Miracle at the Plate

by Matt Christopher

  “You meathead!” yelled Roger. “Why didn’t you hit the dirt? You would’ve been safe!”

  Skeeter ran to the dugout, his head bowed. He wouldn’t admit he was scared to slide.

  He socked a long one to deep center the next time up. The fielder just barely caught it. The third time up he singled. But in the outfield he missed three, the third one happening with the score tied and a man on third. It decided the game. The Dragonflies edged out the Milky Ways, 4 to 3.

  Jess O’Hara put an arm around Skeeter’s shoulder and smiled. “Skeeter, you’ve got the eyes of a hawk when it come to batting. But in the outfield they don’t seem to do much good, do they?”

  Skeeter nodded sadly. “Guess not,” he admitted.

  “Well, you just keep hitting that ball. That’s what brings in the runs,” said the coach. “And — oh, yes — have a nice time in Idaho.”

  “Thanks,” replied Skeeter.

  7

  Early Saturday morning Mom, Dad, Bob, and Skeeter took a taxi to the airport, where they boarded a plane to New York City. In New York they got on a jetliner for Idaho. It was the thrill of a lifetime for Skeeter. He had seen jets flying thousands of feet in the air, but never had he been near one. Now had come the greatest moment of all. He was going to ride in one.

  Mom and Dad sat together in the big plane and Skeeter sat with Bob, Skeeter next to the window. The jet taxied down the runway, gained speed rapidly, then lifted into the air.

  Skeeter felt a strange sensation in his stomach as he watched the earth seeming to fall farther and farther away below them. The ground became a blanket of many colors. The trees, houses, and the moving automobiles began to look like tiny models.

  They sped on, rising higher and higher, until they flew through thick blankets of clouds and then above them. Overhead was the ocean of blue sky. Skeeter watched with awe. What a ride! he thought.

  They had lunch on the plane. They crossed over rivers and lakes, tiny towns and great cities. They stopped once on their route, dispatching passengers and picking up new ones.

  Late that afternoon the jetliner landed at Boise Airport. From there the Miracles took a limousine service to Spring City, fifty miles away. Uncle Don and Aunt Arlene and Skeeter’s cousins Alan and Tina Rose were waiting for them.

  How big Alan was! thought Skeeter. And the last time he had seen Tina Rose was when she was a baby. That was five years ago.

  Uncle Don looked a little like Dad. That was, of course, because they were brothers. Guess by the way they shook hands and smiled at each other they just couldn’t wait for this moment to come — when they could go hunting and fishing together again for a while.

  As they rode in Uncle Don’s station wagon to their home, Skeeter looked at the buildings and streets almost with disappointment. “Spring City’s no different from home,” he said.

  Bob chuckled. “What did you expect to see? Dirt roads for streets and horse and wagons instead of cars?”

  Skeeter shrugged. “I don’t know. The only big difference seems to be the hilly streets.”

  “Idaho’s full of mountains,” said Alan, who was sitting beside him.

  “Is there any place flat enough to play baseball?”

  Alan laughed. “Oh, sure. We even have a Midget League. I play second base on our team, the Deerslayers.”

  “Good! How’s the team?”

  “We’re okay. Just unlucky.”

  Skeeter looked at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, we’re in fifth place. Next to the bottom. We ought to be in second, at least. Do you play, Skeet?”

  Skeeter nodded and caught Bob’s eyes smiling at him. Alan saw it, too. He grinned. “I suppose you’re the star, or something?” he said.

  “You might call it that,” said Bob.

  “I’m no star,” corrected Skeeter. “I’ve got a dozen feet when I’m chasing a ball in the outfield, and they’re all going in different directions. Only thing I can do is hit.”

  “I’m just fair,” admitted Alan. “I can’t hit and can’t field.”

  Uncle Don stopped at a red light, and Skeeter noticed how steep the street was. There weren’t many people on the sidewalk. Other than being hilly, everything was like back home.

  The Skeeter heard a loud, rackety sound to his right. Two boys were whizzing down the sidewalk on skateboards. They were sitting down, their knees drawn up and their hands clutching the narrow sides.

  “Wow!” exclaimed Skeeter. “Those guys are really moving!”

