IF YOU’RE GOING TO STEAL . . . RUN!
Sammy Solaris, the Pine City Porcupines’ designated hitter, has one big goal for the season: to steal his first base! Sammy has a big, powerful swing, but as a baserunner, his speeds are slow, slower, and slowest. Chad the batboy might be able to help . . . but first he needs to consult his extensive baseball card collection. And right now he’s pretty busy keeping Dylan focused on the game instead of the spider he found. Chad also has to help Spike the mascot make good on a promise of a bobblehead to a young fan—providing they can find a bobblehead and the fan!
For Byron, who stole our hearts.
Special thanks to Sean, T.J., and
Dylan of the Saint Paul Saints.
—K.S.
To Ethan & Abbie.
—E.W.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cataloging-in-Publication data has been applied for and may be obtained from the Library of Congress.
ISBN: 978-1-4197-0287-7 (hardcover)
ISBN: 978-1-4197-0262-4 (paperback)
Copyright © 2012 The Topps Company, Inc.
All Rights Reserved. Topps and Topps League are trademarks of The Topps Company, Inc.
Book design by Chad W. Beckerman
Published in 2012 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. Amulet Books and Amulet Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.
Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact [email protected] or the address below.
115 West 18th Street
New York, NY 10011
www.abramsbooks.com
t was five minutes before midnight and the bottom of the ninth inning, and I was about to break a promise.
I was a batboy for the Pine City Porcupines. When I took the job, I promised my parents I would try to be home by ten o’clock and would never work past midnight. “That’s just too late for a boy your age,” Dad had said.
But there had been a rain delay and the game started late. The Porcupines were tied with the Attica Finches, 3–3. If the Porcupines didn’t score here, the game would go into extra innings.
I’d also made a life-long promise to my uncle Rick that I would never leave a baseball game before it was over. Uncle Rick took me to a game when I was six. The Porcupines fell behind by ten runs, and I wanted to go home. “If you leave early, you might miss a thrilling comeback,” he’d told me. “You might miss a walk-off home run. Never leave before the last out, Chad.”
“I won’t,” I told him, and I meant it. The Porcupines ended up losing that game, but they did get a grand slam in the eighth inning. We would have missed it if we hadn’t stuck around.
Tonight there was no way to keep both promises unless the Pines scored really soon.
Victor Snapp’s deep voice boomed over the speakers. “Now batting: the designated hitter, Sssssammy Sssssolarisss!” Victor Snapp had been the announcer for the Pine City Porcupines since before I was born. He was my idol. I wanted to be a baseball announcer when I grew up.
“Come on, Sammy!” I shouted. Sammy was the best hitter on the team.
He swung at the first pitch. The ball sailed into the outfield. The Finches’ center fielder ran after it.
“It’s a gapper!” said Victor Snapp. He said that whenever a ball got between two outfielders. My heart nearly leaped out of my chest.
The ball hit the fence and rolled back toward the outfielder. Sammy took a big turn at first base, then stopped.
I went to fetch the bat.
“Solaris stretched that double into a single!” I heard someone shout. It had to be Ernie Hecker. Ernie had the biggest mouth in Pine City, and he always shouted stuff at the players and umpires. This time he was right. Most baseball players would have reached second base easily on a hit like that.
Sammy took his lead off first. The pitcher didn’t even look at him. There was no way Sammy would try to steal a base.
“Now batting: the first baseman, Teddddddddy Larrrrrabeeeee!” Victor Snapp announced.
Teddy hit the ball hard, and it sailed to the right field corner. The outfielder caught it. Sammy took a couple of steps toward second, then changed his mind and stayed at first.
The crowd groaned again. Most runners would have tagged up and advanced a base.
“Now batting: the right fielder, Danny O’Brien!” Victor announced.
Sammy must have heard the crowd boo, because he did something crazy. The pitcher threw an off-speed pitch to Danny, and Sammy took off. He kicked up a cloud of dust and started toward second.
Danny didn’t swing. The catcher threw the ball to second. The second baseman took two steps off the base to catch it. He ran back to the base and tagged Sammy.
Sammy was out by a mile.
“I could have stolen that base from up here!” Ernie Hecker shouted.
“Sammy Solaris is caught stealing!” said Victor Snapp. “And so we head to the tenth inning.”
Sammy returned to the dugout and slumped onto the bench.
“Good try, Sammy,” I told him.
“Nice of you to say that,” he said.
“I didn’t signal for you to steal a base,” said the Pines’ manager. His name was Harry Humboldt, but everybody called him Grumps. “You’ll know when I do, because it’ll be never. That’s when it’ll happen. Never.”
“Ah, come on. I just thought I’d get into scoring position,” Sammy replied.
I missed the rest of their talk because Wally tugged on my sleeve. “You got a phone call.”
Wally was the clubhouse manager. He was my boss.
“Thanks. It’s probably my dad. I’ll have to go home.”
“That’s all right,” Wally said. “You should go home. We want you kids fresh for tomorrow.”
