Steal That Base! (5 page)

“Yep.”

“They're named for birds and they eat like birds,” she said. “Anything for you?”

“Sure.” I remembered what Mom had told me. “I need something halfway good for me.”

“We have tropical fruit kebabs.”

“Tropical fruit ke-whats?”

“Tropical fruit kebabs. They're new.” She took a skewer from the cooler and handed it to me. It had pineapple chunks and bananas and jumbo marshmallows and some orange-colored fruit that wasn't oranges.

“What's that?” I pointed at one of the orangey chunks.

“Mango.”

I nibbled at a piece of mango. “It's good.”

“Take some kebabs back to the players,” she said. “Nobody's ordering them, and the fruit won't keep.” She loaded a cardboard tray with fruit kebabs.

I took it all back to the dugout and set the tray down on the bench. I nibbled on my own tropical fruit kebab and watched the game.

There was nobody out, and Sammy was on first base after a clean single to left field. He took a step off the base and looked at the Porcupines' dugout for the sign. Grumps gave him his stone-faced look again. Sammy stepped back on the bag.

It was for the best, because Wayne got a hit and Sammy got to second anyway.

Later in the inning either Danny O'Brien or Brian Daniels hit a double.

“He's faster than a skyscraper!” shouted Ernie Hecker as Sammy lumbered home. It was a run for the Porcupines! The crowd cheered.

When the inning ended, I crossed the field to pick up a bat. Sammy stopped me. “Hey, Chad, never mind about that magic baseball card. I can't use it. Coach won't let me steal a base.”

“Maybe he would if the situation was right?”

“No way. He won't ever give me the sign. I'll just have to tell my niece that you can do anything if you put your mind to it
and
Grumps lets you do it.”

“I'll find you a card anyway,” I promised.

“Thanks, Chad.” Sammy headed back to the Porcupines' dugout.

Either Brian Daniels or Danny O'Brien
grounded into a double play, and the Finches came back to the dugout to bat. It was the top of the fifth inning.

Todd Farnsworth, the Finches' pitcher, picked up one of the fruit kebabs.

“Where did these come from?”

“The kid brought them,” a player said. “Try one. They're good.”

“I never liked marshmallows, but I could go for some fruit,” said Todd. He slid off a marshmallow and started to toss it toward the trash.

“Hey, what are you doing?” said Gustavo. “That's the best part.” He took the marshmallow and popped it in his mouth, then grabbed a skewer and took off more marshmallows. He popped them all into his mouth at once.

Todd ate a couple of pieces of fruit off the skewer. “These are great! You guys should try them.” He pushed the tray down the bench.

 

Several of the players took one.

Gustavo mumbled something.

“We can't hear you, Gus,” said the shortstop. “Your mouth is full of marshmallows.”

Gustavo pointed at the shortstop's fruit kebab, then at himself.

“Gus wants all of your marshmallows,” Todd explained. The players started handing him their marshmallows. Gustavo couldn't keep up.

“Perez, you're supposed to be on deck!” the manager shouted. Gus stuffed the marshmallows into his pocket and headed out of the dugout.

“Hope he doesn't have to slide,” said Todd. “Could get messy.”

Gustavo hit a home run to tie the game.

“Pass me a marshmallow,” said the second baseman.

ylan showed up during the seventh inning stretch. The game was still tied, 1–1. The fans were singing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,” with Ernie Hecker's voice rising above the rest of the crowd.

“I thought you were sick,” I told Dylan. I was putting some bats away. “Is getting well quick one of your new spider powers?”

“Nah, Mom just wanted me to get more sleep,” he said. “After I got up, I decided to web-sling my way over here. How's Sparky?”

“Er . . . OK, I guess.” I put the last bat
away and went back to the Finches' dugout. Dylan was right behind me.

“You can go back to the Pines' dugout if you want,” he said. “I'll help the Finches.”

“Sure,” I said.

Then I realized that Dylan had frozen in place, his mouth wide open.

“He's gone!” Dylan pointed at the empty web. “Sparky is gone!”

“He might come back.”