  “That’s because of the hilly streets, I suppose,” Alan replied. “We have races here, too. Slaloms, they’re called. The streets are blocked off and cans are put every few yards apart, and you skateboard in and out of them. It’s fun.”

  “I bet,” said Skeeter. The two boys on the skateboards were turning the corner, their bodies leaning far over to their right side. An instant later they were out of sight around the buildings. Boy! thought Skeeter. Can they ride those things!

  “Can you skateboard?” Alan asked.

  “No. But I’d sure like to. A lot of kids back home skateboard, but Mom and Dad think it’s dangerous.”

  “They are if you’re not careful,” admitted Alan. “It takes a lot of practice to be good. After that it’s easy.”

  A thought occurred to Skeeter. “Do you have a skateboard, Alan?”

  “Oh, sure. Most kids I know …”

  There was another loud rackety sound. This time three kids, two of them girls, were riding skateboards down the sidewalk. “That’s Jim Buckley,” said Alan. “He’s an outfielder on our team.”

  “Those children!” Mom cried. “Aren’t they afraid?”

  Aunt Arlene laughed and waved a hand, and you knew that this sight wasn’t anything new to her.

  Aunt Arlene cooked supper. Afterwards Skeeter asked Mom and Dad if he could go out and ride Alan’s skateboard.

  Mom and Dad exchanged looks, and for a moment Skeeter’s hopes began to fade. He knew they were afraid he might get hurt.

  “I won’t get hurt,” he promised, a pleading look in his eyes.

  “He’ll be all right if he stays on the sidewalk next to the house,” said Bob. “He can’t get too hurt where it’s level.”

  Mom and Dad looked at each other again. Then Dad nodded, giving his okay. “All right,” said Mom. “But be careful.”

  Skeeter grinned at them. “Thanks!”

  “Just remember that you don’t want to be on the disabled list if the Milky Ways need your hitting,” reminded Dad.

  “Who’s going to get hurt?” cried Skeeter. “Come on, Alan! Let’s go!”

  Alan got his skateboard and they went outside. The skateboard was really jazzy looking — bright blue with silver zigzags and neat stickers Alan must have collected. Skeeter couldn’t wait to try it out.

  “Put your left foot on the board and push yourself along with your other foot,” said Alan. “Like this.”

  He showed Skeeter what he meant. After the skateboard got rolling, Alan placed his other foot on the board too, coasted to the street sidewalk, turned around, and stopped just inside the yard. He gave a hard push with his right foot and the skateboard coasted to the end of the walk where Skeeter stood waiting.

  Then Skeeter tried it. He started off exactly as Alan had. But he had hardly traveled ten feet when the skateboard started for the lawn.

  “Lean to the right!” shouted Alan.

  Skeeter leaned to the right, but the skateboard kept going straight ahead and rolled off the sidewalk. The skateboard slowed down as if it had struck molasses, and Skeeter went running off it to keep from falling.

  Bob, who was relaxing on a lawn swing, laughed. “You have to lean with your feet, too,” he said. “That’s how to steer it. Use your head.”

  Skeeter laughed, too. “Make up your mind. My feet, or my head?”

  He improved with each try, and finally managed to coast all the way to the street sidewalk.

  “Look, Alan! I did it!” he crie
d happily.

  Then fear gripped him. He couldn’t turn around. He tried to lean over, to steer the skateboard with his feet. It turned a little, but not enough. It was heading for the street. And there was a car coming down.

  8

  Skeeter’s mind worked quickly. He lowered himself on the skateboard so that he was almost sitting on it, clutched its sides, then sprang out both feet and pressed them against the sidewalk. He came to a stop right at the edge of the curb.

  He looked up just as the car drove past. The driver didn’t give him as much as a glance.

  “Boy! That was quick thinking!” said Alan, running up behind him.

  Skeeter turned the skateboard around on the walk. “One thing I have to learn,” he observed, “is to steer this thing.”

  “It’s easy once you get used to it,” said Alan.

  After a while Skeeter realized that he wasn’t going to learn to skateboard in one easy lesson. It certainly was going to take more than a couple hours. He got tired of it and asked Alan if he’d like to play catch.

  “Sure!” said Alan. He started running into the house, then stopped. “I’ve only got one glove.”

  “Can’t you get another one?”