I went back to the locker room to take the call. The phone was the old-fashioned kind, with the receiver wired to the base and the base stuck to the wall.
“I’m waiting out in front,” said Dad. “Are you ready?”
“I just have to change.”
“Hey, ask Dylan if he wants a ride too,” said Dad.
“Sure.”
Dylan was the other batboy for the Porcupines. He was working in the Finches’ dugout for tonight’s game. We took turns helping the opposing team.
“See you in a sec,” I told Dad.
I changed clothes, grabbed my baseball card binder, and went to the Finches’ dugout.
Even though he’s a batboy, Dylan isn’t a big baseball fan. I showed him my baseball card collection sometimes—well, part of it: I had more than 5,000 cards! I told him about my favorite players. I explained plays during the game. Dylan didn’t know it, but he was my secret mission: By the end of the season, I was going to make him the greatest fan of the world’s greatest game!
I found Dylan sitting on the edge of the bench in the visitors’ dugout.
“Hey.” I nudged his elbow.
“Shh.” Dylan pointed at something.
I scanned the infield and didn’t see anything unusual.
“What?”
“It’s right there!” He pointed again, and I realized he was
pointing at the fence that protected the dugout from foul balls. I set my baseball card binder down and knelt by the fence to get a better look.
There was a little creepy-crawly thing sitting on the chain link.
“It’s just a bug,” I said.
“It’s not a bug. It’s a spider,” said Dylan.
“Spiders are bugs.”
“Not exactly. They’re arachnids. Bugs are insects. Hey, look. It’s spinning a web.”
“Great,” I said. “Wally said we should go home. My dad will give you a ride.”
“Thanks,” Dylan replied. “I want to stay and watch. I can call my parents later.”
“I thought baseball bored you.”
Dylan had admitted that when we first started working for the Porcupines.
“I mean watch that,” he said. He nodded at the spider.
“Of course.”
I knew Dylan liked animals, but did a spider count as an animal?
ust after I got home I had one of the worst moments of my whole life. I’d forgotten my card binder! I’d left it in the Finches’ dugout when I was talking with Dylan about that stupid spider. It felt like I’d left my right arm somewhere.
I called the Finches’ locker room. Dylan answered.
“It’s me. Is the game still going on?”
“Yeah. And Sparky is done with his web!”
“Sparky?”
“Sparky the Spider.”
“You named that thing?”
“No, I just call him Sparky.”
“That’s naming him!”
“Maybe. By the way, you left your binder here.”
“I know—that’s why I called. I wanted to make sure it was OK.”
“It’s fine. Do you want me to put it in your locker?”
“Keep it overnight,” I said. “Take good care of it. But feel free to look through it. There’re some cool cards in there.”
“Sure,” Dylan promised. “Gotta go. I want to see if Sparky’s caught any bugs yet.”
• • •
I overslept the next morning. We batboys had to be at the ballpark two hours before the game started. I would have to hurry to get there on time.
It was my own fault. I’d listened to the rest of the game on the radio before I went to sleep. The Porcupines finally won in the thirteenth inning. Tommy Harris hit a triple, and Mike Stammer brought him in with a sacrifice fly. It would have been so great to be there. I knew what Uncle Rick meant about never leaving a game early. Too bad Mom and Dad didn’t understand.
I got dressed, bounded down the stairs, and ate a bowl of cereal.
Mom saw me put the bowl in the dishwasher.
“Do you need lunch?” she asked.
“I can get a hot dog at the ballpark.”
“You’ve been eating a lot of hot dogs lately,” she said. “Why don’t I pack you a lunch while you walk the dog?”
“Oh, yeah.” It was my job to walk our dog in the morning. Penny was near her food bowl. She looked up at me with great big eyes and made a whimpering noise.
“Hi, girl.” I reached for the food bin.
“She’s already had breakfast,” said Mom.
“Aw, Mom. She wants more,” I said. Penny was still staring at me. “It would make her happy.”
“She’s happy when she’s eating a second breakfast,” said Mom. “She’s not happy when she’s all out of breath on a short walk.”
“She just has little legs.” I took a handful of kibble and put it in my pocket.
Mom didn’t notice. “Walk the dog while I make your lunch,” she said.
I could still be on time if I hurried. I put the leash on Penny and took her out for a quick trot around the block.
Mom was right—Penny was panting before we got to the corner. She was getting kind of roly-poly these days. She was still cute, though.
“Hi, Chad!”
I turned and saw Abby. She waved at me from across the street. Abby worked for the Pines too, and was in my grade at school. She ran across the street to meet us.
“I’m going to the ballpark early,” she explained. She reached out and let Penny lick her hand. “It’s a big day. They’re giving out bobbleheads. Hey, aren’t you supposed to be there by now?”
“I’m leaving as soon as I’m done walking the dog.” I took the dog food from my pocket and fed it to Penny.
“I’ll walk to the ballpark with you,” said Abby.
“We’re going to have to walk fast,” I told her. Usually I rode my bike.
“No problem. I can walk superfast.”
