Hard Drive to Short

by Matt Christopher

  A run scored, and the umpire held up the other runners on third and second.

  Sandy spun disgustedly and slapped the glove against his thigh. What a stupid play that was!

  Dick walked the next man, filling the bases. He sure looked nervous. He took off his cap, wiped his face, put his cap back on and climbed the mound. The infielders yelled, “Strike ’im out, Dick! Whiff ’im!”

  Sandy didn’t feel like yelling, but now and then he did. “Come on, Dick! Come on!” he shouted.

  Crack! A single over second! Two runs scored. Then a pop fly and a grounder back to Dick, and the top of the second inning was over.

  Wish it was six-forty, thought Sandy. Phil was holding his wristwatch.

  Ken started the bottom of the second with a hit between first and second base. The Ripcord infielder fumbled it, and Ken was safe at first. Then Punk Peters blasted one to left center for a double. Ken advanced to third. Dick fanned. Then Kerry singled through second, and Ken scored. Punk ran all the way in, too, sliding into home on a close play. He was safe, and Kerry stopped on second base.

  Nibbs Spry flied out, and Sandy, after watching two strikes go by, swung at the third one and struck out.

  Ripcords 5; Spacemen 3.

  “What time is it, Phil?” Sandy asked.

  Phil looked at the watch. “Almost six-fifteen.” He looked at Sandy curiously. “What’s the matter, Sandy? You’re not playing at all well today.”

  Sandy trotted out to short without answering.

  The Ripcords picked up another run. The Spacemen didn’t. In the top of the fourth Sandy let a hot grounder go through his legs, then missed a high pop fly, accounting for two of the five runs the Ripcords scored that half-inning. He didn’t remember when he had played a worse game.

  The score was 11 to 3 when he left for home. He knew the guys were looking at him, but he said nothing. He saw in the Sharil Journal the next day that the final score was 13 to 8.

  14

  SANDY was glad for the long Fourth of July weekend. The family rented a cabin at Deerhead State Park from Saturday through Monday. Monday was the Fourth. Pop had had the cabin reserved for those three days since March.

  Pop liked to fish, and so did Pete and Sandy. They caught nearly a dozen black bass, which Mom cooked for supper.

  You have to be quiet when you fish. Talking will disturb the fish, and they won’t bite. Pop was pretty strict about it. It was this quiet that Sandy didn’t like. It left him with all the time in the world to think — and what he thought about was the guys: Nibbs Spry, Jules Anderson, Ike Norman and the others.

  At night he dreamed about them, too. But their faces seemed to be hidden in shadows from which they refused to appear. It was awful.

  He thought about Rod Temple, too. Rod had seemed so nice at times, but he never was a real friend. Sandy hadn’t minded paying Rod’s way at the miniature golf course, or buying Rod an ice cream cone. Rod had given him rides on the motorbike to more than make up for those favors. It just had seemed funny that every time Rod had stopped to buy something he’d discovered that he’d left his wallet at home. Yet he wouldn’t have dared to drive without his license, would he? Wouldn’t he be carrying that in a wallet?

  Stopping at the girls’ softball game that afternoon was another example. Rod had been gone so long he seemed to have forgotten that he had left Sandy with his scooter. A friend — a real friend — wouldn’t have done that.

  Maybe it wasn’t all Rod’s fault. Maybe his parents were to blame more than Rod was. Their arguments could make a household miserable to live in.

  Rod was unhappy, no doubt about that. And at times he got bitter, like the time he had shouted at Sandy when they were trapped on the side of the gorge. Maybe it was doing things like that that kept him from having friends. Friends his own age. Guess being popular didn’t mean a guy had friends, too.

  But it was my fault that I’d lost my friends, thought Sandy. I had ignored them. I had pretended I was a hotshot because I was with Rod. And I’m ashamed to tell them that I leave the games early because I have to watch my kid sisters.

  How was he going to get them back? How was he going to fix things so that they’d all be like they were before?

  He didn’t know what to do, but he had to do something.

  He still hadn’t solved the problem by the time they left for home Monday night. Dad wanted to get home early, to have a good night’s sleep and be fresh for work in the morning.

  Sandy wished Tuesday would never come. The Spacemen were playing the Batwings. Though the Spacemen had beaten them before, the Batwings were no pushovers.

