Arthur was even happier to see Dylan. The cat meowed and rubbed his head against Dylan’s legs.
“That’s a good kitty.” Dylan crouched to stroke the cat’s head. Arthur purred happily.
“With you, he is,” said Uncle Marvin.
Arthur suddenly leaped onto the couch, through the window, and out to the porch. He loped back into the room with something in his mouth. He dropped it at Dylan’s feet.
“A present? For me?” Dylan picked up a wet, chewed-up, clawed-up, slobbery lump.
“My home run ball!” said Uncle Marvin. “I told you somebody stole it.”
“Thank you,” Dylan told the cat. He handed the ball to Uncle Marvin and then knelt to give Arthur a good belly rub.
“Well, it’s been chewed up and spat out,” said Uncle Marvin, looking at the ball. “But I’m glad to have it back.” He got a kitchen towel and wiped off the ball. He hummed while he worked.
“Would you sell it now?” I asked him. “I know Teddy really wants it back.”
“No, sir!” the old man said.
“But it’s important.” I explained about Teddy’s slump. “He thinks he needs the baseball back or he’ll never get another hit.”
“That’s silly,” said Casey.
“It’s true because he thinks it,” I told him. “That’s how baseball players are.”
“I don’t know,” said Uncle Marvin. “I can see why your friend needs it, but this ball means a lot to me.”
“He said he’d give you a hundred bucks,” I said.
“Ah, what would I do with a hundred dollars?” asked Uncle Marvin. “I’ve already got a hundred dollars.”
“What about a trade? I have a card of that guy who used to play for the Cubs. The one who hit the homer your brother caught.”
Uncle Marvin shot up straight in his chair. “You have an Andy Pafko baseball card?”
“Yeah, him. He’s a Dodger on the card, though. Is that OK?”
“Holy Zamboni!” said Uncle Marvin. He jumped up and peered out the window, then closed the blinds. He came back and whispered, “You can’t be too careful. Kid, I want to level with you. I want that card, and I want it bad. It may be the one thing on earth I want more than this home run ball. Can I see it?”
“I don’t have it here,” I said.
“We’ll go to your house, then,” said Uncle Marvin. “I’ll drive.”
I groaned. “I don’t have it at home, either. It’s in my desk at school.” It was my teacher’s fault. She didn’t give us any math homework that weekend, and the Andy Pafko card was still at school, tucked between the pages of my math book. I had gotten used to looking at the card as I was making my way through math problems. “You can do it!” Andy’s face always seemed to say.
“Hmm. That does complicate things,” said Uncle Marvin.
“If you give me the ball now, I’ll bring you the card on Monday,” I promised. “Teddy could really use it for the game tomorrow.”
“Don’t do it!” said Casey. “Don’t help the Porcupines, Uncle Marvin!”
“I’d rather have the card by tomorrow, anyway,” said Uncle Marvin.
I glanced at the clock. There might be time. If the rehearsal was still going on, Ms. Henry would be there, and I could ask her to let me into the classroom.
“We need to go to the school,” I said.
“I’ll drive you,” said Uncle Marvin.
“I’m coming too,” said Casey.
“To the batboymobile!” said Dylan.
he batboymobile turned out to be a huge Buick from caveman times. All three of us fit in the back with room to spare. Unfortunately, to Uncle Marvin, “hurrying” meant going five miles below the speed limit. I just hoped we didn’t show up to find the doors locked and the school empty.
We were in luck. One of the gym doors was open. I went inside and saw Abby on the stage, reading from a script. “I’m so cold,” she said with a shiver. “My hands are numb.” The way she said it made me feel cold.
“Very nice,” said Ms. Henry.
I hustled across the gym to the stage.
“Chad?” said Ms. Henry. “The play is already cast, but if you really want to be in it, I could use more boys—”
“How did the game go?” Abby interrupted. “Did the Porcupines win?”
“I’ll think about it,” I told Ms. Henry. I turned to Abby. “We lost and the crowd was chanting for Spike.”
I turned back to Ms. Henry. “Can you please let me into the classroom for ten seconds? I have a math emergency.”
Ten minutes later, I was back in the batboymobile with my math book.
“I’m in the play,” I told Dylan and Casey. “I felt like I owed Ms. Henry, so I agreed to be in it. She needed boys.”
“What role?” Dylan asked.
“Passerby number three.” At least I was a human being this time.
“Let’s see the card,” said Uncle Marvin. I flipped through the pages of my math book until I found the Andy Pafko card. I gave it one last look. I liked this card … and it had been one of Grandpa’s.
I thought about Teddy’s notebook, and all those blank pages waiting to be filled with hits.
I looked at Uncle Marvin. He was trembling with excitement.
I looked at the card. “You can do it, kid!” Andy Pafko seemed to say.
I reached out and gave the card to Uncle Marvin.
“It’s just like I remember it,” he said. He flipped it over. “It’s got a red back too. Just like Carl’s. I’d forgotten about that. Pafko was a Dodger by the time he got a card. Carl liked it anyhow.” The old man gulped.