We took Penny home, and Mom gave me my lunch. I peeked at it. It was pasta salad and baby carrots.
“There’s not even a cookie,” I said.
“Just eat your lunch first,” said Mom. “If you’re still hungry, you can see if they have something at the ballpark that’s halfway good for you.”
“All right.”
“Have fun and work hard,” Mom said. She planted a smooch on top of my head. I was glad Abby had waited outside.
• • •
Abby and I walked six blocks, crossed a field, waited for one traffic light, crossed the street, and turned the corner.
We stopped.
“Holy cow!” said Abby.
There were about a billion people crowded around Pine City Park.
“There are always lines on bobblehead day,” I told her.
“But the game doesn’t even start for two hours!”
“They’re Spike bobbleheads,” I reminded her. Spike was the Porcupines’ new junior mascot. He was the biggest star of the season. Everybody loved that quill-covered porcupine kid. “Not everyone will get one,” I added. “They’re ‘only available while supplies last.’”
“They must really want those bobbleheads,” said Abby. We both knew something most people didn’t: Abby was Spike. She put on a porcupine costume and played the part. She was great at it.
We started across the parking lot.
“Dad!” a little girl tugged on her father’s shirttail. “Those kids are cutting!”
“Hey, what’s the big idea?” the man asked.
“We’re with the Pines,” I said. “I’m a batboy.”
“And I work in fan services,” said Abby.
“Oh, I see,” the man said. “Sorry for bothering you.” He let us go past.
“No fair!” said the little girl.
“It’s all right, Petunia,” her dad said. “They work for the team.”
“But it’s not fair!” she said again. “They’ll get the last two Spike bobbleheads. I just know it.”
“No, they won’t, Petunia,” her father said.
“Show me your ticket, so I can see your seat number,” Abby said to the girl. “I’ll make sure you get a Spike bobblehead.”
“Promise?” Petunia asked.
“Promise,” said Abby.
“You can believe it,” I added. “Abby and Spike are good friends.”
t’s you!” said Wally when I got to the locker room. Several of the players were getting suited up for the game.
“Yeah. Sorry I’m late,” I said. I put my lunch in the team fridge. “Mom wanted to make me lunch, I had to take the dog for a walk, and the line outside was really long.”
“I’m just glad you’re here,” said Wally. “I wasn’t sure either of you boys would make it after that marathon last night.”
“You mean Dylan isn’t here yet?”
Dylan had never been late before.
“His mother called and said he wasn’t feeling well. Maybe he’s just tired. I know I am.”
Maybe he got bit by that spider, I thought. Maybe he wasn’t “sick.” Maybe I’d be working with Spider-Boy . . . That could be cool! Still, I hoped Dylan didn’t feel too bad.
“I’ll hold down the fort here,” said Wally. “You go help the Finches. I know you’d rather help the Pines, but we’re in a jam.”
“No problem.”
“And here, take this. I was onl
y able to get one,” said Wally. “You’re here, so it’s yours. At least now there won’t be a fight over it.” Wally pulled a white box out of the traveling case and handed it to me.
“All right!” I guessed what it was right away. I slid out a Spike bobblehead and unrolled it from the Bubble Wrap. I gave the little porcupine head a tap and set it nodding. Awesome!
“Hey! Hey, Chad,” said Sammy Solaris. “Don’t forget about my corn dogs before you go, buddy.”
I rewrapped the bobblehead and stowed it in my locker. “No problem,” I said. I fetched Sammy two corn dogs before every game.
“Do you ever think about having something besides corn dogs?” asked Teddy Larrabee, the first baseman. “Like a regular hot dog, or a chili dog, or a Chicago-style hot dog, or a Carolina-style dog, or a bratwurst . . .”
“Or a frankfurter?” said Wayne Zane, the catcher.
“A frankfurter is a hot dog,” said Teddy.
“I’m just sayin’,” Wayne replied.
“I like corn dogs,” said Sammy. “That’s my thing. I eat two corn dogs before every game.”
“You don’t want to mess with tradition,” said Wayne. “Especially when you’re hitting like Sammy.”
“Listen to him,” said Sammy. “He’s wise.”
“By ‘wise,’ he means ‘old,’” said Wayne.
“I agree about traditions,” said Lance Pantaño. “Every time I pitch, I drink four cups of coffee before the game. And only from this.” He took a big gulp from a Porcupines mug. The mug had an old piece of tape on it that said “Property of Lance.”
“If I drank that much coffee, there’d be a seventh inning stretch in every inning, and I’d be spending it in the bathroom,” said Mike Stammer.
“That’s why I drink only four cups when I pitch,” said Lance. “When I’m not pitching, I’m a nine-mug man. Nine innings, nine coffees.”
“What about last night’s extra innings?” asked Wayne. “Wouldn’t thirteen coffees keep you up all night?”
“Decaf,” Lance replied.
“I don’t know how you can have anything before a game,” said Tommy Harris, the third baseman. He was the newest and youngest Porcupine player. He’d just come up from rookie league. “I’m too nervous to eat.”
Steal That Base! Page 1