Chapter 27

By now, the last full week of school, we didn't really practice much baseball after school. We would get together for about an hour, maybe do a little running and stretching. We pitchers would throw a little to loosen our arms. We'd take a little BP. We would laugh and talk over our favorite parts of the season. The state championship tournament began tomorrow, against Crest View High School, a school from about an hour and a half south of us. They were supposed to have an excellent pitcher, and were one of the top-hitting teams in the state this year. We had me, and we could hit pretty well most of the time, but we were all aware that this could be our last game.

Coming up to bat in the top of the sixth inning, we were behind, 2-0. I had walked the leadoff batter in the bottom of the fourth, and the next guy had taken my fastball out of the yard. A very good hitting team, indeed.

But not, as it turned out, particularly well-coached. With one out, Bobby had singled. Rabbit had bunted the ball down the third base line, and their third baseman had just missed it when he went to scoop it up for the throw. Only a heads-up play by their shortstop had kept Bobby from scampering to third.

With the count at two balls and two strikes, I got the curve, and once again I couldn't lay off. Once again, I popped it up to the shortstop. This time, the umpire behind the plate called out "Infield fly, batter out."

And it had no effect at all. I watched in shock as their shortstop pretended to drop the ball at his feet. He let it bounce, scooped it up again, stepped around Bobby to put his foot on second, and threw to first. With a huge smile on his face, the first baseman planted his foot nearly on top of Rabbit's, caught the throw, and rolled the ball toward the pitcher's mound. The whole team ran off the field.

I was still standing at the batter's box, Mo was in the on-deck circle, Coach Craig was still at third, and Hal Stonerider was in the first base coach's box. All of us were paralyzed. Finally, I realized that if we just kept standing there, somebody on the Crest View team would figure out what the umpire had meant when he called me out on the infield fly. There followed perhaps the slowest play in the history of the game of baseball.

"Rabbit," I yelled out to him as I slowly started making my way to the dugout. "Which glove is yours?"

Rabbit started to walk toward second base, and I saw him nod to Bobby to start heading for third, as if he were walking toward the dugout.

"It's the Spalding," he yelled back to me. "Derek Jeter."

"Mine's the black one," Bobby yelled as he started down the line from second to third. He was walking with his hands on his hips as if he were just a little disgusted that no one had yet run out with his glove.

No one had emerged from the dugout at all. As Coach Craig, Hal, Mo and I slowly began walking there, everyone in the dugout was pretending to look for the gloves.

"Where did you leave your glove, Bobby?" Donnie yelled from the dugout.

Bobby was nearly at third by now, with Rabbit about half way from second to third. The umpires were watching us intently, and they were the ones who finally gave it away. The Crest View catcher had taken off his gear and emerged to lead off the bottom of the sixth, and he glanced at the umpires, Bobby and Rabbit, and the team in the dugout.

"Shit!" he screamed. He dropped his bat and raced toward the mound. Bobby took off for home, with Rabbit right behind him. Bobby made it easily, but Rabbit wasn't quite as fast. The catcher actually had a play, but Bobby executed a perfect slide to the outside of the plate, just out of the poor guy's reach.

We were laughing so hard we could barely congratulate each other on tying the game. Mo was laughing so hard that when the Crest View team finally returned to the field, more than a little angry, he struck out on three pitches. Then the Crest View team struck out on eleven pitches in the bottom of the sixth.

Neither team scored in the seventh, and we found ourselves in extra innings. Coach had offered me a chance to come out, and I had declined. It was my game, and unless it went to twelve or thirteen, it was mine to win or lose. I was clearly getting tired, though, and after we failed to advance Jesse from first in the top of the seventh, I walked the leadoff batter for Crest View on a 3-2 pitch that could have been called either way. The next guy up pushed a perfect bunt up the third base line, and Matt was lucky to get the out at first base. So Crest View had a man on second with only one out. The third guy up was their leadoff hitter, and he hadn't touched me all day. But with the count at 2-2, he tapped a weak little roller toward third base. It would have been a relatively easy play for Matt, at least at first base. But I dove for it, hoping to throw the guy out running to third. And once again I watched in agony as the ball ticked off the end of my glove.

There was no chance for Matt to save me this time. The ball trickled across the third base line as the runner rounded third. Matt made a tremendous effort to reverse course and scrambled after the ball. But by the time Tommy caught the ball, the Crest View team was already celebrating their win. I just lay there on the ground, trying to blink the tears out of my eyes. Rabbit came over to help me up, and we lined up to shake our opponents' hands.