  “I’ll borrow Jim’s,” said Alan. “Come on over and meet him.”

  Jim Buckley lived on another block. Skeeter remembered him riding a skateboard like a blue streak down a sidewalk.

  Jim pushed back a lock of dark brown hair and stuck out a hand as Alan introduced him to Skeeter. “Okay if the three of us play?” he asked. “I’ve got two gloves.”

  “Sure,” said Alan. The three boys played until it got dark, which wasn’t long afterwards. Then the two families sat in the living room and talked and talked till Skeeter couldn’t keep his eyes open another minute. Tina Rose had been put in bed and only the grown-ups seemed able to stay up a lot longer.

  Skeeter plopped into bed with Alan. They talked until sleep overtook them practically at the same time.

  The next morning Skeeter wrote a letter to Shadow.

  Dear Shadow,

  How is Gus? I hope that you’re not having any trouble feeding him. How are your mother and father?

  We took a jetliner from New York City. Boy, was it fun! My cousin Alan has a skateboard and I’m learning to ride it. I can ride it pretty good already, but my trouble is steering it. I almost rode it into the street yesterday.

  I hope the Milky Ways trim the pants off the Jets tomorrow. And I hope that Roger Hyde and Tommy Scott both strike out every time. … No, I don’t either. Guess I shouldn’t say that. Mom will probably read this letter and she’ll probably cross out what I said about those guys. Also I feel sorry for Tommy about his dog Pancho. I guess I’ll never forget that. Is he getting along okay? Pancho, I mean.

  Thanks for feeding Gus for me. We’re all fine.

  Your friend,

  Skeeter

  Mom read the letter, but she didn’t cross out a single word. At one part she smiled, and Skeeter figured it was the part about Roger and Tommy. Dad couldn’t read it. He had gone hunting with Bob and Uncle Don before the younger boys had gotten out of bed. Bob had gone along just in hopes he might see a moose, or a mountain lion, or anything else that was big and wild. He carried no gun. He didn’t care about hunting.

  How was Pancho? Skeeter wondered. Was he able to walk around yet? To run? Then Skeeter realized that it was only a few days ago that he and Shadow had been walking up the road with Pancho inside a basket and Tommy Scott and his sister had come along. What a moment that was! It would be one he’d long remember.

  Poor Pancho. And poor Tommy, too. Guess it must’ve been terrible worrying about Pancho all that time. Not knowing where he was, or what had happened to him. It was all wrong not to have told Tommy about striking the Chihuahua with my bike, thought Skeeter. I should’ve told him right away instead of taking Pancho to the vet and then waiting and waiting. No wonder Tommy called me a meathead. I deserved it. His heart must’ve been busted to pieces all that time.

  Thinking about Pancho made him also think about Gus. He sure missed Gus. Imagine being away from him for almost two weeks. Skeeter had an idea how Tommy must have felt. Only Tommy hadn’t known where his pet was, while Skeeter did.

  9

  Dad, Bob, and Uncle Don came home at five o’clock — empty-handed. Neither Dad nor Uncle Don had fired a shot. But they had seen a moose and a bear, so their trip hadn’t been all in vain.

  After supper both families went to the baseball part to watch the Deerslayers play the Badgers. The game started at six-thirty. The Deerslayers had last raps. They looked sharp in their white uniforms and blue caps, and Skeeter wished he was out there with them. The first baseman, a tall left-hander, threw a ball around to the infielders, while a small left-handed pitcher threw in warm-up pitches.

  Alan wasn’t playing. Probably he’d get in later, thought Skeeter.

  The infield ball was thrown in toward the Deerslayers’ dugout. The umpire yelled, “Play ball!” and the game started. The Deerslayers’ infield began a loud, steady chatter.

  “Come on, Chuck! Whiff ’im, boy!”

  “Breeze it past ’im, Chuck!”

  “Easy meat, Chucky, ol’ boy!”

  Skeeter felt goose pimples pop out on his arms. Everything was the same as back home. The chatter. The talk to the pitcher. The enthusiastic fans.

  The little left-hander got a signal from the catcher. He nodded, wound up, delivered. “Strike!” cried the umpire.

  Uncle Don tapped Skeeter on the knee. “That’s Chuck Kelly pitching,” he said. “What do you think of his speed?”