Casey leaned forward from the back. “Carl? You mean Granddad?”
“That’s who I mean,” said Marvin. “When I was ten years old, I got my first bike. It was a Schwinn Panther. That was a beautiful bike, boys. They don’t make them like that anymore. Mine was royal blue, and I liked it because it was the same color as the Cubs’ uniforms. I took that bike out and I was on top of the world for all of five minutes. Then I saw another boy on the exact same bike. He had playing cards fastened to the spokes of the front wheel with clothespins, and it made his bike sound like a motorbike. Well, suddenly my bike didn’t seem so hot. I wanted to do the same thing to my spokes. What I did was a horrible thing.”
Uh-oh. I knew where this story was going. But I didn’t say anything. Uncle Marvin kept talking.
“I didn’t dare take Dad’s playing cards, but my brother, Carl, had a cigar box full of baseball cards. I grabbed a handful. Carl wasn’t home, and I figured I’d put them back before he knew they were gone. I shouldn’t have done it, but that’s what I did. I didn’t even look to see who was on the cards.”
“Was Andy Pafko one of them?” I asked.
“He was. I rode all over the neighborhood, across muddy lawns, and through puddles. The cards were all wrecked. I realized I was in big trouble, so I threw them all away. When Carl asked about them, I said I didn’t know anything. He knew I was lying, and I never fessed up.”
“And that’s why you two don’t talk now?” Casey guessed.
“That’s not the only reason, but I feel like that’s where it all started,” Marvin said. “Well, Carl is coming for the game tomorrow. I can make a lot of amends if I give him this card. ‘Handy Andy’ was his favorite player. Carl could put it on display with his ball …” Uncle Marvin sniffed. “Yeah, that’s worth more to me than my home run ball. I guess you’ve got a deal.”
“Good,” I said, but I didn’t feel good. I was doing the right thing—helping Teddy and helping Uncle Marvin—but I was going to miss that card. Especially when I did math problems.
eddy was confused when I handed him the wreck of his home run ball.
“What’s this?” he asked. “Your lucky birthday baseball,” I told him. “The guy who caught it has a cat.”
“You must mean a cougar,” said Teddy.
“For a lucky baseball, that thing sure doesn’t look like it’s had much luck,”
said Wayne Zane. “Just sayin’.”
“It’s the right ball, though,” said Teddy. “I can feel it.” He tossed it in the air and caught it. “I feel luckier already. This ball has been through a lot, but it’s still here. Just like us Porcupines.”
“Let me hold it for a second,” said Tommy. “I could use some good luck.” He took it, gripped it, smiled, and then handed it to Sammy.
The Pines passed the ball around. Everybody squeezed a bit more luck out of it until it got to Lance. He held the beat-up ball, muttered something softly in Spanish, and then gave it back to Teddy.
“We’re going to win today,” Lance said. “I just know it.”
• • •
Spike was back! The junior mascot and Pokey did some of their best bits from the season: Spike and the radio; Spike and the water balloons; Spike learning how to drive the golf cart. The crowd loved it.
That gave me time to go see Casey and his family. His granddad and Uncle Marvin were sitting next to each other. They were practically twins. Carl even had a matching wool cap.
“Is this the kid you swindled out of that card?” Casey’s granddad said.
“I told you, I didn’t know,” said Uncle Marvin.
“Didn’t know what?” I asked. Did Uncle Marvin give me the wrong baseball? If so, I wasn’t telling Teddy and the team. Not after they had passed the ball around for good luck.
“Tell him, Marvin,” said Carl.
“I didn’t know,” he grumbled. “I never would have taken it if I’d known.”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Casey jumped up to explain. “Granddad says the Andy Pafko card is worth a small fortune. It’s one of the most valuable baseball cards there is. So he’s making Uncle Marvin give it back to you.”
“Really?” I didn’t care how much the card was worth, but I was getting it back? I couldn’t believe my luck. “Does that mean Uncle Marvin wants the home run ball back?”
Casey shrugged.
I looked at Uncle Marvin, who shrugged, too. “Keep it. I think Arthur misses it more than I do.”
“I’ll get you another ball, at least,” I offered.
“Bah. It’s not the same if I don’t catch it,” said Uncle Marvin. “But I go to a lot of games, and I’m young yet.”
“It was nice of him to trade for the card for me,” said Carl. “That was a nice gesture.”
“It was the least I could do,” said Uncle Marvin.
• • •
Lance got everybody out in the first two innings, but Damien was just as good. In the bottom of the second he had two outs, and two strikes on Teddy Larrabee. It looked like the game would go just like the first game in the series.
Then the Bear got a bloop hit. That means a lucky hit. The ball just kind of landed between the Rogues’ shortstop and the second baseman. Either one of them could have picked it up and thrown to first, but neither of them did. They both thought the other would do it. They looked at each other for a second—and that was long enough for Teddy to scamper to first base.
It was just a two-out single, and a lucky one, but it felt like a big deal. The Porcupines had gotten to Damien Ricken!
