Out at Second

by Matt Christopher

  “It’s not your problem,” Sean said when Manny was through. “It’s ours. I’m the one who hit him. I’m the one he should be mad at, not you.”

  They walked into school together, both deep in thought. Then, just as they were about to part, Manny had an idea.

  “You remember how Stu said that when we help one person on the team, we help the team as a whole?”

  Sean nodded.

  “Well, what if we apply that same principle now?” Manny said. “But instead of helping someone improve, we get the team to work together to protect Stu at the game today?”

  “Okay,” Sean agreed. “But how would we do that, exactly?”

  “The first step is easy,” Manny said. “We tell the guys about Stu’s concussion. He only made me promise not to tell his mom or the coach, after all. And then, we figure out how to cover for Stu on the field. If we limit what he does, he’ll have less chance of getting hurt.”

  Sean scratched his head. “It sounds complicated,” he said doubtfully. “I mean, there’s really no way of knowing what kinds of situations are going to come up in the game, is there?”

  A slow smile spread across Manny’s face. “True,” he said. “But I have something that might help us.” He reached into his backpack and pulled out his scorecard notebook. “These cards go back two seasons. That means we’ve got two years of info on every player on the Sharks, even if they were on a different team last year. I bet if we study their stats, we can make some pretty good guesses about what they might do when they’re up at bat.”

  Sean whistled in appreciation. “It’s a start!” Before they parted, they agreed to track down all the Grizzlies in school and to ask them to meet at the dugout as soon as they could after school.

  Manny, meanwhile, spent the rest of the morning sneaking scorecards from his notebook and jotting down Shark player stats. During his study period, he got permission to use a computer in the library. He organized the stats in a table and printed out several copies. He handed those copies out to his teammates in the hallways and during lunchtime. Then he wolfed down his sandwich and spent the rest of the time studying the information himself.

  This may not work, he thought, but if nothing else, we’ll know those Sharks inside and out!

  15

  The Grizzlies, minus Stu, were all gathered in the dugout by two forty-five that afternoon. They were all concerned about Stu and eager to help.

  “Coach Flaherty will be here in less than an hour,” Manny reminded them, “so let’s see what we can come up with before then.”

  They huddled together and shared their ideas about what to do when particular Shark batters came to the plate and what to do during different defensive situations.

  “One thing I’m worried about is what could happen if Stu misjudges a catch or a hop on a grounder,” Manny told them. “If that happens, he could take a ball to the head.”

  “I’ll charge in on any grounders hit to my side of the field,” Jason said.

  “And I’ll be more aggressive on those hit to shallow right infield,” added Howie Timilty, who would be on the mound at the start of the game.

  First baseman Luis Hawk said he could do that, too.

  “And if I see you moving in,” right outfielder Charlie Eisenberg said to Luis, “then I’ll rush in to cover first so Stu doesn’t have to.”

  They continued outlining options for several more minutes. They were so intent on their discussion that they didn’t hear Coach Flaherty approach until he spoke.

  “Well, well, this is what I call initiative!” he boomed. Then he frowned. “But where’s Stu?”

  “Here I am!” Stu jogged up. If he was surprised to see everyone else already there, he didn’t show it. And if he was still angry at Manny, he didn’t show that, either. In fact, he shot him an apologetic look as he took a seat on the bench.

  The coach ran down the starting lineup. Stu smiled when his name was called. The other Grizzlies shot one another knowing glances and nods.

  The Sharks showed up soon afterward. Slowly, the stands filled with fans. Manny saw his parents and a man who looked so much like Sean that he had to be a relative. He spotted Mrs. Fletcher, too.

  The two teams took turns warming up. Then the umpire called for the game to begin.

  The Grizzlies were up first. Third baseman Kiyoshi Satou selected a bat, swung it a few times, and stepped into the box. He let the first pitch go by for a ball. The second was high and was called a ball, too. But the third was dead-on. Kiyoshi swung and—crack!—sent the small white sphere sizzling between second and third. It might have gone for a single if the Sharks shortstop hadn’t made a spectacular diving catch to pluck the ball from the air.