  It wasn’t winning or losing that really bothered him. It was facing the guys — especially Nibbs and Jules. As long as he could remember, they’d been his closest friends. Now he and they were miles apart. He had never realized before how lonely it was not to have at least one friend — a friend your age — who you could call up on the phone, or yell at on the street, or whose house you could go to and spend a few hours. You might as well have never been born.

  The Spacemen were up first, and Kerry Dean led off with a pop fly to the first baseman. Nibbs waited out Ed Thomas, the Batwings’ short right-hander. Then, with a two-and-two count, he rapped a hit just over Ed’s head. Ed leaped, but not high enough. Nibbs was on with a single.

  Sandy came up. He tapped the tip of his bat against the plate and looked at Nibbs standing with his hands on his knees on first. None of that “Come on, Sandy! Blast it!” from Nibbs as there used to be. Nibbs was dead silent. From the bench came a few scattered yells. And from the stands. It seemed that only a few cared whether he hit or not.

  Crack! A pop fly straight up into the air over his head. He dropped his bat and started to run. Nibbs had run off the bag and was standing several feet away from it, watching a Batwing go after the ball. It was either the catcher or the pitcher, Sandy didn’t look to see.

  Then the Batwing fans let out a happy yell, and Nibbs hurried back to first. Sandy turned two-thirds of the way to the base and jogged back to the dugout, in time to see the catcher toss the ball back to the pitcher.

  “Get one the next time, Sandy,” a fan said.

  Well, at least someone was rooting for him.

  Cookie Lamarr smashed a long, shallow drive between left and center fields, scoring Nibbs, and stopped on third for a neat triple. Marty Loomis struck out to end the top of the first inning.

  Duke Miller struck out the first Bat-wing hitter, and the second hit a slow grounder to him, which he fielded easily. The next batter popped a blooping fly to him. It was Duke all the way that bottom half of the inning.

  Stubby got on due to an error by the third baseman, then went to second on Ken Bockman’s sacrifice bunt. Punk Peters singled, and Duke pounded a double, scoring Stubby. Ike Norman held Punk up at third.

  “Ducks on the pond!” yelled a fan. “Knock $em in!”

  Kerry flied out for the second time. Then Nibbs walked, loading the bases, and Sandy came to bat.

  “Sandy, put on your helmet,” said the umpire.

  Sandy flushed. He had forgotten his protective helmet! He turned and started to get one, but Phil was bringing it to him.

  “Thanks, Phil,” he said softly.

  He put the helmet on and stepped into the box. Sweat popped out on his forehead. He held his bat over his shoulder, waving it back and forth just a little, and watched Ed Thomas stretch and throw. The pitch looked letter-high. He swung.

  “Strike one!” yelled the ump.

  “Thataway to pitch, Eddie!” cried the Batwing fans.

  “Hit that ol’ onion!” shouted the Spacemen rooters.

  Another pitch almost in the same spot. Sandy swung.

  “Strike two!”

  Sandy grit his teeth. Sweat blurred his eyes and he wiped it away. He got ready for Ed’s next pitch. It was in there again and he swung.

  “Strike three!”

  A roar burst from the Batwing fans and players. Sandy, his heart a ba
ll of lead, tossed bat and helmet toward the dugout and trotted out to short, his eyes lowered to the grass at his feet.

  The first ball Duke pitched was knocked to Sandy. Still flustered over the strikeout with the bases loaded, Sandy fumbled it. Finally he picked it up. By then it was too late to throw.

  The next Batwing hit to Nibbs. Nibbs caught the grounder and turned to toss the ball to Sandy at second. But Sandy wasn’t there!

  Sandy woke up. He had forgotten about a possible double play! He rushed to second. Again he was too late. He caught Nibbs’s throw, but the runner was already there. Hurriedly he pegged to first. The peg was wild. Both runners advanced a base.

  The Batwings kept hitting and knocked in three runs before the Spacemen could get them out. The Spacemen picked up three, including a homer by Ken Bockman. But the Batwings scored four runs in the bottom of the third — two on Sandy’s two errors — and climbed into the lead, 7 to 5.

