Hard Drive to Short

by Matt Christopher

  Copyright

  COPYRIGHT © 1969 BY MATTHEW F. CHRISTOPHER

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO PART OF THIS BOOK MAY BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM OR BY ANY ELECTRONIC OR MECHANICAL MEANS, INCLUDING INFORMATION STORAGE AND RETRIEVAL SYSTEMS, WITHOUT PERMISSION IN WRITING FROM THE PUBLISHER, EXCEPT BY A REVIEWER WHO MAY QUOTE BRIEF PASSAGES IN A REVIEW.

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  First eBook Edition: December 2009

  ISBN: 978-0-316-09568-6

  To

  Mary and Joe

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  1

  THE Minuteman stepped into Dick Regan’s pitch and smacked a grounder that headed for the hole between shortstop and second base. It looked as if it were going for a clean hit, and the Minutemen fans roared.

  Sandy Varga, playing deep short for the Spacemen, sprang into action. Sandy was short, but deceptively quick for a boy his size. He dashed toward second, speared the hop and whipped it to first.

  “Out!” yelled the base umpire.

  Three outs. The Spacemen trotted in, the Minutemen trotted out. It was the first ball game of the season. The bottom of the first inning was coming up.

  Coach Mike Malone smiled. “Nice going, Sandy. You caught two tough grounders out there.”

  Sandy returned the smile. “Thanks, Coach.”

  “Pick up a bat, Sandy. You’re third man up. Kerry Dean, you’re leading off. Jules Anderson, you’re batting second. Let’s get that run back!”

  The Minutemen were leading 1 to 0.

  Kerry, a short, stocky redhead, played third base, threw right-handed and hit left-handed. Mark Davis, the Minute-men’s southpaw pitcher, couldn’t throw one over the plate, and Kerry walked.

  Mark was on the way to walking Jules Anderson, too. He pitched three balls, then rubbed the ball hard and wiggled his cap before he got ready to pitch again. His next two throws were strikes. His next was in there, too, and Jules blasted it down to third. The third baseman fumbled the hop and Jules was safely on first, Kerry on second.

  “Lay it down, Sandy,” ordered Coach Malone.

  Sandy frowned. Lay it down? Why?

  The coach knew he could hit. Why did he order a bunt? Sandy punched the top of his protective helmet and strode to the plate.

  Mark Davis’s first pitch was a fastball. Sandy shifted his feet, ran his right hand partway up the bat and let the ball hit the wood. The ball dribbled toward the pitcher. Sandy dropped the bat and bee-lined for first.

  He was within two steps of the base when the first baseman stretched and caught the throw. “Out!” cried the ump.

  Hiding his disgust, Sandy turned and headed back for the dugout. The bunt had advanced the runners to second and third, but he still wished he had been allowed to hit. He didn’t like to bunt. How can you knock in runs by bunting?

  Center fielder John “Oink” Decker blasted a double between left and center fields, scoring Kerry and Jules. Then Marty Loomis, the Spacemen’s catcher, struck out, and Dick Regan flied out to left, ending the inning.

  Sandy started out of the dugout, then rushed back to Duke Miller sitting on the bench, his ankles crossed. Duke was the Spacemen’s alternate pitcher and was holding Sandy’s wristwatch.

  “Don’t forget to let me know when it’s twenty minutes to seven,” reminded Sandy.

  “I won’t,” Duke answered, then frowned. “What do you want to know that for?”

  “I have to, that’s why,” replied Sandy.

  “But suppose you’re out on the field when it’s twenty minutes of seven?” asked Duke in puzzlement. “What then?”

  “Signal to me,” said Sandy. “And don’t forget. It’s important.”

  The Minutemen began tagging Dick Regan’s pitches and scored twice before Sandy snared a line drive for which he really had to jump. Later he ran behind Kerry and caught a high fly just inside fair territory for the second out, holding runners on second and third.

  The next Minuteman doubled, scoring two runs. Dick struck out the next man, but a lot of damage had been done. The Minutemen had scored four runs, going into the lead 5 to 2.