Coach pulled me aside before I got into the showers to tell me that I had nothing to be ashamed of, that the team was only in the playoffs in the first place because I had picked them up and carried them there.

"Sure, Coach," I grinned. "Thanks."

I was the last one out of the showers, though, and found the locker room completely deserted. I found out why when I finished dressing and headed toward the bus. There, lined up to shake my hand, was every member of the Marshall High School baseball team. Rabbit was first in line, Coach Torianni was last. The best, though, was Matt Denton, who simply said, "nice job, cap," as he shook my hand.

Still, it was a silent, almost depressed bus. Until Carl Thomason piped up from the back in a perfect imitation of Donnie's tenor.

"Where did you leave your glove, Bobby?"

That started us laughing again, and pretty soon we were trading stories about the season. We were still joking with each other when we pulled into the parking lot to find Jeanne, Jill, and Tanya waiting for us.

"So you won?" Jill asked Tommy.

"Nope," he said, watching their faces fall. "But we didn't really need to. Want a ride home, Jilly?"

She climbed into his car, Tanya got into Rabbit's, and Jeanne drove me home.

I spent Tuesday night as I had spent the night before, and the night before that. Mrs. Palmer was a demanding teacher, and even if I wasn't going to get an A-plus in Astronomy this semester, it was for damn sure that I was going to get one in English. When I finished it late Tuesday night, I was pretty pleased with myself. If Mrs. Palmer thought that my first paper had been an excellent piece of writing, just wait until she got this one.

Wednesday and Thursday nights were devoted to Religion. For the most part, at least. There was a band and orchestra concert on Wednesday night, so the Sterling kids had to attend that to cheer on Sammy, who had a solo. There was a chorus concert on Thursday night, so the Sterling brother and sister had to attend that to cheer on their other sister, who also had a solo. Jeanne was thrilled when Dad and Dave also showed up at the concert.

I did a lot of studying during my study halls on Wednesday and Thursday afternoons. And after I got back from the concerts, of course. Although on Thursday there was the added distraction of the major league baseball draft. When we returned from the chorus concert, Tiffany told me that I had gotten twenty calls so far, one from the Pittsburgh Pirates, who had drafted me with the fourth pick, and all the rest from agents eager to have me sign up with them. Eventually, she said, she just changed the answering machine message so that it gave out my cell phone number, and then she had just stopped answering the phone.

I thanked her, and then excused myself to go study. Dad and Tiffany traded looks, and Dad cleared his throat.

"If you'd rather go to college, son," he said, "I'm sure we can find the money."

I stared at him for a few seconds, and then just thanked him as well.

I very proudly handed my paper in to Mrs. Palmer as she walked around collecting them on Friday.

"Decided not to take the F, Mr. Sterling?" she asked with mock acerbity as she took my paper.

"Tough call, ma'am," I nodded. "But I figured since I set a personal best for class attendance this year, I might as well finish the game."

"Indeed. Ms. Josephs, another paper based on Mr. Sterling's thesis, I see. You should be pleased with yourself, Mr. Sterling. You appear to have attracted half the class to your point of view."

Flushed with success in my English class, and cognizant of the sheer effort I had put into studying, I was confident when I walked into Religion for the test the following period that I could handle anything that Mrs. Jenkins could throw at me. Isaiah? Knew it. Amos? Knew it. Jonah, Micah, Malachi? Knew 'em all. And those older historical books? I knew them, too.

The test only bruised my confidence a little. I was in doubt about one of the short answer questions, about the book of Daniel. Daniel. Damn! I didn't spend long enough with Daniel. And then the sweeping essay question that concluded the test cost as much sweat and blood and toil as I could bring to bear in a fifty-minute class. Tanya and I both looked at each other with relief when that test was over. I was effectively done in two of my classes. I would finish polishing my astronomy report tonight, study for the history test on Saturday and Sunday, and memorize everything I could about the American government on Monday night.

In the meantime, though, I still had to get through lunch on Friday. Everyone congratulated me on the draft, and then the talk turned to colleges. Tanya would be going to Cornell, and Rabbit to Colgate. Tommy was going to be going to Williams College, and Sammy had received a full scholarship to the Eastman School of Music in Rochester. Cammie still hadn't heard from R.P.I., and shortly after graduation would probably let her backup school know that she'd be going there instead.

To read this story you need a Registration + Premier Membership
If you have an account, then please Log In or Register (Why register?)

Buy at Bookapy.com

A Stitch in Time

Marsh Alien

$3.99