“Nobody smooshed him, did they?”

“Nobody smooshed him,” I said. “That spider just dropped and ran away. I saw him do it.”

“I hope he's all right,” said Dylan. He crouched and peered through the fence at the infield.

“I gotta go,” I said. I had to hurry to the Porcupines' dugout, because the Pines were going to bat. “I'll let you know if I see Sparky.”

I watched for spiders on my way around the diamond, but didn't see any. I did bump right into Spike.

“Hey!” said Abby.

“Sorry.”

“Never mind. So, um . . . I can't find another bobblehead for Petunia.” Abby said. “Can I still have yours? You did promise.”

“I know.” When I'd made that promise, I was sure Spike could find a Spike bobblehead. No such luck. “Let's go get it.”

Abby followed me into the Porcupines' dugout.

“Hey, Spike is here!” Wayne Zane gave Spike a high five.

“You're great, Spike,” said Tommy. “You crack me up every time.”

Spike toed the ground and looked bashful.

“Be right back.” I ran and fetched the porcupine bobblehead from my locker. I opened the box to make sure the toy was still in there. That bobblehead would have looked great on my bookshelf, right next to my baseball cards. I was sad to lose it.

“Make sure Petunia takes good care of this,” I said when I handed the box to Spike.

The mascot did a huge exaggerated bow, then gave me a Porcupine hug, which is like a bear hug, only you've got to watch the quills. Spike didn't leave the dugout, though.

“What's wrong?”

The little porcupine tugged on my arm and pulled me off to the side where nobody could hear us.

“I forgot Petunia's seat number,” Abby whispered.

“Oh, no!”

“Do you remember it?”

“No, I didn't even look at the tickets.” I bit my lower lip and thought about it. “Maybe you can go into the stands and find her. It's not that big a ballpark.”

“There isn't much time left in the seventh inning stretch,” Abby replied. “What if I don't find her?”

“I have an idea. Can you be batboy for a few seconds?”

“I don't know how.”

“Just make sure that the bat for the next batter is ready, and return the bat to the rack when he's done. The players' names are on the bats, and you can match up their names to the numbers on the lineup card . . .”

“Whoa, slow down,” said Abby.

“No time. Do the best you can,” I said. I ran through the locker room and out onto the concourse. I had to talk to my idol.

• • •

Victor Snapp sat in a booth in between the upper and lower decks, directly behind home plate. The door was propped open. He was hunched over a scorecard, making flecks with his pencil for every pitch. “Remember,” he said into the microphone, “Teddy ‘the Bear' Larrabee is today's Papa's Pizza Pick to Click. If Larrabee gets a hit in today's game, fans will receive a five-dollar coupon good on any large pizza.”

Victor's voice was deep and booming and smooth all at the same time. I practiced talking like that all the time but never came close.

I'd only met him once, when I crashed into him and spilled nacho cheese all over his shoes. What if he remembered me? What if he was still mad?

I'd have to try. He could make an announcement: “Petunia, please pick up your bobblehead from Spike at the Fan Services
booth after the game.” I didn't know her last name, but how many Petunias could there be at one ball game?

Teddy knocked a fastball over the head of the third baseman.

“There it is!” said Victor. “A base hit for the Bear! The Porcupines have a base runner, and you have a five-dollar coupon good for any large pizza at Papa's Pizza. And it looks like Spike the Porcupine is fetching the bat! Now I've seen everything.”

He saw me by the door, hit a button on the microphone stand, and waved me in.

“You're that batboy,” he said.

I gulped. He did remember me. “I am. I'm sorry I spilled food on you. It was my fault.”

“It takes two to bump into each other,” Victor said. He offered me a handshake. His hand was huge, and it buried my hand whole. “Pleased to finally meet you,” he said.

“Me too!” I said. “I'm a big fan. I want to be a baseball announcer when I grow up.”

“You don't say? Do you want to announce the next batter?” he asked.

“What?”

“Just say his name. It's written down right there.” He pointed at his scorecard.

“I know who's batting!” I said. “I set up the bat rack enough times.”