“I’d better go take batting practice,” said Wayne. “I don’t want to pop it up today.”
“Hey, maybe you’ll blast a homer,” said Tommy.
“You could bust the game wide open,” added the DH, Sammy Solaris.
“I just hope I don’t blow a save,” said Ryan Kimball, the closer.
“You guys are about as funny as a rain delay,” said Wally.
“Hey, Wally, don’t go off …,” Teddy Larrabee started.
“… mad?” Wayne finished his sentence.
“Hey, that was my line,” said Teddy.
t was my turn to help the visiting team, the West Valley Varmints. The Varmints were the worst team in the league this season. They looked pretty gloomy on the bench, hanging their heads and barely talking to each other. The Porcupines were always kidding around, even when they were losing. No matter how the game went, the Pines always had fun. The Varmints weren’t having fun.
The Varmints started off not hitting well. Ernie Hecker had a lot of fun shouting insults at them. Ernie has the loudest mouth in all of Pine City. He always sits above the visitors’ dugout so he can let the visiting team have it.
“Hey, why did you even bring a bat?” he yelled at a player who struck out looking at a called third strike. An inning later a batter swung wildly at three pitches, missing every one. “Aim for the ball next time!” Ernie shouted helpfully. In the ninth inning the Varmints finally scored a run, but they were down by ten runs, so it didn’t help. “Whatever!” Ernie shouted.
I almost felt sorry for the Varmints, but I saw on the scoreboard that the Rosedale Rogues had won their game. The Porcupines needed the win to stay tied for first place. Lucky for them, they had three more games against the Varmints.
• • •
Only a couple of players were left in the Porcupines’ locker room by the time I got over there.
“That was a real blowout!” Wayne Zane told me. “I’ve seen some blowouts, but, man, that was a blowout.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Wally. “I heard you the first time you made that joke.”
“Just sayin’,” said Wayne.
There was a lion in my locker this time. It was made of twisted yellow balloons, with an orange balloon for a mane. I realized it would be the last balloon animal, since tomorrow was the big day.
“What did you get?” I asked Dylan.
“Another one of these, whatever it is.” He held up a tangled mess of red, green, and white balloons.
“Maybe it’s Santa Claus climbing a Christmas tree?” I said.
“Or being eaten by one,” said Dylan.
“Don’t forget to get here extra-early tomorrow,” Wally told me. “I’ll leave my checklist in your locker.”
“Will do,” I answered.
“Hey, Wally,” said Wayne. “Are you taking the whole day off just because you don’t like balloons?”
“Don’t be silly,” said Wally. “Something came up.”
“Like a helium balloon?” Sammy asked.
“You can level with us, Wally. We’ll understand.” Wayne gave him a serious look. “Are you afraid of Balloon Day?”
“I’m avoiding the windbags,” said Wally. “Not having to deal with the balloons is a bonus.”
• • •
When I got home, I put the lion on my dresser next to the giraffe, the crocodile, and the monkey. I had almost enough animals for a balloon safari park. Abby was still giving me only jungle animals. I liked them a lot, but I wondered what she was up to.
I thought again about the many things I had to do with Wally away. Just thinking about making the coffee made my stomach flip. What if I messed up? Lance Pantaño needed coffee to pitch. That was his ritual. If he didn’t get it, he might not pitch well. And if he didn’t pitch well, the Porcupines would lose. And if the Porcupines lost, they might lose ground to the Rosedale Rogues.
It was a lot to have hanging over my head.
I glanced at the shelf with my baseball cards. Magic or not, maybe they could help.
The card I needed wasn’t in the red binder. I went to the binder where I keep all of the cards for mascots, umpires, managers, and announcers—anybody who isn’t an actual player. The baseball card companies sometimes print cards for other people who have made their name in the game. I didn’t have any cards for clubhouse managers, let alone batboys, but there were plenty of manager cards to choose from. I decided on Joe Torre. He’d won a lot of World Series rings, after all. I hoped he also knew how to make coffee.
was the only one in the Porcupines’ locker room. I’d gotten there super-early, before any of the players or coaches. I looked through my notes from Wally. “Make coffee” was on the checklist. He didn’t give me any further instructions.