  Kiyoshi wheeled around the bag and back to the dugout, disappointment etched on his face.

  “You’ll get ’em next time, K!” Stu said.

  Jason moved from the on-deck circle to the batter’s box. He clipped four foul balls before finally connecting squarely with one. The ball flew high in the air over second base. The center fielder raced in and caught it on a hop. He relayed it to first but was too late. Jason was safe.

  Jason made it to second a few moments later, thanks to a sacrifice bunt from Gary Thompson. Two outs, man on second, and now Stu was up at the plate.

  Manny was in the on-deck circle. He watched anxiously as the pitcher went into his windup. Stu was wearing a helmet, of course, but what if the pitch went wild and connected with his face?

  He needn’t have worried. The Sharks pitcher threw fast but true, just the kind of pitch Stu liked. Yet for some reason, Stu didn’t swing.

  “Strike one!” the umpire called.

  Stu stepped out of the box and shot a perplexed look at the ump. He gave a quick shake of his head and then returned to his stance.

  The pitcher threw again. This time, the ball dipped down just as it crossed the plate. It would have been a difficult one to hit, but Stu didn’t even try.

  “Strike two!”

  This time, Stu looked frustrated by the call. And when the third pitch zipped by him and straight into the catcher’s mitt for a third called strike—and the third out—he rounded on the official, mouth twisting in anger.

  Manny quickly moved to intercept. “Tough break, Stu,” he said, grabbing him by the arm and leading him to the dugout.

  “Tough break nothing!” Stu fumed. “That umpire must be blind or something. I mean, you saw it, right?”

  Manny spread his hands wide. “Saw what?”

  “You kidding me? That ball was jumping all over the place! I swear, that pitcher has something in his hat that he’s rubbing on the ball. You just watch and see if I’m not right!”

  Manny guessed then that Stu was suffering from blurred or double vision. But what could he do? Stu didn’t believe he had a concussion, so he wasn’t likely to believe he was having trouble with his eyesight, either.

  If only there was some way I could convince him, Manny thought as he struggled into his catcher’s gear. Maybe then he’d understand the danger he’s in—and take himself out of the game!

  But until he thought of something, all he could do was try to protect his friend. With that in mind, he hustled to his position and readied himself for the action ahead.

  16

  On the mound for the Grizzlies was Howie Timilty. Manny had never been happier to see him there, for Howie was an ace. If he could throw a no-hitter for even one inning, then Stu would be safe.

  That’s just what Howie did in the bottom of the first. Three batters came to the plate; all three went back to the dugout without touching their bats to the ball.

  Manny led off the top of the second for the Grizzlies. He let the first pitch go by because it looked wide to him. The umpire agreed and called it a ball. The second pitch, however, looked as big as a balloon. He swung with all his might. Pow! The ball sailed up, up, and up, before dropping to the ground between center and left field.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Coach Flaherty yelled. And Manny
did go—all the way to third! It was the first time in his career that he had hit a three-bagger. He could hear his mother cheering loudly from the stands, and knew that his father was proudly marking his at bat on a fresh scorecard.

  Charlie strode to the plate to take his raps. He connected with the third pitch, but just barely. The ball dribbled up to the mound and into the pitcher’s glove. The pitcher threw to first and Charlie was out.

  Manny clapped as Luis stepped into the box. “Come on, send me home!” he called.

  Luis complied with a sharp shot just to the left of first base. The ball was too far away for the second baseman to grab, and too shallow for the right fielder to get to quickly. When the dust settled, Manny was safe at home and Luis was on first!

  But that one run was all the Grizzlies got that inning. Both Howie and Patrick struck out.

  The teams switched sides. Manny’s heart thumped in his chest when he saw who was up first for the Sharks. It wasn’t just that he was that team’s best hitter. It was where he tended to hit that had Manny’s adrenaline flowing.

  According to the scorecards, this Shark had lined more than one pitch right back at the mound. If the pitcher got his glove up in time, he had a chance to make the catch. But if he panicked and dodged, then that ball would keep going straight toward second base.

