by Mike Knudson
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Copyright Page
Chapter 1 - Batter Up
Chapter 2 - Grandma Gibson
Chapter 3 - One Gatorade, Please
Chapter 4 - Coach Gramps
Chapter 5 - Say Cheese
Chapter 6 - The Substitute
Chapter 7 - Sorry, Sweetie
Chapter 8 - A Stinky Lunch
Chapter 9 - What’s the Signal?
Chapter 10 - The Last Surprise
Chapter 11 - Pictures and Dorkwads
Chapter 12 - The Big Game
Chapter 13 - You’re Out!
Going . . . going . . . gone?!
“Last pitch. If it’s close, you’ve got to be swinging, bud,” Coach yelled out. As the pitcher threw the last ball, it looked a little high, but something inside told me to swing. I swung as hard as I could. This time I hit the ball. It flew straight toward center field. There was no way this was going to be a foul ball.
I threw the bat down and raced past first base and toward second. The center fielder yelled, “got it,” as the ball sailed toward him. I rounded first base figuring I was going to be out. Luckily, the ball hit his mitt and fell to the ground. As I got to second base I heard Coach Parker yelling to keep going.
“Slide, slide!” Coach screamed as I got close to third base. Just as I slid, I saw the ball land in the dirt and bounce past the third baseman. As he ran to get the ball I jumped up and ran toward home. I was halfway there when the ball was thrown home. The catcher caught it and stood there waiting to tag me. I quickly turned back and ran toward third base. I could tell this was not going to end well.
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First published in the United States of America by Viking,
a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2009
Published by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2011
Text copyright © Mike Knudson, 2009
Illustrations copyright © Stacy Curtis, 2009
All rights reserved
THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE VIKING EDITION AS FOLLOWS:
Knudson, Mike.
Raymond and Graham: bases loaded / by Mike Knudson ; illustrated by Stacy Curtis.
p. cm.
Summary: Fourth grade best friends Raymond and Graham try to avoid the class bully,
have fun with a substitute teacher, and get the attention of the girls they like
while concentrating on winning the Little League Championships.
eISBN : 978-1-101-51323-1
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume
any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
http://us.penguingroup.com
Prologue
IT HAD BEEN almost nine months since last year’s championship baseball game, but that day still haunted me. Striking out in the first inning, sitting on a wad of gum, and having my mom walk right into the dugout to give me a big kiss for good luck in front of both teams, the parents, the umpires, the snack bar workers . . . everyone. It was humiliating.
But this year was going to be different. I could feel it in my bones, I could smell it in the air—I could even taste it. This wasn’t going to be just another year of making it to the finals and then blowing it. This would be the year of winning it all. That’s right, I’m talking about the year we would earn the title of Millcreek Little League Champions!
1
Batter Up
THE UMPIRE PULLED the mask from the top of his head onto his face and wiggled it around until it fit just right. “Batter up!” I slowly walked to the plate, enjoying the moment of my first time up to bat this season.
Things were already looking better than last year. It was a warm Saturday morning in April. The grass seemed greener, the sun seemed brighter, and most important, it was opening day and my mom wasn’t here. She had to take Grandma to the doctor. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t like my mom coming to my games. My mom’s great. It’s just that this was the first game since last year’s good-luck kiss disaster, and I wanted to make sure it went smoothly and nothing embarrassing happened. My dad was in the stands, but he usually didn’t cause too much trouble. He might argue with the umpire now and then or maybe with a parent from the other team, but that’s just part of baseball. Plus, he doesn’t really get mad when he argues. He just likes to get in the last word no matter what.
Dad had also dragged my thirteen-year-old sister, Geri, to the game. She looked bored as usual. I could tell she didn’t want to be there. But that didn’t bother me. In fact, it just made the day seem even better. It was like my own little way of getting back at her for always being so mean, without her even knowing.
There was only one slight problem: we were playing the Pirates, and David Miller was pitching that day. Not only is he the biggest, meanest kid our age, but he’s also the fastest pitcher in the league. I don’t want to brag, but I’m one of the best batters on our team. I can hit off almost anyone. But there’s just something different about David. Maybe it’s the nasty things he says to me when I walk up to the plate or that crazy laugh of his. For some reason I always play terribly against him. That’s another reason I didn’t want Mom here. There was no way I could handle my mom being embarrassing and David being mean in the same game.
Finally, I made it to the plate. I tapped my bat against my cleats and then dug my back foot into the dirt. After a few practice swings, I held the bat back and waited for the pitch. Without even one mean comment, David started his windup and threw the ball.
