Read Online Mickey & Me by Dan Gutman - Free Book Online Page A

arm, I dug for third.
    The element of surprise gave me a slight advantage. The third baseman rushed to the bag to get into position for the throw. Max Carey, coaching third, put his hands down, the classic “slide” sign.
    I remembered reading in one of my baseball books at home that Ty Cobb used to look at the infielder’s eyes while he slid into the base. The eyes told him where the ball was going. Then he would either slide his toe into the opposite side of the base or stick his toe in the path of the ball and try to kick it away.
    I tried to do that too. I ran all out, and while the third baseman waited for the throw, I slid in and stuck my foot into her glove. The ball hit my cleat and bounced away. She let out a curse.
    â€œSafe!” hollered the ump.
    The Chicks were screaming and cheering in the dugout. Max Carey came over to me as I dusted off my skirt. I was gasping for breath.
    â€œOkay, good,” he said. “Now listen. You’ve got to use your noodle now. There’s one out. You’re not forced to run. Don’t do anything stupid like try to steal home. Give Ziggy the chance to drive you in. If she gets a hit, you’re home and we win. If she hits a fly ball to the outfield, you tag up and we win. A passed ball or wild pitch, you slide in and we win. But if she hits a grounder or infield pop, you stay put. Got it?”
    â€œGot it.”
    The count on Ziggy was 2-1. A good hitter’s count. Ziggy waved her bat around. She looked like she really wanted to get the game-winning hit.
    Maybe too much. She popped the ball up. I dashed back to third. The first baseman grabbed the pop for the second out. Disgusted with herself, Ziggy trudged back to the dugout. Connie Wisniewski stepped up to the plate.
    â€œC’mere,” Max Carey said to me. Then he whispered in my ear, “Steal home.”
    â€œWhat?!” I replied. “Steal home? A minute ago, you told me not to do anything stupid like steal home!”
    â€œThat was a minute ago,” Max explained. “There was only one out then, and Ziggy is a good hitter. But now there are two outs. Connie is our last hope to drive you in. If she makes an out here, we have to go to extra innings. Connie has a bum knee, and she’s not swinging the bat well. So you’ve got to drive yourself in.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œSteal home,” Carey hissed in my ear.
    You hardly ever see anybody steal home in a baseball game. There’s a good reason for that. It’s almost impossible. A thrown ball moves faster than even the fastest runner. To steal home, you have to get a great jump, a tough pitch for the catcher to handle, and a certain amount of luck.
    But if Max wanted me to go for it, I would. I took a deep breath and waited while Connie pumped her bat slowly.
    â€œGet a hit, Connie!” somebody shouted from the stands.
    â€œYou can do it!”
    I edged off third. The third baseman was a few steps in front of me, in case Connie tried to squeeze me home with a bunt. The pitcher glared at me. I wasn’t going to wait for her to wind up. As soon as she turned her head back to the plate, I took off.
    â€œShe’s going!” the catcher screamed.
    I made a run for the plate like somebody had planted a bomb in third base. The pitcher rushed her delivery. Connie backed away from the plate to give me room to slide.
    Watching the catcher’s eyes, I could tell the ball was going to get home before I would. She moved forward to block the plate.
    Just when I was about to slide, I saw the ball was already in her mitt. I was dead. My only hope was to go in standing up and knock the ball loose.
    I put my head down and arms over my face to give me at least a little protection. It was going to be a nasty collision, I knew that for sure.
    I crashed into the catcher without slowing down. Together we tumbled to the ground, all arms and legs. I fell heavily on home plate, having no idea if I was