Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10)

by David B. Smith

  The next one was closer to the plate but still outside. Not wanting to have a reputation as a looker, Bucky slapped at the ball and poked a hard single through the right side of the infield. “Nice one!” Coach Demerest said. “Way to go with the pitch.”

  For the next five minutes, Bucky rocketed shot after shot deep into the outfield. His timing on offspeed pitches was nearly perfect, and on two of Dennis’s hard fastballs he smashed moon shots clear over the fence. He was glowing as he finally stepped out and tossed his batting helmet against the backstop. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the new athletic director nod at the assistant trainer and write something down on his chart.

  “Lord, you did it!” he whispered, almost aloud, still pumped up from knowing he’d had a hot session. “Help Dan too!”

  A couple minutes later the pitcher walked off the mound and approached home plate with a huge grin on his face. “Come on,” he complained with a laugh. “I can’t get it past these two guys. Let someone else pitch.” Dan had sprayed vicious line drives all over the outfield, bashing a number of deep drives up against the fence. Only two pitches so far had rolled into fielders’ gloves or been caught in the outfield.

  “Just remember, they’ll be playing for us,” Coach retorted. “It’s your job to get the other team’s batters out, not our guys.” He paused. “You sure you’re giving them your best stuff? They didn’t promise you a free Big Mac or something?”

  “No way, man,” the catcher piped up from his position behind the plate. “That was electric heat comin’ in, coach. These guys are just hot, that’s all.”

  Defensive practice was equally a showcase for the Litton/Stone team as the two outfielders alertly picked off balls and wicked line drives. Ricardo’s three training sessions with them had paid off handsomely, as Bucky and Dan demonstrated their range and accurately hit the cutoff man with balls batted up against the fence. Dan in particular drew gasps as he successfully dove for a “gapper” that would otherwise have been a sure triple.

  The field was thinning out as players, their tryouts concluded, ambled over to the parking lot. Bucky detoured over to the foul line and scooped up several tattered baseballs that other fielders had left behind.

  “Stone, you’re such a saint,” Dan teased. “Always going the extra mile and all that.”

  “You got it.”

  The pair walked slowly across the infield, savoring the pleasant reality that they’d both hit the jackpot in the tryouts. “There ain’t no way this new guy is gonna keep us off varsity,” Dan crowed, tossing his glove up in the air and neatly catching it behind his back. “Man, that was awesome.”

  He cocked his head to one side as he crossed the pitching mound. “Hey, Stone,” he teased. “Take those balls you got and see if you can throw a strike.”

  Bucky laughed. “No way. I can’t pitch.”

  “Come on, shorty. You’re such a superstar. Show me what you got.”

  A shrug. “If you insist.” Stepping up to the rubber, he set the three spare balls down by his feet and feigned a pitcher’s stance.

  Dan, grinning, crouched down behind home plate and offered a target. “Bottom of the ninth, World Series, Giants trying to hold a one-run lead, and Stone has come in to get the save,” he intoned comically.

  “Shut up and give me a signal.”

  The older player snickered and flapped his fingers in a random series of meaningless gestures. “Go for it.”

  Trying not to laugh, Bucky gave his glove the trademark flip that indicated a hard slider. “Very funny,” Dan hollered out. “Just throw the silly thing.”

  Bucky reared back and gave the scuffed ball a hard throw. It sailed a couple of inches outside, but made a resounding pop as it hit his friend’s mitt.

  “That’s really not that bad,” Dan observed. “Come on, Stone. Strike this imaginary Yankee out.”

  “That actually helps,” the younger player laughed. “I hate New York. If we’re facing Yankees, I’ll really bear down.” On the second pitch, he lifted up his front leg in a more exaggerated windup. Pop! The pitch was picture perfect, right down the middle. Dan held his glove stationary, and the hard strike slammed into the pocket.

  “Stone, you’re unreal,” the older boy marveled. “That’s actually pretty good heat, dude.”

  Flushed now, Bucky picked up the third ball and took careful aim. Rearing back, he put his entire body into the throw and watched with pleasure as the ball darted across the plate for another strike.