  If Howie ducked and Stu backed up Howie as he was supposed to do, then Stu would be right in the line of fire. If he mistimed his catch or couldn’t see the ball properly…

  Manny mentally crossed his fingers, hoping that Howie’s reflexes would react fast enough for him to catch the ball if necessary.

  But they didn’t. When the Shark clobbered the ball back at the mound, Howie jumped aside. Manny sucked in his breath—and then let it out again, because Jason had streaked across the field and backhanded the ball on a hop! He relayed it to Luis at first as quickly as he could, but the Shark was faster.

  “Safe!” the umpire cried, slashing his arms out to either side.

  Howie shook his head, clearly disgusted with himself.

  “It’s okay, Howie, just get the next one!” Manny called.

  He took stock of the situation then. Runner on first. No outs. Sharks down by one. Manny gulped. If the Sharks coach had any clue as to what he was doing, he’d call for the runner at first to steal. Unless Howie could pick him off, stopping the runner from landing safely at second would mean a long bomb throw from the plate to second. From Manny to Stu.

  Manny knew he could reach Stu. He’d done it plenty of times, in games and in practices. But he had no way of knowing whether Stu would make the catch. How could he “look the ball into his glove” if that ball was blurry or doubled in his eyes?

  Manny decided that he just couldn’t risk it. So when Howie threw his pitch and the runner on first took off, Manny bobbled the catch—on purpose.

  “Throw to second, Griffin! Throw!” he heard Coach Flaherty yell.

  Manny knew it wasn’t a suggestion; it was an order. Normally, he would have followed that order. Not this time. This time, he did something he’d never done before.

  He hesitated. Just for a moment. But that was plenty long enough for the runner to slide safely into base.

  The Sharks bench and their fans erupted in cheers. Manny listened to them with just a hint of regret. His regret grew a bit more when he saw the disgusted look on Coach Flaherty’s face. And when the Shark runner crossed home plate later that inning, it grew even more.

  Then he saw Stu standing beside second base and knew he’d made the right choice not to throw out the runner. He heard his mother cheering. He glanced at the stands. There she was, standing and clapping. Next to her was Stu’s mother. She was clapping, too, and smiling broadly at her son.

  That’s when Manny realized that while he’d made the right choice not to throw to Stu, he’d also made a grave mistake. So far, that mistake hadn’t been a problem. But he knew that if something went wrong, it might prove to be very, very costly.

  When this inning ends, he said to himself, I’m going to do the right thing! I’m going to tell Mrs. Fletcher about Stu!

  17

  The Grizzlies managed to end the inning without giving up another run. Manny shed his equipment as quickly as he could. He was batting fifth; if he hurried, he’d have plenty of time to explain everything to Stu’s mother. He dropped his mitt and started for the stands.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Coach Flaherty barked.

  Manny froze. He’d been so intent on what he’d planned to say to Mrs. Fletcher that he’d forgotten that the coach expected his players to stay in the dugout when they weren’t on the field.

  “It looks bad when a player takes off during a teammate’s turn at bat,” he’d said more than once.

  It turned out Coach Fletcher had another reason for wanting Manny to stay in the dugout, however. “What happened out there?” he demanded to know.

  Manny tried to look contrite. “I’m sorry, Coach. I just missed it. It—it happens.”

  The coach put his hands on his hips “Yes, it does. But it’s not the mishandled catch I’m talking about.”

  Manny swallowed hard. “Oh? Um, then what is it, sir?”

  Coach Flaherty fixed him with a stern gaze. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you held onto that ball instead of trying to get the runner out at second.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Manny saw Stu swivel to stare at him.

  Manny had worked hard all season long to stay out of the hot seat with Coach Flaherty. Now he squared his shoulders and returned Coach Flaherty’s gaze. “It was a—a judgment call, sir.”

  “A judgment call? There was no reason for you to use your judgment!” the coach cried. “I was telling you what to do! You would have to be deaf not to have heard me! Are you deaf, Griffin?”