  Right fielder Stubby Tobin, leading off for the Spacemen, grounded out on the second pitch. Nibbs Spry got on by luck. He hit a high fly to center, and the fielder dropped it. First baseman Ken Bockman hit three fouls to the backstop screen, then flied out to third.

  Leadoff man Kerry Dean was up again. He let two balls and a strike go by, then singled through short, advancing Nibbs to second base.

  “Hit me in! Hit me in!” yelled Nibbs, who hollered more than anybody else on the team. But Jules Anderson, batting next, flied out to right, and Kerry died on second.

  Sandy started to rush out to short, then ran back to the dugout again. “Duke, what time is it now?” he asked, low enough so that no one else except Duke could hear him.

  Duke looked at the watch. “Almost six-thirty.”

  “Wow!” muttered Sandy, and tore out to short. “Let’s get ’em, Dick! One, two, three!” He couldn’t stay later than twenty minutes of seven. Perhaps one minute longer. But that was all.

  A hot grounder to second, directly at Nibbs. He reached down for it. The ball struck his glove, then glanced off to the outfield! An error!

  Center fielder Oink Decker retrieved the ball and relayed it to Sandy, who had gone over to cover second. The runner stayed on first. Sandy quickly tossed it to Dick. “Let’s go!” he yelled. “Let’s get two!”

  Doggone Nibbs. Why did he miss that grounder?

  Crack! A blistering grounder between shortstop and second base. Sandy sped after it, sending up dust as he ran. He caught the ball in the pocket of his glove, rushed over and touched second, then pegged to first. In time by two steps!

  A double play!

  A Minuteman tripled. The next man hit a skyscraping fly to Oink, and the top of the third inning was over. Even before Oink had caught the ball Sandy was running off the field. He hadn’t much time left.

  “Sandy! Oink! Marty!” Coach Malone named off the first three hitters. Sandy picked up his brown bat, slapped on his plastic helmet and hustled to the plate.

  The first pitch came in, low and inside. Sandy swung. Missed!

  “Make ’em be in there, Sandy!” yelled the coach.

  Come on, Mark, Sandy pleaded silently. Throw me a good one.

  As if Mark heard him the Minuteman pitcher threw one almost squarely over the heart of the plate. Sandy swung. A line drive over short! He rounded first and stopped on second for a neat double.

  Oink flied out. Marty Loomis smashed a grounder to short. The shortstop fumbled it, and Marty was safe on first. Sandy stayed on second. Then Dick Regan laid into a high pitch and sent it over the left fielder’s head for a clean triple, scoring Sandy and Marty.

  Nibbs and some of the other guys patted Sandy happily on the back. “Nice hitting, Sandy” “You’re playing like a million dollars.”

  Sandy grinned and went over to Duke. “How much more time?”

  “One minute!”

  Sandy took the watch from Duke and slipped it on his wrist. He waited long enough to see Stubby Tobin hit a hard grounder to third. The third sacker missed it, and Dick Regan scored. Sandy walked up to the c
oach.

  “I have to leave, Coach,” he said softly.

  The coach stared at him. “Leave now? Why?”

  Sandy shrugged. “I have to, that’s all. It’s important. I’ll… I’ll see you at the next game.”

  He picked up his glove and started running off toward the gate. “Hey, Sandy!” someone yelled. “Where are you going?”

  Sandy didn’t answer.

  2

  MOM was waiting for him in the backyard, where she was watching Jo Ann playing with a large doll and Elizabeth in the sandbox. Jo Ann was eighteen months old and Elizabeth five years old. That was why Sandy had to rush home. To take care of them. Pop worked overtime almost every night at a typewriter factory. He seldom got home before seven-thirty. And Mom had to start her evening job at the drugstore by then.

  “I think you’d better leave a little sooner the next time, Sandor,” Mom said, pronouncing his name Shandor, as if it had an h in it. Mom and Pop had been born in Hungary and had come to the United States when their oldest child, Peter, was only a year old. That was seventeen years ago. “Mr. Browning would not like it if I arrived there late. Goodbye, dear. And watch your sisters.”

  “Bye, Mom,” he said, and she hurried out of the yard. She had to walk to the drugstore. There weren’t any buses in the small town of Sharil. And Pop had the car.

