Baseball Flyhawk

by Matt Christopher

  “Nice going, kid!” the lifeguard said, smiling. Chico smiled back.

  He stayed there a long time, diving and swimming. He forgot about String and about his glove. Being in the water took his mind off all his worries.

  But a few days later, his anxiety returned. It was the day of the second game.

  When Chico arrived at the field, he saw most of the Royals players at the first-base side, warming up. The Colts were behind third. Chico looked around anxiously. Everybody had a glove and was playing catch.

  “Let’s hit!” Coach Day yelled. “Fielders, get out there! Buddy, lay one down and hit two! Kenny, throw ’em in!”

  The fielders scrambled to the field. Kenny Morton walked to the mound and began pitching them in.

  Chico stood there a moment, holding the glove that didn’t belong to him. Then he started trotting out to the outfield.

  “Hey, Chico!” a voice suddenly yelled behind him. “Come here!”

  Chico stopped in his tracks and whirled around. Dutch Pierce was walking toward him. He had just come onto the field. He was looking with dark, piercing eyes at the glove on Chico’s hand.

  “That looks like my glove,” Dutch snapped. He whipped it off Chico’s hand. “It is!” His eyes blazed as he looked at Chico. “Where did you get it? How long have you had it?”

  Chico stepped back. Dutch was four inches taller than he.

  “I — I picked it up by mistake after our first game,” he stammered.

  “By mistake?” Dutch’s lips tightened. Without another word, he ran out to the field.

  For a moment Chico stood there trembling.

  Where is my glove? he thought, and began to worry more than ever.

  5

  Chico.”

  Chico turned, and squinted against the sun at Coach Day.

  “There’s a glove in the equipment bag,” said the coach. “It’s probably yours.”

  Chico ran to the bag, opened it, and pulled out a glove. It was his!

  “Thanks, Coach,” he murmured. “I — I was afraid I wouldn’t find it.”

  Coach Day grinned. “I found it lying on the ground by the bench. If I’d known it was yours, I would have taken it to you. Okay, get your hits now, then shag a few.”

  After the Royals had their hitting practice, the Colts took the field. A little while later, the game started.

  The sky was clear blue and the sun a bright, blazing ball of orange. A perfect day for baseball.

  The Royals had first raps. On the mound for the Colts was Teddy Nash, a tall, freckle-faced southpaw. His warmup pitches breezed in like white bullets.

  Lead-off man Ray Ward strode to the plate. Teddy Nash made short work of him. Joe and Dutch didn’t get to first base, either. It looked as if Teddy was going to have a good day.

  Out in the field, Chico realized that he and the other fielders might have some trouble. They had to face the bright sun.

  Don Drake, a right-hander, pitched for the Royals. He walked the first man and then the second. The third man hit into a double play. Then a single scored a run. Catcher Dale Hunt caught a foul pop fly, and the first inning was over.

  String Becker was first man up for the Royals. He swung two bats from one shoulder to the other as he walked toward the plate. He tossed one back and stepped into the box. He tapped the plate with the big end of his bat, then waited for Teddy Nash to pitch.

  Teddy blazed two over the plate. String swung at both and missed. Then Teddy wasted a couple, making the count two and two.

  “Come on, String! Make it be in there!” said the coach.

  The next pitch was in there. String belted it, a hot grounder down to first. The first baseman reached for it. The ball touched his mitt, but then it buzzed past. String dashed to first.

  “Okay, men, there’s our starter,” said the coach. “Let’s keep it up.”

  Billy Hubble tried. So did Buddy and Chico. But Teddy’s arm was working for him. None of the three hit, and String died on first.

  The game continued swiftly. Both pitchers were hot. Teddy had no curve to speak of. But he had a side-arm delivery that made it seem as if the ball were coming from near first base. Most of the Royals players were shy of the ball, thinking it would hit them. But Teddy’s control was fine, and the pitches were strikes most of the time.

  Don’s delivery was overhand. He had learned to throw two curves. One was a screwball, a pitch that curved in toward a right-hand batter. The other curved away. That one was better, because it had a drop to it, too.