  “No, he’s not, and neither am I,” a new, calm voice said from behind Manny.

  Manny wheeled around to find his father standing there. Coach Flaherty seemed too surprised by the intrusion into his dugout to speak.

  Mr. Griffin laid a hand on Manny’s shoulder. “My boy told you that he made a judgment call. Now I’m making one, too. I’ve held my tongue throughout the season, but now I’m going to tell you what I think about your coaching style!”

  He was about to continue when crack! The sound of a solid hit echoed through the park. All three turned to see Jason drop his bat and race down the base path. Kiyoshi, who had earned a free ticket to first, was already halfway to second. He touched the bag and kept going. Jason sped on, too, not stopping until he reached second base. By then, Kiyoshi had made it all the way home!

  The Grizzlies jumped and hollered with joy. But a second later, their whoops turned silent. The Sharks third baseman was pointing frantically at the bag and claiming that Kiyoshi hadn’t touched it!

  Coach Flaherty immediately stormed across the field to protest. That brought the Sharks coach out of his dugout and the umpires from their assigned spots. They began arguing loudly. Suddenly, Coach Flaherty jerked forward and knocked the Sharks coach in the head with the brim of his cap!

  “That’s it!” the head umpire shouted. “Yer out of here!”

  Manny gasped in disbelief. Coach Flaherty had been ejected!

  The coach couldn’t seem to believe it, either. He started yelling at the umpire. But the umpire stood firm.

  “Either you leave this park,” he said in a loud ringing voice, “or we end this game now.”

  “But my team needs me!” Coach Flaherty protested.

  “You should have thought of that before you brimmed him,” the umpire retorted. “In the meantime, have your assistant coach take over for you.”

  To Manny’s amazement, the coach looked embarrassed. “I don’t have an assistant coach.”

  “Well, then,” the umpire said, “I guess you’ll have to forfeit. I can’t let your squad play without a coach, and I’m not going to change my ruling.”

  Manny had been hoping for a quick end t
o the game. But not like this.

  “Wait!” He grabbed his father’s arm and started dragging him onto the field. “We do have an assistant coach! He’s right here!”

  Mr. Griffin opened his eyes wide. “Me?”

  “Come on, Dad, please?” Manny begged. “You’ve come to every game, you know every player’s strengths and weaknesses, and—and you just have to do it, that’s all!”

  His father gave him a long look and then smiled. “I suppose I could,” he said. “But only if the umpire agrees.”

  “If he does,” Manny said, “the first thing you have to do is to take Stu out of the game, okay?”

  Mr. Griffin looked mystified by the request but didn’t say anything. Instead, he joined the coaches and officials to discuss the matter of his coaching the game to its conclusion.

  Now’s my chance, Manny thought. He hurried over to the stands, where the spectators were buzzing with excitement over the ejection.

  “Mrs. Fletcher!” he cried. “Mrs. Fletcher, can I talk to you? It’s about Stu. Something happened to him that you need to know about.”

  When she was near, he blurted out the whole story—how the accident had happened, how he had come to realize that Stu was suffering from a concussion, and how today the team had worked so hard to keep Stu out of danger.

  “But I know now that he wasn’t out of danger, not really,” he finished. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. And I would have, except I promised Stu I wouldn’t.”

  Mrs. Fletcher stood very still. Then she reached down and gave Manny a quick hug. “Thank you for telling me. I know it wasn’t easy for you to break your promise to my son. Stu is lucky to have you for a friend.”

  Manny dug his toe into the dirt. “Too bad he won’t want to be my friend anymore, not after he finds out I told you, and that I told my dad to take him out of the game,” he said with a sigh. Then he looked up. “But I’d rather have him angry with me than knocked out at second.”

  18

  Mrs. Fletcher didn’t wait for Mr. Griffin to take Stu out of the game. She took him out herself. Manny learned later that she’d driven him straight to the doctor’s office. There he received a definite diagnosis of a concussion and an order to stay off the field for the next month.