The 823rd Hit (7 page)

The Porcupines didn't score again the whole game, and the Rogues wound up winning, 5–3. The catcher hit a three-run homer in the fifth inning. He must not have hated hitting against lefties
that
much.

The Rogues were a lot less nervous after
the game. They were now one win away from clinching the series, after all. Plus their pitching coach had cleared Damien Ricken to start the next day. Usually pitchers take four days between starts. Damien only had three, but a lot of stuff changed in the playoffs.

“We'll wrap this thing up tomorrow,” said one of the Rogues.

ost of the Porcupines were gone by the time I got to the locker room. Those who were still there talked about big hits they didn't get and the line drives they didn't catch.

“It's my fault,” said Teddy. “I snuffed that rally in the first inning. I'm zero for whatever, the whole series. I haven't had a hit in weeks. If Grumps had anyone else, I would be out of the lineup.”

“It's not all on you,” said Wayne Zane. “It's mostly on me,” said Teddy. “I know it.”

“The series isn't over,” Tommy said. “Sheesh. If we win tomorrow, the series will be tied.”

“Yeah … with game five back at Rosedale,” said Sammy. “Plus Ricken is pitching tomorrow.”

“Then so am I.”

We all looked over at Lance Pantaño. I hadn't even realized he was still there.

“Are you ready to pitch on three days' rest?” Wayne asked him.

“I will be,” Lance replied. “Now, where's my coffee mug?”

• • •

“Want to go with me to Casey's?” I asked Dylan when we were done. “I want to give him his ball.”

“He didn't come to the game?”

“Nah. He said his parents were so busy house-hunting, they didn't get tickets in time.
He's coming tomorrow with the whole family. He said he was sure the Rogues would win today and he wanted to see them take the series.” I figured Casey would be twice as smug tomorrow if the Rogues did win, so I wanted to get this over with.

“Sure, I'll go,” said Dylan. “It's not that late. It'll be nice to see Arthur.”

Arthur was even happier to see Dylan. The cat meowed and rubbed his head against Dylan's legs.

“That's a good kitty.” Dylan crouched to stroke the cat's head. Arthur purred happily.

“With you, he is,” said Uncle Marvin.

Arthur suddenly leaped onto the couch, through the window, and out to the porch. He loped back into the room with something in his mouth. He dropped it at Dylan's feet.

“A present? For me?” Dylan picked up a wet, chewed-up, clawed-up, slobbery lump.

“My home run ball!” said Uncle Marvin. “I told you somebody stole it.”

“Thank you,” Dylan told the cat. He handed the ball to Uncle Marvin and then knelt to give Arthur a good belly rub.

“Well, it's been chewed up and spat out,” said Uncle Marvin, looking at the ball. “But I'm glad to have it back.” He got a kitchen towel and wiped off the ball. He hummed while he worked.

“Would you sell it now?” I asked him. “I know Teddy really wants it back.”

“No, sir!” the old man said.

“But it's important.” I explained about Teddy's slump. “He thinks he needs the baseball back or he'll never get another hit.”

“That's silly,” said Casey.

“It's true
because
he thinks it,” I told him. “That's how baseball players are.”

“I don't know,” said Uncle Marvin. “I can see why your friend needs it, but this ball means a lot to me.”

“He said he'd give you a hundred bucks,” I said.

“Ah, what would I do with a hundred dollars?” asked Uncle Marvin. “I've already got a hundred dollars.”

“What about a trade? I have a card of that guy who used to play for the Cubs. The one who hit the homer your brother caught.”

Uncle Marvin shot up straight in his chair. “You have an Andy Pafko baseball card?”

“Yeah, him. He's a Dodger on the card, though. Is that OK?”

“Holy Zamboni!” said Uncle Marvin. He jumped up and peered out the window, then closed the blinds. He came back and whispered, “You can't be too careful. Kid, I want to level with you. I want that card, and I want it bad. It may be the one thing on earth I want more than this home run ball. Can I see it?”

“I don't have it here,” I said.

“We'll go to your house, then,” said Uncle Marvin. “I'll drive.”

I groaned. “I don't have it at home, either. It's in my desk at school.” It was my teacher's fault. She didn't give us any math homework that weekend, and the Andy Pafko card was still at school, tucked between the pages of my math book. I had gotten used to looking at the card as I was making my way through math
problems. “You can do it!” Andy's face always seemed to say.

“Hmm. That does complicate things,” said Uncle Marvin.

“If you give me the ball now, I'll bring you the card on Monday,” I promised. “Teddy could really use it for the game tomorrow.”

“Don't do it!” said Casey. “Don't help the Porcupines, Uncle Marvin!”

“I'd rather have the card by tomorrow, anyway,” said Uncle Marvin.

I glanced at the clock. There might be time. If the rehearsal was still going on, Ms. Henry would be there, and I could ask her to let me into the classroom.

“We need to go to the school,” I said.

“I'll drive you,” said Uncle Marvin.

“I'm coming too,” said Casey.

“To the batboymobile!” said Dylan.

he batboymobile turned out to be a huge Buick from caveman times. All three of us fit in the back with room to spare. Unfortunately, to Uncle Marvin, “hurrying” meant going five miles below the speed limit. I just hoped we didn't show up to find the doors locked and the school empty.

We were in luck. One of the gym doors was open. I went inside and saw Abby on the stage, reading from a script. “I'm so cold,” she said with a shiver. “My hands are numb.” The way she said it made
me
feel cold.

“Very nice,” said Ms. Henry.

I hustled across the gym to the stage.

“Chad?” said Ms. Henry. “The play is already cast, but if you really want to be in it, I
could
use more boys—”

“How did the game go?” Abby interrupted. “Did the Porcupines win?”

“I'll think about it,” I told Ms. Henry. I turned to Abby. “We lost and the crowd was chanting for Spike.”

I turned back to Ms. Henry. “Can you please let me into the classroom for ten seconds? I have a math emergency.”

Ten minutes later, I was back in the batboymobile with my math book.

“I'm in the play,” I told Dylan and Casey. “I felt like I owed Ms. Henry, so I agreed to be in it. She needed boys.”

“What role?” Dylan asked.

“Passerby number three.” At least I was a human being this time.

“Let's see the card,” said Uncle Marvin. I flipped through the pages of my math book until I found the Andy Pafko card. I gave it one last look. I liked this card … and it had been one of Grandpa's.

I thought about Teddy's notebook, and all those blank pages waiting to be filled with hits.

I looked at Uncle Marvin. He was trembling with excitement.

I looked at the card. “You can do it, kid!” Andy Pafko seemed to say.

I reached out and gave the card to Uncle Marvin.

“It's just like I remember it,” he said. He flipped it over. “It's got a red back too. Just like Carl's. I'd forgotten about that. Pafko was a
Dodger by the time he got a card. Carl liked it anyhow.” The old man gulped.

Casey leaned forward from the back. “Carl? You mean Granddad?”

“That's who I mean,” said Marvin. “When I was ten years old, I got my first bike. It was a Schwinn Panther. That was a beautiful bike, boys. They don't make them like that anymore. Mine was royal blue, and I liked it because it was the same color as the Cubs' uniforms. I took that bike out and I was on top of the world for all of five minutes. Then I saw another boy on the exact same bike. He had playing cards fastened to the spokes of the front wheel with clothespins, and it made his bike sound like a motorbike. Well, suddenly my bike didn't seem so hot. I wanted to do the same thing to my spokes. What I did was a horrible thing.”