The 823rd Hit (3 page)

walked around in the grandstand beyond first base. Somebody out here had Teddy's lucky birthday baseball. But who?

There was a man sitting in the third row who looked like he'd been punched in the eye. I slid in next to him.

“Hi, I'm Chad the batboy,” I told him. “Did you see what happened to the home run ball that bounced off the foul pole?”

“I reached for it and was sure I'd get it.” The man shook his head sadly. “But I wasn't paying attention. Somebody stuck their elbow in my
face.” He touched his eye and winced. “Is it turning black?”

“More like purple and green,” I replied.

“I didn't see who got the ball,” the man said. “Ask him.” He pointed at a big, tall guy a few rows back. “He must have got it. He's closer to the sky than everyone else.”

“Thanks. Sorry about your eye.” I ran up the steps to the big, tall guy a few rows back.

“Hi, I'm Chad the batboy. Did you see who got the home run ball that bounced off the foul pole?”

“I was sure I had it,” the big, tall guy said. His voice was low and booming. “It was almost in my hand. Then this little guy jumped up and snagged it away from me.”

“That's too bad,” I said. “Did you see who got it?”

“That's him over there.” The big, tall guy
pointed one section over. “The one in the wool hat.”

“Huh?” I only saw one person in a wool hat. He was a little old guy about the size of two peanuts stacked end on end.

“That's him, all right,” the big, tall guy said. “He's little, but he's tough.”

“OK. Thanks.”

I headed toward the man in the wool cap. I was wrong about him. He was the size of
four
stacked peanuts. Still, I couldn't believe he had outjumped the big guy. He must have really wanted that baseball!

“Hi, I'm Chad the batboy.” I offered him my hand. He just looked at it, so I took it back. “I heard you might have gotten the home run ball that bounced off the foul pole?”

“It's my ball,” the old man said. “I caught it fair and square.”

“I know. I just wanted to ask—”

“Don't waste your breath!” he said. “Don't think I'm giving it to you because you're a kid. Go ahead and make big eyes and sniffle and cry. I'm keeping the ball.”

“I'm not going to cry,” I said. “I work for the Pines. Teddy Larrabee, the player who hit the ball, wants it back.”

“Then he shouldn't have hit it so hard,” the old guy said.

“We're not asking you to just
give
it back,” I told him. “Teddy will trade you a new ball. He'll even sign it for you.”

“It's not for trade.”

“Please?” I said. “It would mean a lot to the Bear.”

“It means a lot to me,” the old man said. “I've been wanting to catch a home run ball for sixty years. I'm not waiting another sixty years.”

“Come on.” I explained how it was Teddy's birthday ball and how he had been counting his hits since T-ball. I told the man about the coinkydink of number 823.

“Nice story,” the old guy said. “But I'm still keeping the ball.”

“OK. Well, I guess I'll just tell Teddy he can't have his birthday baseball.”

“That's exactly what you should tell him.”

“Thanks anyway.”

I went back to the dugout. I'd been gone almost a whole inning. The Porcupines were just coming off the field to bat again.

“The guy who's got it wants to keep it,” I told Teddy. “He doesn't want to trade.”

“Tell him I'll give him fifty dollars,” said Teddy.

“Wow,” said Sammy. “I'll give you one of my homers for fifty bucks. Heck, I'll go up and hit a new one in my next at-bat.”

“I need that baseball,” said Teddy. “Go tell him about the fifty dollars. And if he still says no, tell him I'll give him a hundred dollars.”

“Teddy, for a hundred dollars I'll sew you a baseball,” said Wayne Zane.

“Can I hear one twenty?” Sammy started in like an auctioneer.

“One twenty!” said Danny.

“One twenty, one twenty, one twenty,”
Sammy rattled off. “Do I hear one twenty-five?”

“One fifteen!” said Brian.

“You're going the wrong way,” Wayne told him.

“But that's all I have,” said Brian.

“Stop it!” said Teddy. “I'm the one buying back a ball. You guys stay out of it.” He turned to me and said, “Tell you what—I'll write him a note.”

Teddy disappeared for a moment and returned with a notebook. He flipped to the first blank page.

“What's the guy's name?”

“He didn't tell me,” I replied.

“Dear sir,” said Teddy. He poked his tongue out of his mouth as he wrote. He ended it with a big, fancy signature. Then he folded the note and handed it to me.

“Go give him this.”

“All right. But I have to wait until the end of the inning.” I was a batboy first, messenger second.

“Hey, Teddy. What's the notebook for?” Sammy asked.

“Nothing.” The Bear shut the notebook.

“I usually don't have school supplies in my locker,” Sammy added. “That's all.”

• • •

I went back to the right field seats in the top of the seventh inning. When I got there, the man in the wool cap was gone.

I pointed to where the old guy had been sitting. “Is he coming back?” I asked a woman who was sitting nearby.

“I don't think so,” she told me. “I think
he was worried about that baseball. He was muttering about kids trying to con it off him.”

• • •

The Porcupines lost the game, 9–4, and the Rogues clinched first place in the league. They celebrated on the field. It was depressing.

“Some birthday,” Teddy grumbled as he got dressed. “We lost the game, and I lost my lucky birthday ball.”

“Maybe it's not that lucky. The first thing it did was get lost,” Wayne pointed out. “Just sayin'.”

“Yeah, maybe it's a bad-luck ball,” said Tommy.

Teddy grabbed his notebook and wrote something in it.

“What're you writing?” Wayne tried to read over his shoulder.

“N.O.Y.B.,” Teddy replied. He pulled his notebook away.

“Oooh,” said Tommy. “The Bear says it's none of your beeswax, Wayne. Step back.”

“Worst birthday ever,” Teddy mumbled. He stuffed the notebook in his bag and left the locker room.

“We should've sung the birthday song or something,” said Tommy.

“Ah, we'll catch up with him and take him out for pizza,” said Wayne.

Dylan came back from the other locker room, shaking his head.

“The Rogues think they're all that,” he said.

“I know.”

It was the least fun I had ever had at a ball game. To make things worse, it was my last game before school started.

elcome back, Chad!” Ms. Henry said as I walked into my new classroom. She knew me from the school play two years ago,
Hansel and Gretel
. Ms. Henry had been the director. My friend Abby played Gretel. I played a tree.

“You should meet Casey,” Ms. Henry said. “He's a big baseball fan, just like you.” She led me over to a new kid. His hair hung down in his face. He wore thick glasses. He was also wearing a Rosedale Rogues jersey that was two sizes too big for him. But I figured I would give the kid a chance. He was a fellow baseball fan, even if he did root for the Rogues.