“You can do this,” I told myself.
The coffee machine was on top of a little table. Next to it was a small fridge with a microwave on top. That was “the kitchen area,” as the guys called it. The table had a drawer, but there was nothing in it except packets of creamer and sugar and some stir sticks.
I opened the coffee machine. There was a metal basket inside atop a rod that poked up from the middle. I didn’t know how any of it worked, but it looked like you filled the main part with water and the basket part with coffee.
How hard could it be?
I lugged the machine across the locker room to the sink and turned on the water. When it hit the line on the inside that said “Full,” I turned it off. So far, so good.
The coffee machine was a lot heavier to lug back. When I set it down, I opened the can of coffee and scooped it in until the basket was full. I remembered what Lance said about making the coffee stronger—I’d surprise him with extra-strong coffee. I piled more coffee in the basket until there was a little mound on top. Then I slowly screwed the basket on top of the rod, put the lid on, plugged in the machine, and threw the switch.
A little light above the tap turned red. A minute later the coffee machine started to gurgle. There, that wasn’t so hard.
“Thanks, Joe,” I said, patting my pocket where the Joe Torre card was. Still, maybe now was a good time to do things way on the other side of the room. I felt better with a wall of lockers between the coffee machine and me.
I spent a half hour putting clean uniforms in the right lockers. When I put Lance Pantaño’s uniform away, I noticed his mug with the “Property of Lance” label. The mug was brown as tar inside. I took it over to the sink and scrubbed it for him and then put it back where I had found it. His extra-strong coffee would taste even better out of a clean mug.
The coffee machine was whistling and rattling, but no louder than usual. I took a quick look. It was puffing steam, but it always did that.
“Piece of cake, Joe,” I said, grinning.
“Who are you talking to?” It was Lance. He was the first player to show up.
“Er … nobody,” I said. Baseball players have all kinds of superstitions and rituals, but even they would think I was crazy for talking to a baseball card.
“Oh, good, you’re making coffee.” Lance grabbed his mug from his locker. “Hey, who washed my mug?”
“I did.”
“I never wash it! It’s bad luck.” Lance looked sadly at the mug.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know! I noticed it was dirty, and …”
SHRIEEEK!
Both of us nearly hit the ceiling.
SHRIEEEK! SHRIEEEK! SHRIEEEK!
That noise wasn’t human, or even animal. It was the whistling of the coffeemaker—only it was a hundred times louder than usual!
“What did you do?!” Lance shouted.
“I just filled the basket with coffee!” I shouted back. “I didn’t do anything weird!”
“Wally only fills the basket halfway!” said Lance.
I had filled the basket all the way and rounded off the top. This was officially a coffee disaster.
Clang-clang-clang-clang-clang!
“Uh-oh.” I peered around the lo
ckers at the coffeemaker. Steam was blasting out from under the lid. The whole machine was shaking and rattling right toward the edge of the table.
“I got this!” said Lance. He came over, wearing Wayne Zane’s catcher’s mask and chest protector. “Here,” he said, handing me the fire extinguisher. “Just in case.”
He got to the coffee machine just before it shook itself off the table. The machine shrieked again. It let loose a cloud of steam. Some black goop oozed out of the lid and dribbled down the side. I smelled fresh tar and burning rubber.
“Maybe you should just unplug it!” I hollered. Lance reached for the cord.
Suddenly, the light on the machine went from red to orange and the shrieking stopped. There was one more gasp of brown steam, and the machine stopped rattling.
Wayne Zane came in, with Teddy right behind him. Wayne looked at the pitcher wearing his catcher’s gear.
“I forgot today was opposite day,” said Wayne. He saw me with the extinguisher. “If I see a fire, I’ll let you know.”
“Chad made coffee,” Lance explained.