  In the fourth inning, things began to pop. Teddy got a three-two count on Dutch, then threw an inside pitch: a free ticket to first.

  String came up. So far only he had got a hit off Teddy Nash. Teddy blazed in two pitches, both balls. Then String took a called strike. The next pitch was in there, too, and String powdered it. The ball sizzled just inside the first-base line for a clean single. Dutch went around to third; String held up at first.

  “Okay, boys,” said Coach Day. “Two ducks on, and none away. Let’s bring them in.”

  Billy Hubble tagged the first pitch. It was a pop fly in the infield, an automatic out.

  The boys in the dugout groaned.

  Buddy waited till a strike was called on him, then socked a chest-high pitch down to short. A perfect throw to first put him out.

  “Come on, somebody!” yelled String disgustedly. “Can’t anybody hit that ball?”

  It was Chico’s turn to bat. He started for the plate.

  “Chico! Wait!”

  Chico turned. His jaw sagged. He looked pleadingly at the coach. Don’t let somebody pinch-hit for me, he thought. I am sure I can hit that ball now.

  Chico started back toward the dugout.

  “No, never mind,” said the coach, waving Chico back to the plate. “Get up there, Chico. Show ’em you can do it.”

  A sudden happy gleam came to Chico’s eyes. He turned, went to the plate, and dug his toes into the dirt.

  “Strike one!”

  Chico thought that the pitch had been a little inside, but he adjusted his stance and concentrated on the next pitch.

  Then — there it was — coming in belt-high, crossing the plate almost down the middle. Chico swung. Crack! A long, high blast going over the left fielder’s head!

  Chico dropped his bat and ran. One run came in! Another! Chico crossed first, second, and went to third. The third-base coach waved him on to home. Chico kept going, his black hair flying wildly. Somewhere on the base paths he had lost his helmet and cap.

  “Stay up, Chico! Stay up!” cried the guys crowding around home plate, waiting to shake his hand.

  A home run!

  “What a smack, Chico!” String said. “Nice —”

  Suddenly there was silence. One of the Colts infielders was signaling to the crowd around the plate.

  “What’s he saying?” Coach Day asked.

  “He’s out!” cried the umpire at first.

  “Who’s out?” said Coach Day. No one else spoke. Even the bleachers were silent as the fans watched, wondering what had happened.

  “That kid who just hit that home run,” said the umpire, running in and pointing at Chico Romez. “The first baseman saw it, and I saw it. He never touched first base!”

  Chico stared. His heart sank to his shoes.

  “What a crazy, stupid thing!” yelled Dutch. “A home run — and he didn’t touch first base!”

  6

  The score was still one to nothing in the Colts’ favor.

  Chico’s heart was crushed. He wished that Coach Day would remove him from the game. He was so ashamed of the foolish mistake he had made, he didn’t care if the coach benched him for the next two or three games.

  But the coach left him in.

  “Watch it the next time, Chico,” advised Coach Day. “Touch every base.”

  “Yes, sir,” murmured Chico. But it was like locking the barn after the horse had already run away.

  The Colts got a man on. Their long-
ball hitter was up, and Chico stepped back deeper into left. Crack! The white pill shot toward left center field as if from a cannon. Chico and center fielder Joe Ellis raced after it.

  Somebody from the infield yelled, “Let Chico take it! Let Chico take it!”

  Chico reached out his glove, caught the ball, and just missed colliding with Joe. He pegged the ball in.

  “Beautiful catch, Chico!” The fans applauded him.

  Then a ground ball went for a single, and the Colts scored a run. Two to nothing, Colts’ favor.

  In the top of the fifth, Dale singled. That gave the Royals a starter. They went ahead and scored. String made the last out of their turn at bat.

  Don’s hooks baffled the Colts’ hitters. Not a man reached first. The close game kept the fans on edge.

  This was the Royals’ last chance.