The ball barely missed my head! Luckily, I’d dropped to the ground in time.
“Ball!” yelled the ump.
David just stood there laughing his crazy laugh. I got up and dusted off my pants. I was shaking all over.
“Good eye,” Coach Parker called from over by first base. He scratched his chin through his big, bushy, black beard.
Good eye? I thought. I was just trying to save myself from getting hit in the face. I looked over at Coach. He smiled. He’s been my coach since I played T-ball and knows me pretty well. He’s Kevin’s dad, but even Kevin calls him Coach. He knows everything about baseball. Plus, things like almost getting hit in the face don’t bother him. He just says stuff like, “Brush it off and get back in there.” Kevin says that back in high school his dad was the star of the team. Even though the othe
r coaches just wear a T-shirt with their teams’ logo on it, Coach Parker always wears a full uniform, down to the cleats.
I took a few more practice swings and was ready for the second pitch. I could hear my teammates cheering. Carlos’s parents were screaming something in Spanish to me. They always screamed in Spanish to Carlos when he was up to bat. It seemed to work for him. He was one of our better hitters.
David smiled at me. “Hey, what’s the matter?” he said. “Don’t have your mommy here to give you a good-luck kiss?” His whole team started laughing. Even some of my teammates laughed.
All right, I said to myself. This is it! I’m going to hit this ball so hard David will never make fun of me again. I gripped the bat tighter and stared back at David with the meanest face I could make.
“Oooh, scary,” David said. Then he threw the second pitch. Again I fell to the ground as the ball came right at me. Unfortunately, as I fell, the ball hit my bat by accident and bounced into the backstop.
“Foul ball! Strike one!” the ump called.
“What do you mean, strike one?” I yelled from the ground. “I didn’t even swing. Besides, he almost killed me!”
“The ball touched your bat. That’s a foul ball,” the ump said, getting back down in his squatting position behind the catcher and adjusting his mask.
“Hang in there, Raymond,” Coach said. “You’re a hitter. Be patient.”
“That stinks,” I said under my breath, waiting for the next pitch.
As David threw the third pitch I jumped out of the way quickly and lowered my bat so I wouldn’t accidentally hit the ball again. Only this time, the ball flew right across the plate.
“Strike two!”
David was laughing harder than ever. “Got you scared.”
He was right—now I was completely nervous. Was he going to try to hit me again, would he throw a strike, or what? I stared at David and concentrated on the ball. As he was winding up I saw a smile stretch out across his face. He’s smiling because he’s going to throw it at me, I decided. Then, just as the ball left his hand, I thought, Maybe he’s smiling because he’s throwing a strike and thinks I’m going to jump out of the way again. Before I knew it the umpire had yelled, “Strike three, batter’s out!” I didn’t even swing.
I walked back to the dugout humiliated, dragging my bat on the ground. Everyone told me “good try” and “you’ll get ’em next time” and all those other things you say when someone strikes out.
“Looked like a ball to me,” Dad called out to the umpire. Next to him, Geri rolled her eyes.
“Not even close,” came a reply from a mom on the other team. It was Brian’s mom. Dad looked over at her.
“It should have been a ball,” Dad answered.
“Good call, ump,” Brian’s mom said. She stared over at my dad.
“Not a good call.” Dad said it softly, but just loud enough to be heard. Brian’s mom shook her head and turned back to the game.
There are six teams in our league. Most of the players go to East Millcreek Elementary, like me, and Upland Terrace Elementary. The East Millcreek kids are split up among three teams: the Giants, the Pirates, and a few on the Tigers. Luckily, Graham and I are both on the Giants.
Even though we play against all five other teams, David’s team is always our biggest rival. Some years we do better than the Pirates, and other years, like last year, they do better than we do. But this year, we were determined to beat them in the Little League Championships. Next year we would hopefully be in the majors, the next league up from Little League. In the majors you get to play with the older kids. The coaches and players of the Major League teams often come by and watch the Little League Championship game looking for the best players to pick for their teams next year.
Ever since we were little first-graders, Graham and I had dreamed of being picked for the best Major League team. Last year the Marlins won the Major League Championship. Graham and I went to the final game. They clobbered the Cardinals 11-2. They were definitely the team we wanted to be on next year.
Graham was up to bat next. David turned toward the outfield. “Easy out—everyone move in closer. He can’t hit that far.”
Unlike me, Graham loved the trash talk of baseball. He was our catcher, and he always said the same kinds of things to the other team’s batters when they were at the plate. So nothing David said bothered him. He just smiled and got ready to swing.