  “Did you ever pitch in little league,” Dan called out. “‘Cause you got some scary velocity, Stone.”

  “Huh uh.”

  “Give me all you got on this one,” his teammate encouraged.

  The final toss sailed just a bit outside, but it was the kind of razor-close pitch that an inexperienced hitter often would swing at. “I think you got something there, Stone,” Dan grunted as they retrieved the four balls and headed toward the locker room. “You were right around the plate on all four, and I don’t think Dennis has got you beat by more than a couple miles per hour.”

  “No way.”

  “I’m not kidding,” Dan asserted. “I’ll bet if you worked at it, you could be varsity’s number two guy. If he ever got ejected for throwing spitballs, you’d be ready to fill in. I think I’m gonna tell Coachie about what I just saw.”

  Bucky was still tingling pleasantly minutes later as the two players showered off. “Man, I still say that was almost like Twilight Zone or something. The tryout, I mean,” he muttered to his teammate as he washed away the grime from the playing field. “I couldn’t get that many hits in five years of playing.”

  “I know. And three homers off our best pitcher.”

  “Guess all we do now is wait. What’s - his - name said he isn’t going to post the varsity list until Monday.”

  As the two were dressing, Ron poked his head into the still steamy dressing area. “Litton? Stone? Can you guys spare a couple minutes? Coach Demerest would like to see you.”

  Bucky gulped. What could it be about? He knew the practice session had gone well.

  The new athletic director was more formal than Brayshaw had been. Instead of the lazy feet - propped - up - on - the - desk, he sat squarely behind it with a stoic expression his face. “You’re Stone, right? And Litton?” He offered them each a firm handshake, then motioned to the two chairs. “Have a seat, men.”

  Dan glanced over at his teammate as they sat down. “What’s . . . up?” He coughed nervously.

  Coach Demerest picked up his clipboard and glanced through the numbers. “Well, obviously, you two men are decent ballplayers.” For the first time, he showed the trace of a smile. “In fact, you’re a bit more than decent, actually.” He glanced from one to the other. “That was about the best hitting I’ve seen in a few years, and you were whacking them off one of the better arms in the district.”

  Bucky grinned. “Thanks, Coach. I guess we just kind of got in a zone or something.”

  The older man shook his head. “I don’t think so. From what Brayshaw tells me in this long report he left behind, you two men are the best in the school, period. Basketball and baseball.”

  The younger player could feel his face flushing. All the extra hours of practice, the hard driving, the drills with Dan, were about to pay off, it seemed. He gave his teammate a bit of a thumbs - up gesture.

  Coach Demerest pushed back his chair a bit and uncrossed his legs, assuming a less formal position. “Now,” he continued, picking up a pencil and examining its point quizzically. “He tells me the two of you are also kind of . . . what . . . religious? As in super . . . pious?” He cocked his head, looking at Bucky, then Dan. “So what’s that all about?”

  Bucky, surprised by the question, uncrossed his legs. “Just . . . we’re both Christians. Both of us go to church together and stuff like that.”

  The athletic director’s eyes narrowed. “That’s it?”

  “Yeah.” Dan, confused as well, leaned forward. �
��I don’t get . . . it’s not a problem, is it?” There was a bit of an edge to his voice.

  “No problem at all,” Coach Demerest replied. “As long as you two guys give me everything you’ve got out there on the field.”

  “I don’t get it either,” Bucky responded. “Why would we not?”

  The gray-haired man leaned forward, resting both elbows on the cluttered desk. “It’s just that, a couple years back, I had about four guys on a ball team I coached. All of them Christians. And you know, they just had no intensity for the game at all. One of them took off for a week to go to some spiritual training retreat or blah blah blah. Didn’t ask permission. Didn’t check with me first. And all four of them, really, I mean, if they played poorly, kind of went, ‘Oh well. God’s will.’ Losing never bothered them. And of course, I don’t want guys to get down on themselves when they mess up a play, but I want them to care. Sometimes people say, ‘Winning isn’t important.’ Well, sorry. It is important. These games matter. The school expects our players to try their best. If we’ve got the talent to bring a trophy to Hampton High, then we expect a 110% effort from our athletes. None of this sitting around, going, ‘I got a mansion in the sky; I don’t care if our team sucks down here.’”