  Sandy hadn’t liked to break away in the middle of the ball game, especially since he had been playing so well for the team. But Jo Ann and Elizabeth were too young to be left alone even for a little while. Since Peter worked at a supermarket every weekday afternoon and evening, Sandy had to watch over the little ones.

  He hoped Pop would get home sooner this evening. Then he could go back to the game. Of course he wouldn’t play, but he’d see the rest of it.

  He wondered how it was going, and felt rather proud about his own playing. He had caught four or five grounders and pop flies without an error, hit a sacrifice bunt and knocked out a double. That was pretty good for the first game of the season.

  “Jo Ann, get back here. Don’t you go through those bushes.”

  Jo Ann stopped in her tracks and turned her huge blue eyes on him. She was blond like Mom, and her hair was long and curly.

  “Rex,” she said.

  “You’re not going over to see Rex,” said Sandy gruffly.

  He got off the steps where he had been sitting, twirling his baseball glove round and round on his wrist, and carried her back to near Elizabeth and the sandbox. “Stay here,” he commanded. “Play with Elizabeth.”

  He didn’t trust Rex, the big shepherd dog the neighbors, the Traceys, owned. Rex was leashed to his doghouse and was allowed to run loose only when someone was with him.

  Sandy didn’t know why he didn’t trust the dog. Maybe it was because Rex was so big. He wasn’t sure. He just never had been near Rex and didn’t want his little sisters to get near him, either.

  At last a car drove into the driveway. Pop was home.

  “Hi, children,” he greeted them cheerfully. Jo Ann and Elizabeth ran to him and he stopped and kissed them. “And, you, Sandor. You are still in your baseball uniform. Did you play?” He pronounced Sandor the same way Mom did.

  “Hi, Pop. I played three innings. Sacrificed and doubled.”

  Pop had seen Sandy play last year and the year before. Both he and Mom liked baseball and knew what every baseball term meant.

  “Good,” said Pop. “If you wish, you can go back to the ball game as soon as I wash up and change my clothes.”

  The girls went back to the sandbox, and Pop went into the house, carrying his lunch box. He was a tall man. He had played soccer in Hungary and frequently went to see Sharil’s high school soccer team play. He often said he wished he was young again and able to play. Sandy guessed that Pop must have been an excellent athlete.

  Pop was in the house when a loud, familiar voice shouted from the street. “San… dy! Hey, San… dy!”

  Sandy jumped off the porch steps and ran around to the front of the house. “Hi!” he said to his buddies, Nibbs Spry and Jules Anderson. “Who won?”

  “We did,” said Nibbs, grinning and showing a missing tooth. “Ten to nine. What a ball game!”

  “The score was tied nine-all to the sixth inning,” said Jules. “Then Punk Peters doubled, and Cookie Lamarr knocked him in.”

  “For a while we thought the game was a goner,” said Nibbs. “Ike Norman took your place at short and missed two easy grounders. That guy’s no ballplayer. Why did you have to leave so soon, anyway? Duke said you didn’t even want to tell Mr. Malone why you had to leave. Is it a secret?”

  Before Sandy could answer, there was a shout from his father.

  “Sandor!” his father’s voice reached him from the other side of the house. “Where are you? Where is Jo Ann?”

  Sandy whirled around. “Oh, gee…!” he blurted, and sprinted to the backyard. Elizabeth was playing near the sandbox, but Jo Ann was nowhere in sight.

  “Jo Ann! Jo Ann!” he yelled.

  By sheer instinct he ran toward the shrubbery separating his house from the Traceys’ and burst through to the other side.

  “Jo Ann!” he yelled again. “Come back here!”

  She was standing by Rex, the big shepherd dog, patting him on the head. “Big doggie,” she was saying. “Big doggie.”

  3

  REX perked up his ears and looked at Sandy. His curved, brown, white-tipped tail was still. Sandy had heard that a dog who didn’t wag his tail wasn’t friendly. Yet there was Jo Ann, patting Rex on the back, and Rex didn’t seem to mind.

  “Jo Ann! Get away from him!” Sandy ordered.