  Kenny Morton pinch-hit for Billy Hubble and whacked a double. Coach Day put in another pinch-hitter, Louie Carlo. Louie took a strike, then popped up to the pitcher. One away.

  Chico strode to the plate.

  “Come on, Chico! Another blast! Another homer! This time touch the bases!”

  The pitch. “Ball!” said the umpire.

  Another pitch. Chico powdered it — a ground ball through short. Kenny touched third and went in toward home. Chico dashed for first, the fans’ cheers ringing in his ears.

  Chico made sure he touched first. He headed for second, his helmet flying off his head.

  “Chico!” yelled the first-base coach. “Play it safe! Watch that throw-in!”

  The left fielder pegged the ball in to second. A perfect throw!

  Chico, two thirds of the way to second, came to a sudden stop. What have I done? he thought. The second baseman ran Chico back, then tossed the ball to the first baseman. Chico was caught in a hot box.

  Back and forth the first and second basemen passed the ball, trapping Chico. Then suddenly the first baseman’s peg went wild! The ball hit the ground and bounced to the right of the bag. Chico raced to the keystone sack. Safe!

  “Wow!” murmured Chico. He bent forward and rested his hands on his knees. That was sure close!

  Meanwhile, Kenny had breezed into home, tying the score at 2 to 2.

  Dale was up next. He popped out. Two outs. Then Don socked one over second. It was just out of reach of the second baseman, and Chico scored as the Royals fans cheered and applauded. His run pulled the Royals ahead, 3 to 2.

  The team’s last chance at bat came to an end when Ray Ward struck out.

  “Hold them!” yelled the Royals fans. “Hold them!”

  “Three men to get, Don!” yelled String. “Just three!”

  Don’s hook fanned the first batter. The next hitter clouted one over short, a clean hit. The batter slid in to second safely for a double.

  String called time. He went to the mound and talked with Don. Then he returned to first. Time in was called.

  Don stepped on the rubber and delivered. A hot one-bouncer came right back at him! Don caught it and tossed it to first. Two away.

  One more to get!

  A right-hander stepped to the plate. Don pitched. Crack! A long drive to left field. Chico started back, then turned and watched the white pill come down from the sky.

  Suddenly it was lost in the blinding sun! For an instant Chico had a glimpse of it again. He put out his hand. Whoosh! The ball struck the glove’s little finger, hit the ground, and bounced past him.

  Chico ran after it, picked it up, and pegged it in. The throw was too late. The hitter was running home from third. He crossed the plate before the ball reached Dale.

  The game was over. The Colts were the winners, 4 to 3.

  “How did you miss it?” stormed String, his face twisted. “You should have caught it easily!”

  “It was the sun,” murmured Chico lamely. “I lost it in the sun.”

  String just shook his head and walked away in disgust.

  7

  Four days after the loss to the Colts, the Royals were on the field again, this time playing against the Lions. The stands were full of fans, including Mr. and Mrs. Romez and many other players’ parents who weren’t usually at the games. It was the Fourth of July, which meant most people had the day off from work. A brass band played in the park, adding an air of festivity as both teams warmed up before the game.

  A few minutes before the game started, both teams walked out to the field. The Lions stood along the third-base line and the Royals along the first-base line. In front of them, standing near the mound, were the coaches of both teams. They all faced center field.

  Chico was about to ask Buddy what was going on when the brass band began to play “The Star-Spangled Banner.” The coaches and the players took off their caps and held them against their chests. A flag was slowly raised up a pole behind the center field fence.

  Chico watched it while the music filled the park. He wasn’t sure of all the words to the national anthem. But there was something about the song and the flag raising that made a lump appear in his throat.

  When the ceremony was over, Chico cheered with the rest of the team and ran back to the dugout. But his good mood was shattered when he caught a glaring look from String. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t sure anybody on the team, except Buddy, gave him a glad-to-see-you look. He worried that they were still holding him responsible for the loss on Thursday. That he had lost the ball in the sun was no excuse.

  As he was picking up his glove, he heard Dutch ask String if he was going over to the pool after the game.