  The little diatribe came out in a burst of barely concealed passion, and the two ballplayers looked at each other, startled. Bucky was the first to find his voice. “Look, Coach,” he said, grateful for the steady courage that came from being a senior with a long and glittering track record of achievement at the school. “Dan and I play hard. Sure, we believe in heaven and all that. But the Bible tells us to give our very best efforts, to honor God by playing with excellence and intensity.” He glanced over at his teammate. “Neither one of us smokes. We don’t drink. No drugs . . . I mean, zero. Never have, never will.” He drew a breath before adding: “We don’t cheat. You don’t have to worry about us getting busted and sitting out three games. Nothing like that.” He knew Dan was remembering back to their freshman year, and he was thankful to see his teammate nodding.

  “Yeah, Coach,” Dan assented. “You put us on varsity, and we’ll deliver. That’s a promise.”

  The athletic director seemed to relax. “Well, that’s good to hear,” he said with a tight smile. “‘Cause Dan Litton and Bucky Stone are the first two names the entire coaching staff wrote down. “Season starts in two weeks, and you’re both in the starting lineup.”

  Flushing with pleasure, Dan hopped to his feet. “We’ll be ready, Coach.” He emitted a short laugh. “And you ought to check out Stone’s fastball. If you’re short by a pitcher, he can take the mound whenever you want.”

  “Dream on.” Bucky laughed, then cut it short as he saw the coach’s face.

  Chapter Four: Elusive Lisa

  A raw, almost vicious rain swept through the Bay Area that Friday night. It pounded down hard on the roof just outside Bucky’s second - story window as he sat at his desk staring out at the gale. For this time of March, such an intense storm felt almost hostile – in fact, a few jagged bursts of lightning seemed to be deliberately attacking the distant coastline.

  “Somebody must be mad at us,” he muttered to himself going over to the door and flipping off the light switch Now the rain and the roar of the wind seemed even more cruel as the tree limbs outside his window shuddered in near - surrender.

  It was late now, and the rest of the family had gone to bed. Dad was away again on one of his professional skills development trips, and both Mom and Rachel Marie had called it a night back around 9:30. But somehow the fierceness of the storm fascinated Bucky – he didn’t feel sleepy at all.

  What about Lisa?

  He kicked against the wall in disgust as the stray thought popped into his mind for the hundredth time in the past month. It was so stupid to keep thinking about her all the time! “Things are totally, totally, totally over with her, you moron,” he grumbled to himself. It was stupid to have your mind play such broken - record tricks.

  But it seemed as if he spotted the senior girl at school often enough to keep his emotions from dying. Every time he passed her in the hallway at school, the old feeling would come surging back. And just last week, during a bit of a drizzle, he’d spotted her crossing the street as he’d pulled out into traffic in his little Toyota. For a moment he’d almost honked, but held back at the last minute.

  Another quick flash of lightning now, and a low rumble in the distance. Thunder was unusual in the Bay Area, and Bucky reached out to make sure the window was all the way closed. He flopped down on the bed.

  Almost a whole quarter had gone by now since his ill-fated phone call to Lisa. Her words had stuck in his mind with a painful ache: “Bucky, leave me alone!”

  But he didn’t want to leave her alone! Three and a half years after that first awkward meeting when he’d seen a pretty freshman girl at registration, she was still the one he wanted. So something was wrong – why couldn’t he fix it? Maybe she was mad at him – then he could find out why. He wasn’t a little kid who had to spend the rest of his life missing out on something special without knowing the reason for it.

  Maybe he could call her about something innocent . . . and then pick up some clue. “Uh, do you know the capital of Connecticut? I need it for a history paper.” Something like that. He rejected the idea immediately – it was that kind of brilliant impulse that had gotten him in trouble calling her from Waikiki.