  When the spacemen came to bat it was almost time for Sandy to leave for home. He was first batter, and he was greatly relieved when Coach Malone had Ike Norman pinch-hit for him. He watched Ike drop a single over second base. Then, his glove on his hand, Sandy trotted all the way home.

  His eyes popped at the sight of Mom. She and Pop were sitting on lawn chairs in the back yard, watching Jo Ann and Elizabeth playing in the sandbox.

  Sandy stared. “Mom! Aren’t you going to work?”

  She smiled. “I told you this morning. I have vacation all this week.”

  15

  SANDY didn’t go back to the game. He didn’t care to show himself there again today, not after those errors he had made.

  They were silly errors. He would not have made them if he had kept his mind on what he was doing. Like throwing that wild peg to first base, for instance. If he had been thinking he would’ve realized that the runner was going to be safe.

  He read the final score in Wednesday’s Sharil Journal. The Batwings had won 9 to 8.

  “Sandor,” Mom said early that afternoon, “Nibbs and your other friends have not been here in a long time. Is there something wrong?”

  He blushed. “They’re mad at me.”

  Her eyes widened. “Mad? Why?”

  “Well, quite a few times I went with Rod Temple on his bike instead of with them. I didn’t realize I was ignoring them. Guess I thought Rod and I were… well, hotshots. And they don’t like my leaving the game after I play three or four innings.”

  “Do they know you must come home to watch over your sisters?”

  “No. I haven’t told them.”

  “Then you should. It is nothing to be ashamed of. And on the baseball field be friendly to them as you were before. Maybe they think you are still a — a hotshot, and don’t want to talk to them.”

  Sandy thought about it. “Maybe you’re right, Mom. Maybe that’s what they think. I can try, anyway.”

  Mom patted his hand. “Since I don’t work this week, I will go to your ball game and take Jo Ann and Elizabeth with me. We will all cheer for you.”

  The Sharks were up first against the Spacemen on Thursday. Mom sat with Jo Ann and Elizabeth behind the backstop screen. Sandy wished Pop were there, too. Pop hadn’t seen a game this year. But he was working.

  It was hard to start shouting in the infield, shouting the way he used to before things had happened between him and his friends. But he tried. “Come on, Dick! Drill that pill by ’im!”

  Kerry Dean kept up the chatter, too. Then Nibbs, Ken and Marty. Cookie Lamarr, Stubby Tobin and Punk Peters joined in from the outfield.

  Dick pitched hard. A grounder to Kerry, a pop-up to Sandy, a strikeout. The Sharks went down one, two, three.

  Kerry Dean led off with a walk. Nibbs struck out.

  “Okay, Nibbs!” shouted Sandy. “Hit him next time!”

  It was hard yelling that. But he forced himself to, and Nibbs looked at him with a kind of startled expression on his face.

  Sandy pulled on a helmet and walked to the plate. He wondered if Nibbs, Jules or Punk would yell something at him, but none of them did. It was the same few other guys who yelled.

  He waited out Red Billings’s pitches, got a two-two count, then swung at a knee-high pitch. A long fly to center. The Sharks’ center fielder raced back and caught it. Cookie, up next, drilled a grass-cutter over the third-base sack for two bases, driving in Kerry. The shortstop missed Marty’s hard grounder, and Cookie advanced to third. Stubby Tobin flied out to end the bottom half of the first inning.

  Dick Regan’s first pitch was drilled hard down to short. Sandy, holding his breath, waited for it. He tried to play the hop — missed! The ball bounded over his head and rolled to the edge of the grass behind him. He raced after it, picked it up, started to throw, saw that it was too late and held up.

  “Sorry, Dick,” he said as he tossed Dick the ball.

  “Forget it,” said Dick. “Get two.”

  Sandy started the chatter. He wasn’t going to let that error bother him. His teammates quickly joined in. Dick threw. A long drive to left center! Sandy took the throw-in from Cookie and relayed it home. It was a long triple, scoring a run.

  Then Nibbs missed a hot grounder, and the man on third scored. Nibbs was scowling.

  “Forget it, Nibbs!” yelled Sandy. “Let’s get two!”

  Nibbs looked at him. A smile broke across his face. Sandy smiled back.

  Nibbs spat into his glove. “C’mon!” he shouted. “Let’s go!”

