Extra Innings (3 page)

“Right.”

“Right. Man, I hope we make it,” Tiki said.

“Me too. I feel like I've got baseball fever now.”

“Ha! Me too, man.”

“Yeah, spring is in the air,” Ronde said, sighing.

• • •

The twins couldn't wait to get to school the next day. As soon as they entered the building, they ran to the big bulletin board in the entrance hall, looking for their names on the list of those who'd made the team.

“YES!” Ronde cried, pumping both fists in the air. “We're in, yo!”

“Where?”

“Right there!”

“Yeah, man! Give me five!”

They slapped hands so hard, they both said “OW!” and started laughing.

“Hey,” said Ronde. “It doesn't say anybody's position. Just that we've got practice at three o'clock.”

“Good with me. I brought my glove,” said Tiki. “You?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I did!” Ronde said. “So, see you at three, Mr. T!”

• • •

The day flew by. Tiki barely noticed what was being discussed, and was lucky not to get called on by any of his teachers. He wouldn't have been ready to answer, no matter what the question was.

All he could think about was getting out on a field and playing a ball game—of any kind! It had hit him the night before that sports were so important to him right now in his life, nothing else mattered nearly as much.

He knew his mom would say that was a bad thing—that schoolwork had to come first. And he knew she was right. Still, that didn't change how he felt. He didn't know
how
to change that, and he wasn't sure he would, even if he could.

When the final period ended, Tiki raced down the hallways and stairs to the locker room, holding his book bag as if he were running downfield with the football, dodging anyone who got in his way. “Go, Tiki!” one kid yelled after him.

Half the team was already there when he arrived in
the locker room. Tiki recognized kids he'd known over the years. Many of them were ninth graders, like him. Tiki counted six kids who were no doubt returning as starters.

Nobody he was actually
friends
with, but that would come in time. When you played game after game with your teammates, it was like going to war together. Guys got closer, and friendships were formed in the heat of battle.

First they were issued uniforms. Tiki was lucky enough to get number four. “One of Rickey Henderson's numbers!” he told Ronde, who was holding up number three.

“That's me—Babe Ruth! He's got a candy bar too!”

“Yeah, that's you all right,” Tiki said with a laugh. He didn't say the rest of what he was thinking. That maybe they should switch numbers, because Ronde's hitting was the opposite of Ruthian.

When they were all in uniform, one of the kids came over to Tiki and Ronde. “Hey,” he said. “I think we had French class together,” he said to Ronde. “Ian. Ian Lloyd.”

They all shook hands. Then Ian told them, “You guys are gonna have to get baseball cleats. Those football cleats won't give you any traction on the dirt.”

“Uh-oh,” said Ronde. “How much do they cost?”

“Beats me,” said Ian. “My mom takes care of all that stuff.”

Tiki and Ronde exchanged glances. After Ian had shoved off to greet more teammates, Tiki said, “I guess there goes the rest of our savings, huh?”

“Definitely,” Ronde said. “We can't ask mom to pay. It's gonna be at least fifty dollars.”

“Man, that's a lot!” Tiki moaned. “But I guess it's worth it. We don't want to be sliding and slipping around on the infield.”

Just then Coach Raines called the team to order. “Okay, gents,” he began. “Listen up right here. First of all, welcome to the Eagles! Congratulations!” Everyone cheered and clapped. When the roar died down, the coach continued:

“I know this sounds crazy, but I don't make the schedules. Because of midterms and spring break, we got a late start on tryouts this year. The end result is that we've only just got a team together, and the season starts tomorrow.”

A gasp went up from the assembled Eagles.
“Tomorrow?”
a few of them repeated in disbelief.

“I know, I know,” said the coach, holding his hands up for quiet. “But every other team in the league's in the same boat, so no complaining. Let's just see how we do, and we'll make adjustments as needed.

“In the meantime I've drawn up a starting lineup and batting order based on what we saw at tryouts. At today's practice we'll work out at those positions. Bench players
will hit to the starters, and field when they hit. So. Here's the list:

“Leading off, and playing short, Lenny Klein.” Glancing over, Tiki saw that Ronde looked worried. Tiki thought he knew why too. He knew what Ronde thought—that the good players all got to play infield. And one of those positions was already gone.

