Mudville (12 page)

Our first real practice is scheduled for Thursday, giving the grass time to get its roots down deep. I'm so excited I head out about an hour early. As I'm walking to the ballpark, a fat raindrop splashes down in front of me. I stop and look up, hoping it's just my imagination. A second drop plops in my eye, and a third smacks my forehead.

A moment later, I'm in the middle of an all-out down-pour. I run on ahead to the ballpark, seeking refuge in the dugout. My dad has re-covered the overhang with surplus plastic, of which he has plenty, so it's pretty dry in there.

When I duck in, I see that Kazuo is already there, waiting. He nods at me solemnly.

“It's just a regular rain,” he says.

“I hope you're right.” I try to figure out the percentages, but there are too many variables to think about.

“Why are you here so early?” he asks. “Practice isn't for another hour.”

“I just like the empty ballpark.”

“Me too.”

We sit in silence for a while and watch the rain.

“You can sort of make pictures out of the raindrops,” Kazuo says at last.

“Yeah, like I never played that game before,” I tell him. We both laugh. Kids in Moundville have all done their share of rain watching.

The rain lightens up after about a half hour. We step out of the dugout, onto the silvery grass, and look at the sky as the clouds hurry away to ruin someone else's day.

“I told you,” he says. “It was just a regular rain.”

“I believed you.”

“I believed me, too, but I'm still relieved.”

The next one to arrive is Peter Junior. He just drifts in, like he didn't really mean to wind up here, in particular, but just sort of found himself here. He's been caught in the rain but doesn't seem to care that he's soaked.

“Hey, Peter.”

“You can call me P.J.,” he says. “My dad is doing an odd job in town. Garage door. I thought I'd come see how the field was doing.”

“You want to play?” I toss him the ball. He catches it easily but doesn't toss it back right away.

“I'm already on a baseball team,” he says apologetically. “The Pirates, remember?”

“I'm just talking about practice.”

“I guess I can hang around for a while.”

Steve brings a couple of new players with him: Anthony and Miggy's kid brother Carlos. They even bring gloves, so we're able to fill in the infield and run some drills. We just take turns at the plate, the rest of us trying different spots in the field.

We hardly even need anyone in the outfield with Sturgis pitching. He smokes those balls in there, and he has scary
control. He puts the ball wherever I put my glove. It's the best anyone can do just to tap the ball back into the infield. Except for P.J., that is.

P.J. doesn't spend too much time in the infield. He'd rather bat and keeps sneaking back into the box, way out of turn. He grounds out the first couple of times, but once he figures out Sturgis's fastball, he starts lining base hits left and right.

I think he should show the rest of us how he does it, but his dad drives up and beeps the horn to go home.

“See you around,” I tell him as he sprints off.

“Maybe,” he calls back.

Without P.J., Sturgis is able to cruise past us. It would probably be better to have someone else pitch for a while and let the guys work on their swings, but I'm too stunned by Sturgis to make him stop. It's just fascinating to watch. He proves to be as tireless as he is effective, striking out one batter after another without slowing down.

A pitcher is only as good as his defense, though, and our defense is terrible. For instance, when Tim grounds a ball to short, Miggy charges it from his spot at third base and fights Steve over it.

“It's not a contest,” I yell at him. “Know your territory and field it.”

A few seconds later, David is playing third and Miggy is batting. He squibs it to Sturgis, who picks it up and tosses it to … well, to nobody. There's nobody there. Anthony is playing first base, but he's nowhere near the base.

“Can I get a little help here?” Sturgis asks.

“I thought you had it,” says Anthony with a shrug.

“I guess I'll just have to strike everyone out,” Sturgis grumbles.

Anthony takes a turn at catcher while I bat. Sturgis does strike me out, but Anthony lets strike three skip off his glove, and I run safely to first.

Sturgis throws his glove to the ground. “Can you guys maybe get an out once in a while?” he asks.

“Hey, we're just practicing,” says David. “Take it easy, Scarface.”

Sturgis makes a move at him, but Steve stops him.

“Why don't you take your turn at the plate,” says Sturgis to David, trying to pull away from Steve. “I'll throw the base-ball right through your chest, you little maggot.”

“Chill!” says Anthony.

“Team meeting,” I holler, coming off first and waving everybody in.

David rolls his eyes at me, but Anthony kind of gives him a look that says, “Cool it,” and he does. We huddle around where the mound ought to be.

“First off,” I say, “no more throwing beanballs or names.” I remember how authoritatively Frank said practically those same words at the work site, but I don't get the same results.

“You ain't the boss of me,” Anthony grumbles.

“What are you going to do about it anyway?” David wants to know.

“Kick you off the team.”

“It's not
your team,”
he says. “It's not even
a
team, really.”

“Second of all,” I continue, “Sturgis is right. You aren't really practicing. You're just waiting for your turn to bat and not trying to play defense.” I think P.J. set a bad example when he was here.

Miggy shakes his head, and Carlos shakes his head in imitation.

“Who died and made you coach?” David complains.

“He's not the coach, he's the team captain,” says Steve.

“Since when?”

“Since he should be.”

“For one thing, he actually knows how to play the game,” says Sturgis.

“I know how to play, too,” David mutters. “It's not that hard.”

“Let's vote,” says Kazuo seriously. “Baseball captains should be elected by the team.”

“He's right,” I agree.

“I'll nominate him,” says Steve.

“Me too,” says Sturgis. “What's more, if you nimrods don't vote for him, I'm walking off right now.”

“I nominate nobody.” David kicks at the infield dirt. “I don't want a captain.”