  “He’s got a lot of it,” admitted Skeeter.

  Chuck Kelly got two strikes on the batter, then delivered one outside for ball one. The next was low. The batter swung, topped the ball, and it went dribbling toward the pitcher. Chuck fielded it easily and threw the man out.

  Chuck struck out the second batter and the third hitter popped to short. The Deerslayers got up and scored a run. Neither team threatened again until the third inning when a Badgers hitter laid into one for a clean triple. The next hitter singled him in, and the next man walked. The Deerslayers coach called time, went out to the mound and talked to Chuck.

  “Those two hits shook Chuck up a little.” Uncle Don smiled. “Guess that’s natural, isn’t it?”

  “Our pitchers get shook up, too,” said Skeeter.

  “So do the opposing pitchers after Skeeter tags on to one,” put in Bob. “You don’t know it, Uncle Don, but that boy sitting beside you leads the Grasshopper League in hits and home runs.”

  “Is that so?” Uncle Don beamed at Skeeter. “Maybe the Deerslayers might like to purchase you for next year, Skeeter — if the price isn’t too high, that is,” he added, chuckling.

  Skeeter grinned. “I’m not for sale,” he said. “Anyway, I’m a poor outfielder. I’m all legs when I’m chasing after a fly ball.”

  “You’ll outgrow that,” said Uncle Don. “Alan’s just the opposite. He can field but he can’t hit.”

  The top half of the third inning ended with the Badgers leading 2 to 1. The Deerslayers came to bat but went down one, two, three.

  Alan replaced the Deerslayers’ second baseman in the top of the fourth. A ball came to him, a hot grounder on his left side. He fielded it neatly and threw the man out. A hard-hit ball zipped through the third baseman’s legs, putting a man on for the Badgers. The man was put out trying to steal second, and Chuck Kelly struck out the third.

  The Deerslayers’ lead-off man grounded out in the bottom of the fourth, and Alan was up. He took a count of two and two, then hit a hard grounder through the hole between third and short. The Deerslayers’ fans shouted wildly, including Skeeter, Bob, Uncle Don, and the rest of the two families. Alan rounded first and headed for second.

  “What’s he doing?” cried Uncle Don, rising to his feet. “No! No, Alan!” he shouted.

  But Alan kept going. Skeeter’s heart pounded as he saw the left
fielder pick up the ball and peg it to second.

  “Hit the dirt, Alan!” he yelled, his voice drowned out among the cries of the other fans. “Hit it!”

  Alan hit the dirt as if he’d heard Skeeter. But the shortstop had caught the ball and tagged Alan a yard in front of the bag. An easy out.

  Alan got up and brushed the dust off his pants as he ran across the diamond toward the dugout.

  A kid sitting behind the backstop screen stood up and yelled, “What’re you trying to do, Alan? Show off for your cousin?”

  “Trying to stretch a single into a double, Alan?” yelled another.

  Skeeter looked at Uncle Don and smiled. “Everything’s like it is back home,” he said. “Even the fans.”

  “Oh, sure,” said Uncle Don. “Baseball’s the same all over. So are fans.”

  The Deerslayers’ next hitter tripled, and was knocked in for their second run to tie the score. In the top of the fifth the Badgers got men on first and second. Then Alan caught a hot grounder near the keystone sack, touched the bag, and threw to first for a beautiful double play. The crowd yelled and applauded. The next Badger popped out.

  “Here’s your chance to win the ball game, Alan!” a fan shouted when Alan came to bat. There was one out and men on first and second.

  Alan hit a slow grounder to short. The shortstop played it to second in an effort to get a double play. The runner was out at second, but Alan made it to first in time.

  Two outs, runners on first and third. Chuck Kelly was up. He singled to right! A run scored! Alan was held up at third. Good thing he didn’t run in then, thought Skeeter. He would’ve been out again, and then the fans would really scream. Well, you had to listen to the first- and third-base coaches. They weren’t there for scenery.

  The next Deerslayers hitter hit the first pitch to left field and it was caught. They ran out to the field, full of confidence that this game would be theirs. But the Badgers scored twice. The Deerslayers could do nothing during their turn at bat, and the game went to the Badgers, 4 to 3.