“Batting second, in right field . . . Chris Jones. Batting third, playing third and relief pitching, Ian Lloyd.”

Now it was Tiki's turn to frown. The first three hitters were usually the best, fastest kids on the team. Wasn't that him?

“Cleaning up, playing second, Tiki Barber.”

A thrill went through Tiki, and he nearly leapt up and yelled “YESSS!” But he restrained himself. He knew it wouldn't look good, and more important, it would hurt Ronde's feelings.

But the cleanup spot! The single most powerful hitter on the team always hit fourth—and it was
him
!

“No pressure,” Ronde said, grinning and offering him their personal, private handshake. Tiki grinned and accepted Ronde's congratulations. He knew how hard it was for his twin to put on a smile and give Tiki his props.

“Batting fifth, and playing left field, Michael Mason. Batting sixth, and catching, Cesar Ramirez. Batting seventh, playing first, Tyquan Brown . . .”

Now even Tiki was alarmed for his twin. He knew
Ronde had to be sweating blood, thinking he hadn't made the starting lineup at all!

Only two more slots to go—the last ones in the order. The weakest hitters in the lineup!

Well, Ronde didn't hit very well,
thought Tiki. But he'd fielded well enough to start in center. He sure hoped the coach saw it the same way.

“Batting eighth, and pitching, John Benson. And in center field, batting ninth . . .”

Tiki held his breath. He saw that Ronde's eyes were shut tight, and his hands balled up into fists.

“Ronde Barber.”

Tiki and Ronde exhaled together. Tiki quickly put an arm around his twin. “All right! The kid makes the starting nine!”

But Ronde didn't look happy. He looked away from Tiki, shaking his head. “Did he have to put me dead last?” he muttered, just loud enough for Tiki to overhear.

“Hey, you're not on the bench,” Tiki pointed out. “You'll have lots of at bats to prove you belong higher up.”

Ronde sighed. “I guess. Nothing I can do about it right now anyway.”

“Okay, team,” Coach Raines concluded, clapping his hands together. “Let's get out there and make the most of the little practice time we've got. Go, Eagles!”

“GO, EAGLES!” everyone shouted together, and they
crowded through the doors and out onto the field.

Ronde accompanied Tiki to second base. When they got there and Tiki stopped to take his position, he saw the look on his brother's face and knew that Ronde was feeling low. “Hey,” he told Ronde, “center field is one of the most important positions on the team.”

Ronde frowned, grunted, and turned away. He walked like a zombie the rest of the way out to center.

Tiki looked after him, worried. He knew that if Ronde didn't get over how he felt, it might affect the way he played. And that could snowball into a real disaster.

“Heads!” someone yelled, and Tiki snapped his attention back to baseball. He'd have to deal with Ronde later—if Ronde even
wanted
to be dealt with. Which wasn't very likely.

Ronde could not get himself
to sit still on the bus to North Side Junior High. “You've got ants in your pants!” Tiki complained, but it didn't make any difference.

Tiki, on the other hand, seemed calm and serious.
Well
, thought Ronde,
of course he's feeling good. He's playing second base and batting cleanup!
Whereas he, Ronde, was stuck out in center field, and batting dead last in the order. Not exactly a show of confidence in him by the coaching staff.

He had every reason to be nervous, he told himself. Already low man on the totem pole among the starters, he faced demotion to the bench if he messed up so much as even once!

These thoughts plagued him as he warmed up, long-tossing it with the other outfielders. A couple of times
he misjudged a throw, and it went over his head. He sure hoped that didn't happen during the game.

As the visiting team the Eagles would be hitting first. Ronde sat on the bench and watched as his teammates immediately went to work on the Rockets' pitcher.

Lenny Klein, only five foot four inches tall, made a difficult target, and he didn't swing the bat unless the pitch was right down the middle. The previous season he'd been a standout in the field, and a pest on the bases as well. Picking up where he'd left off last year, Lenny wound up walking after a 3–1 count, and stole second on the first pitch to Chris Jones, who aside from the Barbers was the only new guy in the starting lineup.