“Me too,” says Miggy. “I just want to have fun, not get bossed around.”

“Me too,” says Carlos.

“All in favor of Roy as captain?” asks Steve.

I don't like to vote for myself, but I know the numbers. I
raise my hand, and so do Steve, Sturgis, and Kazuo. David glares at Kazuo, who's supposed to be his best friend.

“I just want us to be good,” Kazuo explains.

“All opposed?” Steve asks. David raises his hand, and so do Miggy and Carlos. Slowly, Anthony raises his own hand in agreement.

“I guess we don't have a captain,” says David. “It's a tie. You need a majority.” At first I wish PJ. were still around to break the tie, but then, he'd probably vote against me.

“This is stupid,” says Sturgis. “Go form your own team, you little snots. We don't need you dragging us down any-way.”

“Take it easy, Sturgis,” I say. I don't want the team to break up before we even have a full practice.

“Hey,” says Steve, pointing. “We have some new play-ers.”

“Girls.” David rolls his eyes.

That tall girl with brown hair I saw at the gym and again on the Fourth of July is walking across the field, carrying a new glove. With her—a little bit behind her, so I don't see her at first—is Rita. I feel a thrill go through me. She's even cuter than I remember.

“I heard you were getting a baseball team together,” says the tall girl.

I suddenly realize why she looks familiar. I've seen her on TV. She won some state tennis thing this spring.

“You're Shannon, right?”

“Right. We were wondering if you need any more players.”

“Actually, we could use a good center fielder.” I think about how she ran all over the tennis court, getting to every-thing, and my hopes for the defense pick up.

“I'm Rita,” Rita tells me, not knowing I've had her name bouncing around in my head for the last two weeks. “I've never played baseball,” she says apologetically. “I'd like to try, though.”

“She's a good tennis player, too,” Shannon adds.

“Says the girl who currently has an eighty-to-one record against me!” Rita protests.

“Hey, you beat me once,” says Shannon. “That's more than my brother can say.”

“We're happy to give you a tryout,” I tell them, or mean to say, but I think I switch a couple of words around. “By the way, I'm Roy,” I add (or maybe “By the Roy, I'm way”), and I go around the mound to introduce everyone else.

“Hey,” Steve asks them, “how do you feel about Roy here as captain of the team?”

“Sure,” says Rita.

“Okay with me,” says Shannon.

“Ha!” Sturgis pumps his fist. “Motion carries.”

David's face falls. “I don't think their votes should count,” he says. “They came in after we already voted.”

“So we'll just call another vote,” says Steve.

“I change my vote anyway,” says Anthony. “I want Roy to be captain.”

“Me too,” says Miggy.

“Yeah,” says Carlos.

“Fine,” says David, sighing in exasperation.

“Thanks,” I say. “I won't make a victory speech. Let's just take a break, then practice some more.”

“Thanks for your help,” I tell Sturgis when we break huddle.

He shrugs it off like it's nothing. “We need someone to be in charge. Better you than some old guy making us run laps.”

“What makes you think I won't make you run laps?”

“’Cause you'd have to run them, too?”

“Oh, right.”

“Seriously,” he says, almost in a whisper, “I want us to be good. That's all.”

“I wonder why Anthony changed his mind so fast?”

He laughs. “That girl. Shannon is, like, really beautiful. Anthony didn't care if you were captain or not. He just knew he was on her side, whatever it was.”

“Oh yeah?” I check out Shannon again and can see that, yeah, she's a bit of a knockout, if that's your type. I can also see that Anthony is hovering around her, making small talk, trying to demonstrate what he knows about baseball.

“Well, he seems to have a lot of pull with the other guys,” I say. “I'm glad he changed his mind.”

“You crack me up,” he says. “You see that girl walk out here, and you just think about where to put her in the outfield.” He lets out a long breath and shakes his head. “Man,
that's focus if I ever saw it. You so need to be captain of this team.”

“Yeah, well, I'm kind of…” I don't finish the sentence because some of the other guys are walking by. I see a flicker of recognition in his face, though, when he realizes that Rita is
my
Rita.

We run some fielding drills I know from camp. We aren't much better at the end of practice, but at least everyone is trying.

The funny thing is, David is a pretty good player. He can read the ball right off the bat and makes clean catches. He can't throw hard, but he throws straight.

“Hey, David,” I say, “let me see your glove.”

He passes it to me with a curious look on his face.

“It's not too used. See if you can still return it.”

“Oh, shut up!” he says. “I don't want to play on your stupid team anyway. Not if you're captain!”

He sprints off, and I have to chase him. He's fast, too, I think. Probably be a good base stealer.

“Wait!” I holler.

He gets winded pretty quickly, and I'm able to grab his shirt and spin him around.

“You need to listen,” I tell him, panting. “I'm not kicking you off the team. I just want you to trade this glove for one of the really big ones. You might have seen the ones where the fingers look like a shovel?”

“Sure,” he says, looking at me skeptically.

“Those are first baseman's gloves. Get one of those. I want you to play first base.”

“You're trying to stick me at first base? I thought I got to play left field!”

“First base is the most important position, after the pitcher. You make eighty percent of the outs.” I have no idea if this is true, but it sounds good.

“Really?”

“Sure. Think about it. If you want to stay in the outfield, stay in the outfield. But if you want to play first, get a first baseman's glove before that one's beat up.”

“Okay. Hey, if a pitcher is most important and a first baseman is second most important, what's the catcher?”

“The catcher is even more important than the pitcher. Without the catcher, the pitcher's nothing.”