“Of course,” said Wayne. “It all makes sense now.” He went to his locker and grabbed his mug. “I hope you remembered to throw in an extra baseball mitt.” The catcher turned the spigot on the coffee machine. A thick brown liquid gurgled out.
“Whoa! It looks like you threw in an extra glove and a few ground-up bats.” Wayne sniffed the coffee and took a sip. “Wow, that’s strong coffee.”
“Let me try it,” said Teddy. He grabbed the cup, blew on it, and took a sip himself. His eyes widened. “I think I’ll need help blinking for the next few hours.”
“Might as well try it too,” said Lance. He took off the catcher’s gear and returned with his mug.
“Is your mug clean?” asked Wayne.
“Yeah, it’s bad luck,” Lance replied. “But if anything will crud it up again quick, it’s this stuff.” He pulled the tap and filled the mug. “Mmm … smells good,” he said.
He took a big gulp.
“Chad,” said Lance.
“Yeah?”
“This is the best cup of coffee I’ve had since I left Puerto Rico. It’s perfect.”
he Pines headed out for batting practice. Dylan and I followed to field fly balls.
“Hey, check that out,” I called to him. A great big balloon—not a toy balloon but an actual hot-air balloon—floated just above the outfield wall. It was a promotion by the local radio station. The hot-air balloon was only half-full now, but by game time it would be high up in the sky. Six lucky fans would be up there watching the game.
“That would be fun,” said Dylan.
“Yeah.” I would have been calling in like crazy to win a ticket, but ballpark employees weren’t allowed to enter. Anyway, I had to work down here on the field.
Spike, the junior mascot, was over by third base, waving at the fans as they came into the ballpark.
“Hi, Spike! Thanks for all the balloon animals!” Dylan said as we passed.
Spike just nodded. Mascots aren’t supposed to talk.
“So what are those crazy things you gave Dylan supposed to be?” I asked. “Are they spiders? I guessed spiders because of that time …” I stopped, realizing that Spike’s head was drooping. The mascot was embarrassed.
Spike reached back and ran a hand over the quills on the costume.
“Oh! They’re balloon porcupines!” I said.
“Of course they’re porcupines,” Dylan said. “They’re great, Spike.”
The junior mascot perked up, high-fived Dylan, and headed off to wave at the fans in deep right field.
“I think you hurt Abby’s feelings,” said Dylan.
“I didn’t mean to.” I vowed to keep my yap shut for the rest of the day.
• • •
Teddy Larrabee was the first one to take his practice swings. “The Bear” sent a ball almost all the way to the fence. I chased after it and caught it, nearly crashing into Myung Young, the center fielder. He liked to practice his fielding during batting practice. Myung was a great fielder and fun to watch. This time he’d been running backwards and nearly ran over me.
“You should have called that,” said Myung.
“Sorry.” I changed my promise to myself. I would keep my yap shut unless I was running down a fly ball.
• • •
I walked by the bull pen after batting practice. Lance was warming up.
“Ouch!” Zeke said, tossing the ball back. He was the pitching coach and doubled as bull-pen catcher. “You’ve got some real heat today, Lance.”
“I feel great,” said Lance. He said something else in Spanish. Zeke also spoke Spanish. His full name was Ezequiel Olivarra, and he was from the Dominican Republic. I wish I knew Spanish, because then I would understand what they were saying.
Zeke must have read my mind. “Lance told me to try your coffee. He said it’s the best he’s had since he came to the mainland.”
“Thanks!” I had to talk when I had to be polite.
Dylan tugged on the sleeve of my jersey.
“There’s a guy who wants to talk to you. Over there.” He pointed his thumb toward the visitors’ dugout. “He asked me to come get you.”
“Who?”
“Some guy in the stands. He says he knows you.”
“Um…. OK.” I hoped it wasn’t Ernie Hecker. Why would Ernie want to talk to me? I wondered. I’d only met him once. For that matter, why would he need Dylan to come get me? He could have just shouted at me from across the field. I would have heard him.