  Monday morning between classes, he and Dan approaching the ad building, chatting about something innocuous when he suddenly remembered. “Litton, are we going to that concert next Saturday night like we talked about?”

  “You mean Mercy Me?”

  “Yeah. Those guys.”

  “You find out about tickets?”

  “I called the Christian bookstore, and they said $27 each.”

  “Sam for sure wants to go too?”

  “Yup. He gets in Thursday from Pacific. Said if we could get tickets to count him in.”

  Dan shivered in the cold March wind. “Let’s go.”

  Bucky hesitated. “Shall I get four tickets so Julie can go too?”

  “Do you guys mind?”

  “I don’t.” His friend laughed. “I figure I owe you one after that Hawaii mess anyway, where I stiffed you about three times in a row.”

  “That’s true, shorty.” Dan gave Bucky a friendly kick in the shins. “OK, four tickets. You get ‘em, and I’ll pay you back. I don’t mind driving. It’s just up to Sacramento, right?”

  “Yeah. Calvary Church.”

  “That’s the big one right off the freeway, right?”

  “Uh huh.” The two broke into a jog just as the second bell rang. “Ack. We’re late.”

  That evening after his work shift at First California Bank, Bucky waited until Mom and Rachel Marie had left for their weekly grocery trip before plopping down in the den with his cell phone. He had the whole house to himself in case his plan didn’t work.

  “First off, I ask her if she has a copy of the Constitution,” he told himself. He could have brought one home from school, but he’d accidentally - on - purpose left it behind so he’d have an excuse to call. Even Lisa couldn’t get mad at him for legitimately needing something for government class. Then, if Part One went well, he could at least mention the Mercy Me concert in Sacramento. That was for sure a low - percentage option, but if for some reason it sounded like the old Lisa had miraculously returned – well, he’d play it by ear.

  “. . . I’m sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service.” What? Manually punching in the seven digits a second time, he got the same bored recording. He knew the senior girl hadn’t moved away from Hampton Beach. Just that afternoon he had seen her out in the parking lot talking to some teacher he didn’t know. Scowling in frustration, he flipped his phone closed.

  “I swear she ain’t worth it,” he muttered to himself as he went upstairs and gave his books an angry toss onto the bed. His eternally unsuccessful quest for Lisa was turning int
o a substantial aggravation during what was supposed to be such a triumphant senior year.

  At the Friday night concert, though, some of his resentment began to burn away. The great harmonies and driving beat of the contemporary band were even better than the collection on his iPod. Calvary Church had set up a huge sound system to rival any Bay Area rock concert, and the singers were at the top of their form, performing crowd favorites from all their albums. “These guys are awesome!” Sam whistled his approval as the band finished yet another medley.

  Julie gave her boyfriend a nudge. “That one on the end’s sure cute. Don’t you think?” A mischievous grin curled around her mouth.

  Dan shrugged, refusing to take the bait. “Nah. He can’t weigh more than about one forty. I could sit on him easy.”

  “He can sure sing, though.” Bucky was savoring every note of the concert. So far they had sung every hit he’d driven to Sacramento to hear.

  Suddenly he sucked in his breath. The bass player had just led into another song, but he leaned over and whispered in Dan’s ear anyway. “Litton, who’s that up there?”

  “Where?” Din rocked his head.

  “Right up there. Second row.”

  “Nobody I know.”

  Bucky edged out a few inches into the aisle of the crowded sanctuary. Seated right near the front, a tall young man had his eyes closed and hands raised in the air as Mercy Me filled the sanctuary with one of their contemplative numbers. “Man, I know that guy,” Bucky muttered to himself.

  On the chorus of the familiar gospel song, the entire audience sang with the group members. Standing in the aisle now, right by the huge speakers, the same person had his hands clasped in front of him. From where Bucky standing, he couldn’t quite make out his profile.

  The last haunting notes faded away, and a kind of reverent applause filled the church as it melted into darkness. A single spotlight from the balcony illuminated a large cross suspended from the ceiling over the singers. “That was great,” Julie murmured, nestling her head against Dan’s shoulder. “Thanks for bringing me, babe.”