Centerfield Ballhawk (2 page)

“What happened to your cheek?” Mr. Mendez asked.

Jose’s throat ached. He had to tell his father the whole truth now. “I bruised it,” he said.

“How?”

“I was at the batting cage, and I fouled off a pitch.”

“I see,” said his father. “So you didn’t go to Barry’s house. You went to the batting cage instead.”

José clamped his mouth shut and nodded. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, he thought.

“Why did you go to the batting cage? You’ve never gone there before, have you? Isn’t it expensive?”

“No. It’s only a buck for fourteen pitches. I’ve saved a few dollars from raking leaves,” José explained. “And I — I wanted
to work on my batting.”

“I don’t see why,” said Mr. Mendez. “You’re not going to be playing ball for a while.
Remember? Now, go inside. When I’m done out here, we’re going to have a little talk.”

José knew what that meant. His father would do all of the talking. Loud, angry talking. The ache in his throat got worse.
“Yes, sir.”

He started out of the garage.

“I’m disappointed, José,” his father said sternly. “You tell me one thing and do something else. What’s with you? Can’t I
trust you anymore?”

Sure, you can, Dad, José wanted to say. You just have to give me a chance.

José took a deep breath, then exhaled. “I’m sorry, Dad,” he said softly.

“That’s all I’ve been hearing from you lately: ‘I’m sorry.’ It’s time that you took responsibility for your actions,” said
Mr. Mendez. “Did you call your coach yet? Tell him you won’t be playing for the next two weeks?”

“No,” said José. He’d been hoping, like
Barry, that his father would change his mind.

“You’d better,” said Mr. Mendez. “Then go to your room until I call you.” He turned and went back to pouring oil into his
crankcase, and José went into the house to wait for another lecture.

Fighting back tears, José put an ice cube on his bruised cheek, then went to his room. He lay on his bed, wondering why things
had gone sour with his father. Two weeks without baseball! He might as well have said two months.

If only I could make him proud of me again, José thought. Hitting .375 would do it. But how could he become a good hitter
when he was one hundred percent grounded?

José groaned and punched his pillow. Then he had an idea. He could still
read
about
baseball, couldn’t he? Maybe he’d pick up a few pointers. José got up and looked for his book on Little League baseball.

But it wasn’t on the shelf. It was missing.

He looked up, down, and sideways for the book but couldn’t find it.

Somebody stole it, he thought. But who’d do that?

It had to have been Carmen. He knocked on her door and asked her about it.

“Yeah, I borrowed it,” his sister replied. She was eleven, a spitting image of their mother, who had died two years earlier.

José stared at her. “What do you want it for?”

“I wanted to bone up on the rules for softball. Linda Baker is putting a team together in the girls’ softball league, and
she asked me to play first base!”

“That’s great,” José said without much enthusiasm. Maybe you’ll wind up a better ballplayer than me, he wanted to add.

“What’s with you?” Carmen asked, noting his glum expression. “Did you break another window?”

José scowled at her. “No, one was enough. Dad grounded me from baseball.”

“Yeah, I know.” Carmen shook her head in sympathy. “Maybe he’ll forget about it.”

“Not this time,” said José. “I’m in deep.”

Carmen didn’t say anything for a moment. What could she say? José thought. She never had any problems with Dad.

Then she went over to her desk and pulled his book out from under a pile of homework. “Here,” she said, handing it to him.
“If you can’t play baseball, you might as well read about it.”

José smiled weakly. “Just what I was thinking,” he said. “Thanks.”

He left her room and picked up the phone in the hallway. He called Coach Russ Parker and told him that he couldn’t play for
the next two weeks.

“Why not?” Coach Parker wanted to know.

José explained, then hung up. I just hope I still remember how to play when the two weeks are up, he thought.

The team welcomed him back like an old friend two weeks later when the Peach Street Mudders played the Bay Street Stingers.
During the time he’d been grounded, they had lost two games and won two. And the Stingers were living up to their name. They
were like angry hornets.

But despite the Stingers’ reputation, Mudders pitcher Sparrow Fisher mowed down their lead-off batter, Nick Long, with a strikeout.