  “Nah,” String replied. “Swimming and diving are for sissies.” He glanced over at Chico and smirked.

  Chico felt his face flush. He was about to turn away when Buddy piped up. “Well, I’m going. I can’t imagine spending the Fourth of July anywhere else but poolside. Hey, Chico, don’t forget, you promised you’d show me how to do that back dive today!”

  Chico knew he had never made any such promise. But there was nothing he would have rather done today than swim with Buddy. “You bet!” Chico replied. And thanks for sticking up for me, he added silently.

  The game started. The Royals took the field first, with the lineup the same as last time. Only today, southpaw Frankie Darsi was on the mound.

  Frankie blazed the ball in overhand and had no trouble getting the Lions out that first inning.

  The Royals came up and scored two runs. In the third they scored three more to put them in the lead, 5 to 0.

  “We’d better take this game,” muttered String in the dugout, loud enough for everybody to hear. “We can’t give it away now.”

  Chico felt that String intended those words especially for him.

  In the top of the fourth, the Lions threatened to put across some runs. Two hits in a row put men on first and third. Then Frankie walked a man, and the bases were loaded.

  The heavy hitters of the Lions were up. Frankie reared back and threw. Crack! The pitch was smacked to deep left. Chico went after it. He knew what it would mean if he failed to catch this fly ball.

  The ball curved toward the left-field foul line, but it was still well in fair territory. Chico ran as hard as he could, put up both his hands, and caught the ball. He stopped quickly and pegged the ball in to third. Dutch caught it and tagged the runner bolting in from second.

  The runner on third had scored though, after tagging up.

  “Nice throw, Chico!” Dutch yelled to him.

  Five to one. Then a pop-up ended the Lions’ threat.

  Chico singled in the bottom of the fourth. He ran partway to second before the firstbase coach’s cries registered in his mind. “Get back here, Chico! Get back here!”

  Chico got back to first. Almost played it foolish again, he thought.

  Dale Hunt came to bat and blasted the first pitch. The ball streaked in a clothesline drive toward short. Chico took off. As he neared the keystone sack, he heard shouting behind him. He looked out to left field, expecting to see one of the outfielders fielding the ball.


  But the ball wasn’t out there!

  Chico looked at the smiling face of the Lions’ second sacker and knew instantly that something funny had happened.

  He turned and saw the Lions’ first baseman standing on the bag, the ball in his hand.

  Chico’s eyes widened. “What happened?” he murmured.

  “What happened?” The Lions’ second baseman laughed. “You’re out, that’s what happened! Our shortstop caught the line drive and doubled you off at first!”

  Chico stared. He slapped his helmet angrily against his thigh and ran across the diamond to the dugout.

  “Chico!” said Coach Day. “Why didn’t you watch it? That ball was in the air!”

  “I’m sorry,” said Chico. There was nothing else he could say. The coach just shook his head and walked a few paces away.

  “Messes up practically every time!” Chico heard String say in a low voice. “We’ll probably lose this game yet.”

  But the Royals, including Chico, played airtight ball after that and went on to win, 5 to 2.

  After the game, Chico saw his mother and father waiting for him. They gave him their permission to join Buddy at the pool. Chico and Buddy arranged to meet there after they’d gone home and changed.

  “You played a good game, son,” Mr. Romez said as they walked home.

  Chico shrugged. “It would be better if I didn’t mess up so much.”

  His parents laughed.

  “Everyone makes mistakes,” his mother commented.

  8

  Twenty minutes later, Chico and Buddy were splashing in the pool along with many of their teammates. Chico felt his worries leave him as he climbed the ladder to the diving board.

  “Do a somersault, kid!” he heard the lifeguard call. Chico nodded and walked to the end of the board. He knew everybody was watching him. He took a deep breath, bounced once, then flung himself into the air and curled into a tight ball. Once, twice around! He hit the water with barely a splash.

  When his head popped through the surface, he heard cheering and applause. Buddy swam toward him and playfully tried to duck him under. But Chico turned the tables and ducked him instead.