Read Online Stealing Home by Ellen Schwartz - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ellen Schwartz
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factory fence. They dragged it back and propped it upright behind home plate, anchoring it with big rocks, front and back.
Bobbie and Vito chose for home and away. Vito’s team won home first and ran out to the field, Vito on the mound, Larry at shortstop, and Louie in left field. Bobbie, a righty, picked up the bat and stood in the “batter’s box,” a square outlined in the dirt.
“No batter, no batter,” Louie chanted.
“Comin’ right atcha, Louie.” Bobbie grinned.
Vito threw. Bobbie swung. Crack! The ball shot past Larry’s outstretched glove and dropped in front of Louie.
Wow,
Joey thought,
she can hit.
Bobbie streaked toward first.
Fast, too.
Louie snatched the ball. Bobbie started sliding as Larry ran to cover Louie’s throw. He made the catch, but in a spray of dirt, Bobbie had already tagged.
She jumped up, brushing off her legs and shorts. “Safe!”
“Lucky drop,” Vito teased.
“Lucky, my eye,” Joey said loyally, and Vito laughed.
Grossie walked to home plate.
“Come on, Grossie, big hit now, you can do it,” Bobbie called.
Grossie made wide circles over his shoulder with his bat as if trying to present a moving target.
Vito threw. Grossie swung and missed by half a foot. “Stee-rike one!” Vito yelled.
“’S’okay, Grossie, you’ll get the next one,” Bobbie called.
Grossie’s bat circled. Vito delivered. Crack! A grounder toward third base. “Foul,” Vito yelled.
“O and two,” Larry said happily. “We got him, fellas.”
On the next pitch, his eyes squinting in concentration, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, Grossie connected. As the ball soared high into near right, he chugged toward first. Looking up, Larry stuck out his glove – and missed.
Bobbie rounded second and sprinted for third. Grossie advanced toward first. Larry ran down the ball and tossed it to Vito – not in time.
“I made it!” Grossie panted. “I got on base!”
“Way to go, Grossie,” Joey cheered.
“Okay, Joey, baby, bring us home,” Bobbie called from third.
Joey dug his front foot in and raised the bat high over his shoulder. The Louisville Slugger felt smooth and solid in his hands.
The first pitch came in. Joey swung, and even as he came around, he knew it was a good one. The ball hit the “sweet spot” with a satisfying crack and then sailed far and high, over Vito’s head, over Louie’s outstretched glove, heading toward the maple tree.
“Holy cow,” Grossie said, standing dumbstruck on first, watching the arc of the ball, as Bobbie raced for home.
“Move, Grossie!” Joey shouted, and with a jolt the redhead lumbered to second.
Louie chased the ball as Bobbie touched home. Grossie chugged, arms pumping. Joey touched first. Grossie rounded second with Joey close on his heels. Louie scooped up the ball.
“Run, Grossie!” Joey yelled. Plodding along, Grossie touched third, with Joey right behind him. Louie threw asGrossie crossed home. Joey was next, practically treading on Grossie’s heels, a split second before the ball landed in Vito’s glove.
“Safe!” Bobbie yelled.
“Three runs score!” Grossie said.
“Good hit, Joey,” Vito said grudgingly, “even if you did get it off me.”
Joey laughed.
By the end of the half-inning, Joey’s team had scored five runs, and they were jubilant as they took the field, Bobbie at the mound, Grossie at short, and Joey in the outfield. In short order, Vito and Larry were out. Then Louie came up.
Louie’s skinny,
Joey thought.
Doesn’t look like much of a hitter. Might as well play him in close.
Crack!
A high fly soared back… back… Cripes! Joey backed up, farther … farther …
“Watch out!” Bobbie warned.
Then Joey remembered – the maple tree. Too late. His heel caught a root just as the ball fell into his glove. He fell backwards, somersaulted, sprang up – and held up the ball.
