had hesitated, forgetting how many outs there were! Instead of breaking for home, as you would normally do with two outs, he had waited to see if Tiki would catch the ball!

That had given Tiki the chance he needed, and his strong arm did the rest. The ball popped right into Cesar's catcher's mitt on the fly, and the burly Eagles receiver tagged the runner on the helmet as he slid into the plate.

“Yer out!” the umpire roared.

The explosion of emotion was deafening. The Eagles' fans poured onto the field to celebrate. Their team had done it—the Eagles were South Division champs!

“Bring on the Rockets!” Tiki yelled as he and Ronde jumped up and down together.

“Yahoo!” Ronde shouted. “Play-offs, here we come!”

Ronde was studying that Saturday
afternoon when Tiki walked into their room.

“What're you doing?” Tiki asked.

“What's it look like?”

“Poor Ronde, always studying. I'm sooo glad my finals are done with.”

“Cut it out. It's not funny,” said Ronde, feeling more than slightly annoyed.

“Don't you wish you could watch the ball game with me?” Tiki went on.

“Be quiet! Can't you see I'm—”

“Studying? Aw, poor you. Okay, bye. I'm going downstairs to watch the ball game. Bye. . . .”

“Why don't you work on your final advice column for the paper?” Ronde shouted after him, in one last desperate effort to ruin Tiki's good mood. Ronde kicked the
door shut and sat back down at the desk. He wished that he were in Tiki's shoes, with all his finals done. He'd have teased Tiki about it exactly the same way, or worse, he knew. It would have been so much fun. . . .

He went back to his science textbook. Sighing, he turned to the page on gravity. The concept had been giving him fits for the past half hour. Try as he might, he couldn't quite get into his brain the fine points of how it worked.

Finally he slammed the book shut, got up, and pulled the door open. “You want me to come down there and watch the game with you?” he called out. “Then, help me with this stupid science final!”

Tiki was up the steps in no time. “Fine. As long as you're begging me for help . . .”

“I'm not begging,” Ronde shot back. “If you want us to be able to get all As and Bs for Mom, you'd better help me on this, or else it's not gonna happen.”

“Hmmm,” said Tiki. “Well, when you put it like that . . .” He sat down next to Ronde and was soon explaining gravity to him.

“It's like the curveball, yo,” he said. “It doesn't really curve, you know.”

“What?”

“I'm serious. It doesn't curve.”

“Then why do they call it a c—”

“Just listen, all right? It doesn't curve, but what
happens is, gravity takes over. The little ball gets pulled down by that bigger ball, Earth. Meanwhile, the ball has to fight its way through the air, which, even though the air is invisible, is there and pushing back, right? So the ball loses speed, and gravity takes over more and more, pulling the ball down toward the ground. Now add a little spin, and it changes the friction of the air and makes the ball go on a different arc. So if you're the batter, it looks like it's curving. Get it?”