Then Henry Shaw came up and blasted the first pitch to deep center field.

José turned and bolted back toward the fence. The ball was arcing down over his head. He reached out . . . far out . . .

The ball hit the webbing of José’s glove and stuck there! It looked like a scoop of vanilla ice cream perched on a cone as
José stared at it in disbelief.

He turned and whipped the ball in, his ears ringing with the joyous yell of the fans.

“Good catch, man!” Barry cried. “I didn’t think you’d make it!”

“Just lucky,” José said.

Ted Shoemaker grounded out to third, and the top of the first half was over.

Coach Parker and the rest of the guys greeted him warmly as he ran in to the dugout. But he thought: I hope I do as well at
the plate. That was where his playing counted the most.

Barry led off with a walk, Turtleneck Jones struck out, and José stepped into the batting box. He took two balls and a strike,
then leaned into one that sailed out to deep left. It was too high. He knew before he’d taken a half a dozen steps that it
would be caught.

It was. Two out.

“That’s okay, old buddy!” Barry said as José trotted across the infield toward the dugout. “That was close to being a round-tripper!”

But it wasn’t, José wanted to say. Well, he still had two or three more bats to go.

T.V. Adams, the next batter, tripled to deep right, bringing Barry home and putting them on the scoreboard. Then Lefty Burk,
the Stingers’ skinny hurler, threw a wild pitch over Bus Mercer’s head, and T.V. trotted in for the
Mudders’ second run. Bus flied out, leaving the score Bay Street Stingers 0, Peach Street Mudders 2.

Russ Coon, the Stingers’ fourth and best hitter, led off with a clothesline drive over second base that brought the Stingers’
fans to their feet. The second José saw it coming, he sprang forward. He ran hard, dove on his stomach, and caught the ball
just before it hit the ground.

Once again the fans cheered him.

“Terrific catch, old buddy!” Barry yelled.

Grinning, José got up, tossed the ball to him, and brushed off his uniform.

Jack Taylor singled, but first base was as far as he got. The Mudders’ defense closed the top half of the inning with no runs.

Catcher Rudy Calhoun tapped the plate with his bat a few times, then singled on the first pitch for the Mudders. Nicky Chong
hit into a double play.

The Mudders got another chance to score when Alfie Maples walked. But Sparrow struck out to end the bottom of the second inning.

Jay Mancuso started off the top of the third with a single. Lefty Burk surprised the crowd by knocking a triple against the
right field fence, scoring Jay, and that was the beginning of a hitting spree that ended with Russ Coon’s home run over the
left field fence. The half-inning ended with the Stingers on top, 4 to 2.

Holy moly! José thought dismally as he came running in from the outfield. If there was ever a time for me to get a solid hit,
this is it!

Barry and Turtleneck both got on with singles. Maybe we’ll start rolling now, José thought as he stepped to the plate.

“Keep it going, José!” Barry shouted.

José swung at two pitches, missed them both, and stepped out of the box. He was sweating, and his heart was beating like a
drum.

“Ball!” boomed the ump.

“Ball two!”

Then “Ball three!” and once again, José stepped out of the batting box. He could hear Barry shouting to him from first base.
“Over the fence, José!”

José took a deep breath, let it out, and stepped back in the box.

The pitch came in. He swung.
Whiff!
He’d struck out!

Sick and embarrassed, he went back to the bench. How am I ever going to hit .375 by striking out? he thought. If I do that
again, Coach Parker might bench me. How can I improve by sitting on the bench? Good thing Dad isn’t here to see
this.

T.V. Adams came through with a long triple to left center field, scoring both Barry and Turtleneck, and tying the score, 4
to 4.

The Mudders’ infield played some strong defense in the top of the fourth inning. Not a Stinger reached first base.

José sat glumly in the dugout as he watched Alfie step to the plate in the bottom half of the fourth. Alfie took two pitches,
then flied out to left.

Sparrow got on when he drove one to center field and Hogie Mitchell, the Stingers’ centerfielder, dropped it.

“All riiiight!” José cried. “Come on, Barry! Get on!”

Barry doubled to right center, sending Sparrow all around to third.