“He’s got it! What a catch!” Bobbie yelled.
“Sheesh,” Louie said forlornly.
Beaming,
Bobbie and Vito chose for home and away. Vito’s team won home first and ran out to the field, Vito on the mound, Larry at shortstop, and Louie in left field. Bobbie, a righty, picked up the bat and stood in the “batter’s box,” a square outlined in the dirt.
“No batter, no batter,” Louie chanted.
“Comin’ right atcha, Louie.” Bobbie grinned.
Vito threw. Bobbie swung. Crack! The ball shot past Larry’s outstretched glove and dropped in front of Louie.
Wow,
Joey thought,
she can hit.
Bobbie streaked toward first.
Fast, too.
Louie snatched the ball. Bobbie started sliding as Larry ran to cover Louie’s throw. He made the catch, but in a spray of dirt, Bobbie had already tagged.
She jumped up, brushing off her legs and shorts. “Safe!”
“Lucky drop,” Vito teased.
“Lucky, my eye,” Joey said loyally, and Vito laughed.
Grossie walked to home plate.
“Come on, Grossie, big hit now, you can do it,” Bobbie called.
Grossie made wide circles over his shoulder with his bat as if trying to present a moving target.
Vito threw. Grossie swung and missed by half a foot. “Stee-rike one!” Vito yelled.
“’S’okay, Grossie, you’ll get the next one,” Bobbie called.
Grossie’s bat circled. Vito delivered. Crack! A grounder toward third base. “Foul,” Vito yelled.
“O and two,” Larry said happily. “We got him, fellas.”
On the next pitch, his eyes squinting in concentration, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, Grossie connected. As the ball soared high into near right, he chugged toward first. Looking up, Larry stuck out his glove – and missed.
Bobbie rounded second and sprinted for third. Grossie advanced toward first. Larry ran down the ball and tossed it to Vito – not in time.
“I made it!” Grossie panted. “I got on base!”
“Way to go, Grossie,” Joey cheered.
“Okay, Joey, baby, bring us home,” Bobbie called from third.
Joey dug his front foot in and raised the bat high over his shoulder. The Louisville Slugger felt smooth and solid in his hands.
The first pitch came in. Joey swung, and even as he came around, he knew it was a good one. The ball hit the “sweet spot” with a satisfying crack and then sailed far and high, over Vito’s head, over Louie’s outstretched glove, heading toward the maple tree.
“Holy cow,” Grossie said, standing dumbstruck on first, watching the arc of the ball, as Bobbie raced for home.
“Move, Grossie!” Joey shouted, and with a jolt the redhead lumbered to second.
Louie chased the ball as Bobbie touched home. Grossie chugged, arms pumping. Joey touched first. Grossie rounded second with Joey close on his heels. Louie scooped up the ball.
“Run, Grossie!” Joey yelled. Plodding along, Grossie touched third, with Joey right behind him. Louie threw asGrossie crossed home. Joey was next, practically treading on Grossie’s heels, a split second before the ball landed in Vito’s glove.
“Safe!” Bobbie yelled.
“Three runs score!” Grossie said.
“Good hit, Joey,” Vito said grudgingly, “even if you did get it off me.”
Joey laughed.
By the end of the half-inning, Joey’s team had scored five runs, and they were jubilant as they took the field, Bobbie at the mound, Grossie at short, and Joey in the outfield. In short order, Vito and Larry were out. Then Louie came up.
Louie’s skinny,
Joey thought.
Doesn’t look like much of a hitter. Might as well play him in close.
Crack!
A high fly soared back… back… Cripes! Joey backed up, farther … farther …
“Watch out!” Bobbie warned.
Then Joey remembered – the maple tree. Too late. His heel caught a root just as the ball fell into his glove. He fell backwards, somersaulted, sprang up – and held up the ball.
“He’s got it! What a catch!” Bobbie yelled.
“Sheesh,” Louie said forlornly.
Beaming,
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