  Jo Ann didn’t move. “Big doggie,” she repeated.

  Rex wagged his tail, and Sandy stepped forward carefully. “Hi, Rex,” he said. “Hi, boy.”

  He took Jo Ann’s hand, then very gently reached over and patted Rex on the head. Rex peered curiously at him. His pink tongue was hanging out, and he was breathing fast. His tail wagged fast, too.

  “I think he likes you two,” said a voice from the house.

  Sandy looked up, startled, and saw Mr. Tracey smoking a pipe and gazing at them through the screen door of the enclosed porch.

  “Hi, Mr. Tracey. Jo Ann came here on her own, and I’m taking her back.”

  “You won’t have to worry about Rex.” Mr. Tracey smiled. “He won’t hurt her.”

  As Sandy led Jo Ann back through the shrubbery to their own backyard, relief washed over him. Now that he had been near Rex himself, he didn’t need to be afraid of the big shepherd dog anymore. The Traceys had only had him about five or six weeks.

  Just the same he wished there was a fence, besides the shrubbery, separating the two lots so that Jo Ann would not stray during those few seconds he took his eyes off her. It seemed that it was always then that she decided to take off for somewhere.

  When he returned to the front of the house, Nibbs and Jules were busy playing catch. Luckily they had forgotten about asking again why Sandy had left the game early.

  On Thursday the Spacemen tangled with the Ripcords, and once again Sandy started at shortstop. The Spacemen were up first and got their first run on a single by Sandy Varga with Kerry Dean on second base. Oink Decker walked, and then Marty Loomis blasted a double, scoring Sandy and giving the Spacemen two runs that first inning.

  They led till the bottom of the third, when a Ripcord popped a fly high up into the air that started dropping in short left center field. Left fielder Jules Anderson, center fielder Oink Decker and shortstop Sandy Varga all ran after it and yelled, “I’ve got it!” at the same time.

  Then each player, thinking that the others would catch it, stepped away from the ball — and it dropped between them!

  The three boys stared at one another. Then Sandy broke from the shock that momentarily had gripped him, picked up the ball and looked to see where the runners were, for the Ripcords had two men on base before this last hit. One runner had scored, and the second was rounding t
hird.

  Sandy pegged the ball home. The Ripcords’ third-base coach yelled at the runner and got him back to third. One run had scored on that blunder.

  I should have taken it, thought Sandy. But I was sure that either Jules or Oink was going to.…

  The Ripcords scored once more that inning. Then Sandy made a neat catch on a grass-skimming grounder and pegged to first to keep the Ripcords from scoring more runs.

  “Nice play Sandy” Coach Malone said. Then he shook his head, disgusted. “Boys, listen. On that fly ball in the outfield… I’ve warned you guys a dozen times about a play like that. When three of you are able to catch a pop fly, let the fielder coming in after the ball catch it. Yell for him to take it. It isn’t that hard!”

  He smiled and squeezed Sandy and Jules on the shoulder. “Forget it this time. Just do it right the next time. Once in a while even the pros make the same mistake.”

  Sandy was able to bat only once more before twenty minutes to seven rolled around and he had to leave. He got his second hit, a three-bagger, scoring Ken Bockman. Oink popped up to end the top of the half-inning. The score was 3 to 2 in the Spacemen’s favor. Two of those runs had been knocked in by Sandy.

  “You’re playing great ball, Sandy,” the coach said to him as he started to leave. “You’re a natural.”

  Sandy smiled. “Thanks, sir. I’ve got to go now.”

  “We won’t be playing again until next Thursday,” said Coach Malone. “So be here Tuesday at five o’clock for practice. Okay?”

  “Okay!” said Sandy, and started running off the field.

  “Hey, Sandy!” a guy yelled at him. “Where are you going?”

  Sandy didn’t tell him. The guys might make fun of him if he told them he had to babysit his little sisters. They didn’t have to know.

  He was walking by a large white house when he saw Rod Temple in the driveway, sitting on his bright red motorbike, trying to start it. Rod was in high school and played second base with the Redwings, Sharil’s town team. But Rod was no ordinary second baseman. He was the best, and very popular.