  A blistering grounder to second. Sandy ran over to cover. Nibbs fielded the ball and tossed it to Sandy. Sandy caught it, touched the bag and pegged to first. A double play!

  The Spacemen got a hit in the bottom of the second but failed to score. In the top of the third the Sharks couldn’t score, either. Sandy started off the bottom of the inning with a double. Cookie singled. Sandy ran as hard as he could around third and slid into home under the Sharks’ catchers mitt. Safe!

  “Nice run, Sandy!” cried Kerry. “Hey, isn’t it almost time you left for home?”

  “I don’t have to watch my kid sisters today.” Sandy grinned, pointing at the stands. “They’re here with my mother. She doesn’t have to work today.”

  Kerry, and some of the other guys who heard him, stared. “Is that why you always quit so early?”

  “Sure. What other reason would there be?”

  He expected a laugh. But they just looked at him, sort of dumbfounded.

  Red Billings seemed shaken as he walked Marty. But then he struck out Stubby. That didn’t dim the Spacemen’s hopes, though. Keeping up their steady chatter, they sounded like a chorus. It was like it used to be. Only better. Much better.

  “Blast it, Ken!” they shouted as Ken Bockman stepped to the plate. “Out of the park!”

  Ken almost did. The long blast to right center went for three bases, scoring Cookie and Marty. Punk flied out. The shortstop missed Dick’s sizzling grounder, and Ken scored. Kerry flied out to end the big half-inning.

  The Sharks picked up two in the top of the fourth. The Spacemen got them back on a double by Nibbs, a single by Sandy, and an error. The Sharks hit Dick Regan hard in the fifth, collecting two runs. Two men were on when Coach Malone took Dick out and put in Duke Miller.

  Duke seemed to have trouble getting the ball over the plate. He walked the batter. A scratch single drove in the Sharks’ third run of the inning. Then Duke bore down and, with the help of his teammates, retired the Sharks.

  Duke led off in the bottom of the fifth. A cheer greeted him as he strode to the plate. Crack! A high-hopping grounder over Red’s head for a single. Then Frank Mintz, who had taken Kerry’s place at third, lined one out to deep left. It kept going… going… It was gone! A home run!

  Nibbs singled, then was put out when Ike Norman hit into a double play. Jules ended the bottom half of the inning by flying out.

  The Sharks came up for their last try to go ahead again. The Spacemen were leading 9 to 7. A strikeout by Duke, a fly ball to Oink Decker in cent
er field, and a grounder to Nibbs ended the ball game.

  “Way to pitch!” yelled Sandy as he rushed out to Duke and grabbed his hand. “Nice going, Nibbs! Looked as if you had a magnetic glove!”

  Nibbs laughed. “How about going swimming after we get out of these monkey suits?”

  “Sure!” exclaimed Sandy. “How about it, Jules?”

  “Swimming? Man, I’m beat! But, sure! Why not?”

  They started off the field together.

  “Sandor! Wait for us!” came a cry behind them.

  Sandy looked over his shoulder. There were Mom and his two sisters running after him, all three smiling happily.

  How many of these Matt Christopher

  sports classics have you read?

  Baseball Pals Long Stretch at First Base

  The Basket Counts Look Who’s Playing First Base

  Catch That Pass! Miracle at the Plate

  Catcher with a Glass Arm No Arm in Left Field

  Challenge at Second Base Red-Hot Hightops

  The Counterfeit Tackle Return of the Home Run Kid

  The Diamond Champs Run, Billy, Run

  Dirt Bike Racer Shortstop from Tokyo

  Dirt Bike Runaway Skateboard Tough

  Face-Off Soccer Halfback

  Football Fugitive The Submarine Pitch

  The Fox Steals Home Supercharged Infield

  The Great Quarterback Switch Tackle Without a Team

  Hard Drive to Short Tight End

  The Hockey Machine Too Hot to Handle

  Ice Magic Touchdown for Tommy

  Johnny Long Legs Tough to Tackle

  The Kid Who Only Hit Homers Undercover Tailback

  Little Lefty Wingman on Ice

  Long Shot for Paul The Year Mom Won the Pennant

  All available in paperback from Little, Brown and Company

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