The first pitch came in high for ball one. The second hit the dirt right in front of the plate. “Ball two!” yelled the ump. The third pitch came in straight down the middle. Graham swung as hard as he could and hit the ball. Unfortunately, the ball didn’t go too far. It just bounced off his bat and rolled slowly to David, who picked it up with his bare hand and threw Graham out at first base.
The rest of the game went about the same way. Our team really stunk it up. We ended up losing by six runs.
“Great game, bud,” Dad said afterward as we headed to the car.
I looked up at him. “What do you mean? We got killed!”
“Right,” he answered, trying to think of something good to say about the game. “I was talking about the great hit you had.”
“Do you mean the time I fell on the ground and the ball accidentally hit my bat or the time I swung as hard as I could and missed the ball by a mile?”
“Um, the first one?” Dad said, smiling. Before I could answer he said, “Let’s go get some ice cream.” That worked for me.
The rest of the weekend, I tried not to think about the game. Coach always says that once the game’s over, we should forget about it and start thinking about the next game. But every game is important this year. Only the top two teams get to play in the championship game, and losing our first game wasn’t a good sign.
2
Grandma Gibson
ON MONDAY MORNING Mom drove me to school. She said she had to talk to the secretary about something. It was a nice change from walking. We picked up Graham and got to school early, and he and I hung around on the front steps waiting for the first bell to ring. We talked about the lousy game we had Saturday and how we were going to destroy the Tigers this week. We always had one game during the week and one every Saturday. The Tigers were probably the worst team in the league.
“I think I’m going to invite Kelly to come watch the game tomorrow,” Graham said with a big smile on his face. Graham’s been in love with Kelly since the first grade. “The Tigers would be a great team to show off against. You should invite Heidi to come watch.” I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. I mean, I do like Heidi . . . you know, like a girlfriend. And even though I thought she liked me too, I wasn’t so sure about inviting her to our game.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “After that last game, I don’t want any distractions. I just want to have a good game and get my confidence back. What if I get all nervous with her at the game and play even worse?”
“I really think you should invite her anyway,” Graham said, looking desperate. “I mean, this is the Tigers we’re talking about. We’re going to look good for sure. Plus, I heard Zach broke his finger after the game on Saturday. So you’ll probably be starting pitcher.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “If I invite her, she’ll think I like her.”
“But you do like her. That’s the point,” Graham said.
“But if I invite her, then she’ll know I like her. And I don’t want her to know I like her unless I know she likes me first. And even then . . . well . . . I don’t know, I can’t explain it,” I said. I knew Graham wouldn’t understand. He has liked Kelly forever and always makes sure she knows it. He tells her all the time.
“Come on, hermano,” Graham said. “You’ve got to invite her.” I knew he was serious because he was calling me hermano. That’s “brother” in Spanish, and we only use the few words we know in Spanish when it’s really important or on special occasions.
“Well, maybe I’ll invite her to a game some other time,” I said.
“Why do you care so much about whether I invite her?”
“Well, it’s just that . . . Kelly would probably come if she knew other girls were going to be there. And I kind of, um . . . well, I kind of got excited about the whole idea and . . .”
“And what, Graham?” I said. He was hiding something. I could tell.
“Okay, don’t be mad, but I kind of told Heidi—” Graham started.
“What? You kind of told Heidi what?” I said, grabbing him by his shoulders.
“That you wanted her to come to your next game and that you were going to invite her today,” Graham said quickly in a quiet voice. His freckly face was all scrunched up, and he took a step back like I was going to punch him or something.
“WHAT?” I yelled. “Why would you do that? Now what am I supposed to do? I can’t not ask her, because she’ll think that I’m uninviting her and that I don’t like her. But if I ask her, she’ll think I do like her. Oh, man, this is terrible.” I dropped my head into my hands. Just then I heard two familiar voices.
“Hi, Raymond. Hi, Graham,” they said together. I looked up to see Heidi and Diane standing right in front of me. Diane is Heidi’s best friend. She’s also the tallest girl in our school. Actually, I think she’s taller than all of the boys too, except David. We’ve all known each other since we were little kids.
“What’s wrong with you?” Diane asked.
“Nothing, I was just . . . um . . . resting my head in my hands,” I answered, putting my hands down and trying to look normal.
“Hey, Raymond was just saying how he wanted to ask you guys to come to our baseball game tomorrow. Right, Raymond?” Graham jabbed me in the ribs.
“I don’t know,” Diane said, not looking too interested. “Is the snack bar going to be open?”
“Come on,” Graham wheedled. “Where else can you experience quality sporting entertainment like this?”