Chris waggled his bat, then shot a hard grounder past the third baseman, but Lenny had to hold up at second to see if the ball went through. He wound up stopping at third, and the Eagles had runners at the corners.

Ian Lloyd was next up, but he was impatient. He swung at the first pitch, which was nearly over his head, and popped up weakly to the pitcher.

Tiki took one last swing in the on-deck circle and walked slowly to the batter's box, adjusting his helmet. Tapping his bat on the plate, and then pointing it at the pitcher, he looked dangerous, even from where Ronde was sitting.

“Hit it, Tiki!” he shouted. “Hit that ball!”

Tiki swung so hard, he nearly came out of his cleats.
“Strike one!” the umpire shouted. Tiki took the next pitch, right down the middle. “Strike two!” came the call.

“Come on, Tiki!” Ronde yelled. “This guy's got nothing!” It wasn't true—the pitcher was throwing very hard, and was just wild enough to put a scare into hitters.

Tiki stood his ground, pointed the bat at the pitcher again, and waited. The pitch was a changeup, and Tiki was fooled. Thinking fastball, he swung too soon, and hit only air. “Strike three!” the umpire said. “Yer out!”

Tiki slammed his bat on the dirt and walked slowly back to the bench. “That's okay, that's okay. We'll get 'em!” Coach Raines said, clapping his hands in encouragement. “Let's go, Mike!”

Michael Mason had hit the ball a mile in batting practice the previous day, and Ronde was hopeful he could do it here, too. Sure enough, with two balls and two strikes on him, he caught hold of one and sent it to deep center.

At first Ronde thought it would get past the center fielder. But the kid got a good jump on the ball and just managed to bring it in before he ran into the fence.

“Dang!” Ronde blurted out, disappointed that the Eagles had failed to score, despite getting their first two men on base. He grabbed his glove and headed onto the field.

He jammed his cap down low on his head and ran all the way out to center, determined that if a ball came his way, he would make a difference, just like the Rockets' center fielder had done.

Gone was his nervousness. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Ronde stayed focused on the action taking place so far away from him. He clapped his mitt when John Benson struck out the first batter, and then the second.

Just as he was thinking he'd never see a ball hit his way all day, there was a loud crack of the bat, and suddenly it was heading straight at him!

No, no . . . it was going to go over his head! Ronde sprinted back toward the fence, keeping his eyes on the ball. At the last second he jumped onto the fence, reached up . . . and came down with the ball!

A groan went up from the Rockets and their fans, but the Eagles were ecstatic. “Attaboy, Ronde!” Coach Raines said, raising a triumphant fist and bumping Ronde's as he came back to the dugout.

The Eagles went down one, two, three in their half of the second inning. Then, in the bottom of the inning, Ronde watched helplessly as things started to shift in the Rockets' favor.

First their leadoff man got on base when his grounder went off John Benson's glove. Then Tiki fielded an easy double play grounder, but threw it too far to the right of second, and the shortstop couldn't make the grab.

It hurt Ronde to see his twin mess up such an easy play. Still, he had to admit he was glad it wasn't
him
. Coach wasn't going to sit Tiki on the bench unless he stopped hitting, and that wasn't likely to happen.

The Rockets managed to bring both runners home, for a 2–0 lead after two innings. Ronde grabbed a bat and prepared to lead off the top of the third. He came to the plate, suddenly feeling antsy again.

What if he struck out? What if the pitcher got wild and hit him with a pitch? What if . . .

The ball was coming! Seeing that it was going to be over the plate, Ronde lunged at it—and caught only air. “Stee-rike one!” came the call.

Ronde tried to slow his racing heartbeat.
Breathe
, he told himself.
You can do this.
He saw that the next pitch was high, and let it go by for ball one.

The next pitch was right at him, and he had to duck out of its way. “Ball two!” the umpire said.

Ronde swung through the next one and found it hard to believe he'd missed it. Truth was, he couldn't catch up to the speed of the fastball. If the pitcher had noticed and threw another just like it, Ronde was doomed.