Read Online The Hit-Away Kid by Matt Christopher - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Matt Christopher
Ads: Link
to do. Eventhough he was leadoff hitter for the Mudders, he was known by a lot of the players and fans as a hit-away batter, and he liked
that. It made him feel good. Important.
Anyway, so far today he had gotten a single and a walk. He deserved to keep swinging. Maybe this time he could sock the old
apple out of the lot for a two-run homer. He was due for a round-tripper.
Barry stepped into the box, waited for the first pitch, and shifted into a bunting position. He missed the pitch deliberately.
He missed the second one, too, even though both pitches were almost directly over the heart of the plate.
Then he looked at the coach again and saw him give the hit-away sign. Barry hid a grin. I fooled him, he thought.
He didn’t hit a round-tripper, but he managed to lace a line drive between third base and shortstop for a single.
“That-away, hit-away!” a fan yelled.
Barry smiled.
“Tell me something, Barry,” Monk, the Belk’s first baseman, said. “Did you really catch that fly ball?”
Barry stared at him. “Of course I did!” he snapped. He let his eyes bore into Monk’s dark ones for a moment, then he leaned
over to tuck his blue socks under his white pant-legs. He hated to lie. But it was too late to tell the truth now. Like his
father used to say when such situations came up, Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you.
Turtleneck Jones — who got his nickname from the turtleneck sweaters he usually wore — batted next and drove a double between
left and center fields. Sparrow scored, and Barry circled the bases to third.
Coach Parker approached Barry from the coaching box. His eyes were shadowed by the baseball cap pushed low over his forehead.
“Barry, who do you think you’re kidding?” the coach said sharply. “You missed bunting those balls on purpose. You were lucky
to get a hit, but the next time I give you a bunt sign, you bunt. Understand?”
Barry blushed. So he
hadn’t
fooled him.
Silent, he nodded.
“Okay. Play it safe,” Coach Parker cautioned. “Make sure the ball goes through the infield before you run for home.”
The coach returned to the coaching box, and Barry turned his attention back to the batter, his best friend, José Mendez. José
took a called strike, then popped out to short for the first out, bringing up T.V. Adams. T.V. was short, stocky, and
smart,
and he could hit the ball a mile — if he connected. Barry remembered that T.V. had doubled in the second inning and flied
out in the third. As a cleanup hitter, he’s due for another long hit, Barry thought.
He glanced back over his shoulder at the scoreboard. Junk Shop 6, Mudders 5.
A hit could score two runs, putting the Mudders ahead, Barry reflected. But suppose T.V. didn’t get a hit? Suppose he popped
up, or hit a grounder …?
“Keep on your toes,” Coach Parker’s softvoice reached him. “If he hits it, make sure it goes through.”
“Strike two!” cried the umpire, as Finky O’Dell, the Junk Shop’s left-handed pitcher, steamed his second pitch past T.V.
Oh, no! Barry thought. What’s T.V. going to do? Strike out?
Then …
crack!
A sharp grounder down toward first base! T.V. dropped his bat and scooted for first. And Barry, seeing that the ball
seemed
to be heading past Monk’s right side, bolted for home.
“Barry! Wait up!” Barry heard the coach yell.
But he was several running steps away from third base by now, too late to turn around and go back. Monk was diving after the
ball, which was between him and the bag, and Barry thought,
I should be able to make it. And we need this run to tie the score.
3
“Hit the dirt! Hit it!” cried Bus, standing beside the plate with a bat in his hand.
Barry’s cap had already blown off halfway down the basepath, and he was puffing like a steam engine as he raced for home,
where Brian Feinberg was waiting for the throw-in from first base. Barry hit the dirt just as Brian caught the ball. Barry
tried to slide
that. It made him feel good. Important.
Anyway, so far today he had gotten a single and a walk. He deserved to keep swinging. Maybe this time he could sock the old
apple out of the lot for a two-run homer. He was due for a round-tripper.
Barry stepped into the box, waited for the first pitch, and shifted into a bunting position. He missed the pitch deliberately.
He missed the second one, too, even though both pitches were almost directly over the heart of the plate.
Then he looked at the coach again and saw him give the hit-away sign. Barry hid a grin. I fooled him, he thought.
He didn’t hit a round-tripper, but he managed to lace a line drive between third base and shortstop for a single.
“That-away, hit-away!” a fan yelled.
Barry smiled.
“Tell me something, Barry,” Monk, the Belk’s first baseman, said. “Did you really catch that fly ball?”
Barry stared at him. “Of course I did!” he snapped. He let his eyes bore into Monk’s dark ones for a moment, then he leaned
over to tuck his blue socks under his white pant-legs. He hated to lie. But it was too late to tell the truth now. Like his
father used to say when such situations came up, Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you.
Turtleneck Jones — who got his nickname from the turtleneck sweaters he usually wore — batted next and drove a double between
left and center fields. Sparrow scored, and Barry circled the bases to third.
Coach Parker approached Barry from the coaching box. His eyes were shadowed by the baseball cap pushed low over his forehead.
“Barry, who do you think you’re kidding?” the coach said sharply. “You missed bunting those balls on purpose. You were lucky
to get a hit, but the next time I give you a bunt sign, you bunt. Understand?”
Barry blushed. So he
hadn’t
fooled him.
Silent, he nodded.
“Okay. Play it safe,” Coach Parker cautioned. “Make sure the ball goes through the infield before you run for home.”
The coach returned to the coaching box, and Barry turned his attention back to the batter, his best friend, José Mendez. José
took a called strike, then popped out to short for the first out, bringing up T.V. Adams. T.V. was short, stocky, and
smart,
and he could hit the ball a mile — if he connected. Barry remembered that T.V. had doubled in the second inning and flied
out in the third. As a cleanup hitter, he’s due for another long hit, Barry thought.
He glanced back over his shoulder at the scoreboard. Junk Shop 6, Mudders 5.
A hit could score two runs, putting the Mudders ahead, Barry reflected. But suppose T.V. didn’t get a hit? Suppose he popped
up, or hit a grounder …?
“Keep on your toes,” Coach Parker’s softvoice reached him. “If he hits it, make sure it goes through.”
“Strike two!” cried the umpire, as Finky O’Dell, the Junk Shop’s left-handed pitcher, steamed his second pitch past T.V.
Oh, no! Barry thought. What’s T.V. going to do? Strike out?
Then …
crack!
A sharp grounder down toward first base! T.V. dropped his bat and scooted for first. And Barry, seeing that the ball
seemed
to be heading past Monk’s right side, bolted for home.
“Barry! Wait up!” Barry heard the coach yell.
But he was several running steps away from third base by now, too late to turn around and go back. Monk was diving after the
ball, which was between him and the bag, and Barry thought,
I should be able to make it. And we need this run to tie the score.
3
“Hit the dirt! Hit it!” cried Bus, standing beside the plate with a bat in his hand.
Barry’s cap had already blown off halfway down the basepath, and he was puffing like a steam engine as he raced for home,
where Brian Feinberg was waiting for the throw-in from first base. Barry hit the dirt just as Brian caught the ball. Barry
tried to slide
Similar Books
