Say It Ain't So

by Josh Berk

  Even through his mask I could see that Mike was laughing.

  There was one batter left. Jaxon Sadler was coming up to hit for Griffith. Stupid Jaxon. My heart started to beat faster as I realized he would be the last batter, for me anyway. I’d get him out and we’d go home champions. Or he’d get on base and the tying run would score. Maybe even the go-ahead run. Moyer would take me out for sure. Other Mike couldn’t stop him. It was really amazing that he learned so much about baseball. But if he knew so much, why would he choose to use me in this situation? He must believe in me. Which meant I could believe in myself.

  I settled in against Jaxon. The bases were still loaded. There was no room for error. You can only have one coach’s conference on the mound per inning, so I couldn’t ask Other Mike for the scouting report. I seemed to remember from earlier in the year that Jaxon was a free swinger. Not the kind of guy likely to take a walk. He was going to take his hacks. He was going to swing. I’d have to make sure he missed.

  The first pitch was a little bit inside, and sure enough, Jaxon took a rip. He blasted the ball, but foul. It went about five hundred feet down the left-field line. “Don’t worry, Lenny,” I heard a voice say from the bleachers. It was my dad. “Just a long strike.” Always the optimist, that guy. At least I had the count in my favor. I threw another one hard and Jaxon swung right through it. I was feeling it. The count was no balls and two strikes. One more strike could win it. I went into my windup and fired. It bounced about six feet in front of home plate. But true to form, Mike blocked it. Just a ball. One ball and two strikes. Still in my favor. The next pitch was about six feet high. Mike caught that one too. Two balls and two strikes. Time to focus in. I threw a fastball right down the middle, but Jaxon fouled that one off too. He was a pesky hitter. I kept firing good pitches and he kept fouling them off.

  “Come on, Lenny.” I heard Dad from the bleachers again. “You got this.” I looked over at him. And had the greatest idea ever. The Vulcan change. Of course! It was the secret family pitch, passed through the generations. Never mind that I had never practiced it. It was a sign. It had to work. I stepped off the mound and motioned for Mike to come for a conference. The Griffith side groaned. They were tired of these conferences. I didn’t care!

  “What’s up?” Mike said.

  I put my glove over my mouth in case there were lip-readers or spies anywhere. We hadn’t been using signs because I only had one pitch. But this was different. “I’m going to rear back like I’m throwing the cheese, but it’ll be a slow one. The Vulcan change.”

  “Are you sure this is the time to try a pitch you’ve never done before?” Mike asked.

  “It has to work,” I said. “Nothing else is.”

  “Well, make it a good one,” he said.

  Mike snapped his mask back down and took his place behind the plate. All I needed was one strike to win. I slid the ball into my fingers, Vulcan-style. I went into the windup and let it rip like I was throwing the fastest fastball in the world. The ball sort of fluttered out of my hand, very slowly. And also not very accurately. It bounced way in front of the plate and took a wild hop.

  Mike threw his mask off and began frantically looking around behind him. Oh no! It was a wild pitch! The ball was on its way to the backstop! The tying run was crossing the plate! The Griffith fans were going wild! Then Mike stepped in front of the plate and tagged the runner with his empty glove. Only it wasn’t empty. He showed the glove to the umpire. The umpire yelled, “You’re out!”

  I was confused. Everyone was confused. What had just happened? “The ball was in my glove the whole time!” Mike yelled. “I pretended it got past me. Nothing gets past me! You should know better! I’m a Bench!”

  “You certainly are!” I yelled. “Does this mean we won?”

  “Yes!” he hollered.

  “Why isn’t anyone celebrating?” I asked.

  “Good question. Let’s celebrate!”

  This time I wasn’t the only one who threw my glove up in the air. Everyone did. We won! Kyle screamed into the microphone. People were swarming everywhere, running and hugging. And I mean everyone. The team, the fans, kids from school, Maria, my parents, everyone. There was lots of hugging and so much high-fiving that my palm hurt. It was kind of weird that I won the game on a wild pitch, but kind of right. That’s the way the Lunatic does things.

  In the chaos of people rushing everywhere, my parents found me and hugged me tight. “Oh, Lenny,” my mom said. “We’re so proud of you. Special treat tonight. Any present you want.”

  “Anything?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Dad said.

  I thought about it for a minute. Maria Bonzer came up to give me a high five while I thought.

  “You know, I don’t want anything for me,” I said to my parents.

  “That’s wonderful!” my mom said. “You have learned the true meaning of Discardia.”

  “Uh, no,” I said. “That holiday still sucks. But I do want to give a gift for my special present. Maria needs a new phone. Some jerk stole hers.”

  “That’s what you want?” Mom asked. “We’re offering to buy you anything and you want to buy the librarian’s niece a phone?”

  “Sure,” I said. “It’s important.”

  “It is?” Maria said.

  “Yep,” I said. “That way you can call me sometimes.”

  “Awwww,” my mom said.

  “For cases!” I said. “To work on cases! We’re a detective team. And we’re the best.”

  “Sure you are,” Dad said. “Sure you are.”