I went around the diamond, behind the backstop, since the Varmints were still warming up in the infield. I noticed the hot-air balloon was now way up there. The wind pulled it toward right field. I could see little people-shaped blobs in the basket, looking down. I hoped the fans up there had brought binoculars so they could tell the teams apart.
I saw a hand waving frantically at me from above the visitors’ dugout. I got a little closer and saw who it belonged to—Uncle Rick!
Uncle Rick was the biggest baseball fan in the world. He taught me everything I know … or at least everything I knew until I got this job.
“Hey, Chad!” Uncle Rick called. He came down the steps and leaned over the railing. “I finally cashed in that rain check!”
“Cool!”
Uncle Rick had tried to see a Pines’ game earlier in the season, but it was rained out.
“The thing is, they were all out of tickets,” he said. “I told them that I had come all the way from the city, and they said, sorry, we don’t have a single seat left. Can you believe it? Anyway, this guy overheard me and told me he had an extra ticket, so it all worked out. Great seats, too! I met a big fan!” Uncle Rick pointed at his seat. The guy sitting in the next seat was Ernie Hecker!
“Great!” I said. “Did you happen to bring ear plugs?”
“Huh? Why would I do that?”
“No reason.”
“Hey, Ernie!” Uncle Rick shouted. He took out his cell phone and waved at Ernie to come down. “You need to take a picture of me with my nephew. He’s in professional baseball! Hey, too bad you’re not working in the Varmints’ dugout. I could talk to you more during the game.”
“I would swap with Dylan, but I’m acting clubhouse manager today,” I told my uncle. Wally never said that exactly, but it was mostly true and it sounded really important.
“My nephew!” Uncle Rick boasted, pointing me out to anyone in the stands who could see me. “Acting clubhouse manager! Right there!” He could have won a loudness competition with Ernie Hecker.
he Varmints made three quick outs in the top of the first inning. The Porcupines came out swinging and scored three runs. After that, I was busy and was only half paying attention. With Wally gone, there was a lot more to do. I had to find Sammy some new batting gloves because the strap broke on one of his. Wayne had a sore hand and needed ointment. Grumps—that’s what everyone called the Porcupines’ manager—needed new lead fo
r his mechanical pencil. It took me forever to find it.
It seemed like every time I finished one errand, I had to run and get something else, or chase after a foul ball, or fetch a bat. I lost track of the game, which is how I got into trouble.
In the bottom of the fifth inning, Lance handed me his “Property of Lance” mug. He gave me a little nod, but he didn’t say a word. I guessed that he wanted more coffee. I’d already refilled the mug a couple of times. I went and topped it off and brought it back. I hoped the coffee hadn’t gotten cold. He took it, sipped, and smiled.
“Still perfect?” I asked.
He looked at me with wide eyes and nearly dropped the mug.
I glanced sideways and saw that everyone in the dugout was staring at me.
I checked my zipper. Nothing wrong there.
I took off my cap to see if there was gum on it. It was fine. I looked back at the Pines’ dugout.
“What?” I asked.
Lance shook his head at me.
Teddy came over and took me by the shoulder.
“Over here,” he said. He led me to the other end of the dugout.
Grumps was watching me with wide, bloodshot eyes. He was snorting and fuming, and his head looked like a balloon, swelling and swelling. I though it might pop.
“It’s OK, Grumps,” Teddy whispered. “I’ll talk to the boy.” He waved at me to stand right at the entrance to the field, and then he pointed across the field at the scoreboard. It didn’t just show how many runs had been scored, it also showed the hits and errors each team had.
The Varmints had zero hits.
The Porcupines had zero errors.
I couldn’t talk at first. I forced the words out, sounding as small and squeaky as a leaky balloon. Or maybe I just had balloons on the brain. “Are there …” I asked. “Does Lance have any …”
“No, he doesn’t have any walks,” Teddy replied. “No hit batsmen. No errors. No hits. No nothing.”
Zip It! Page 2