The Rogues’ pitcher shook his head, got a new ball, and struck out Danny O’Brien. Teddy didn’t even score, but his one hit—his first hit in two weeks—got the fans clapping and chanting.
The Rogues got a leadoff walk in the third inning. The base runner then stole second. It was just one potential run out there, but today one run felt like a hundred.
Lance was calm. He walked the next batter, too. There was still nobody out. Down at the end of the bench, Grumps the manager watched with no expression on his face.
“Double play,” Sammy whispered. “Come on, double play.” A second later the batter hit a bouncing ball toward the shortstop. Mike Stammer fielded it and tossed it to George “President” Lincoln at second base for one out. The President threw it to Teddy at first base for the second out. “Yeah!” Sammy pumped his fist. “I told ya!”
Grumps still looked blank. He could have been waiting for a bus.
Now there was a Rogues’ runner on third and two outs. I felt a lot better, but the go-ahead run was too close for comfort.
“You’re grinding your teeth,” Sammy told me. “Calm down.”
“Sorry.” I hadn’t even realized I was doing it.
“Never mind. That was me,” said Sammy.
The batter hit a hot smash toward Mike. He dived, snagged the ball, got up, and fired it to first. The umpire called the runner out, and the Rogues’ manager rushed over to argue. The argument went on for a few minutes, and the crowd started to get restless. Pokey and Spike ran out to mimic the argument. Pokey looked stern while Spike pretended to complain, kicked dirt, and gestured wildly. Pokey finally threw his thumb back over his shoulder—the sign that someone was thrown out of the game. The crowed cheered, playing along, while Spike stormed off.
Meanwhile, the Rogues’ manager really was thrown out of the game. He glowered and started to stalk off the field, but Spike ran after him. The manager realized something was going on, stopped, and turned around. Spike gave him a big, consoling, porcupine hug. The crowd cheered wildly. It was the funniest thing Spike had ever done. The manager did calm down and even patted Spike’s spiny head. I had tears in my eyes, I was laughing so hard. Even Grumps was smiling. I decided that even if the Porcupines lost, this was the greatest game ever.
n the bottom of the ninth inning, Myung and Mike hit singles and Sammy walked. That put a Porcupine on first, second, and third base. Teddy came up to bat with the bases loaded and two outs. The Rogues changed pitchers after the walk. Damien Ricken went back to the dugout looking miserable.
“Good game, though,” I said out loud. I clapped along with the rest of the Porcupines’ fans as the new Rogues’ pitcher walked to the mound. I didn’t know his name, but based on his warm-up pitches he was a knuckleballer. A knuckleball drops and darts and seems to hang in the air like a butterfly. It was a big change from Damien’s slider. I hoped the Bear could swat one of those butterflies.
“This is a big one,” said Wayne, as if I didn’t know. A base hit, and the Porcupines would win the game and tie up the series. Just yesterday, that seemed impossible.
Teddy flailed at the first pitch, missing it by a mile. Then he watched the second one float over the plate for a called strike. The third pitch was a ball.
The Rogues’ pitcher wound up and threw the fourth pitch. Teddy kept his eye on the ball, and at just the right moment he swung hard.
The ball sliced down the first base line, a close, very close call … fair ball! It kept on rolling—all the way to the wall. While the Rogues’ right fielder scrambled to get it, Myung, Mike, and Sammy were racing around the bases.
Myung crossed home plate. Score! The Porcupines had won!
“That’s our Bear!” shouted Victor Snapp over the PA system. The crowd roared as the Pines emptied out of the dugout to congratulate their hero. The Porcupines had won, 1–0, thanks to Teddy “the Bear” Larrabee!
• • •
The first thing Teddy did when he got back to the locker room was get out his notebook and start writing in it.
“What’s that for?” Wayne asked.
“Why do you need to know?” Teddy asked.
“Just curious,” said Wayne.
“I write down all my hits. That’s all.”
“Oh. OK. Nothing wrong with that.”
“It’s for my life story,” Teddy blurted out. “I figured I should keep count. I also keep a diary, but that’s at home. But I write down my hits right after the game so I won’t forget.”
“Your autobiography?” Tommy looked impressed.
“I have a title for it and everything—Running with the Bear. Go ahead and make your jokes. Let’s get it over with.”
Teddy waited, but nobody said anything. Not even Wayne.
“That’s a great title,” said Sammy.
“Yea
h, if I had anything half that good, I’d write an autobiography,” said Wayne.
“I can’t wait to read it,” said Tommy. “When are you going to finish it?”
“It’s my life story,” said Teddy. “So I won’t be done for a really long time.”
• • •
“What a great game!” Dylan said when he got back to the Porcupines’ locker room. “I thought I was going to chew my own lip off when Teddy was batting with the bases loaded, and then, BAM!” He mimed the swing and the big hit.
“So you’re officially a baseball fan?” I asked him.
“Sure,” Dylan replied. “I’ll never be as big a fan as you, but today’s game was fun. I can’t wait for tomorrow’s.”
Dylan went to his locker. “Hey!” He pulled out a new jersey with signatures all over it.
“Just in case this was our last home game,” Wally explained. Wally was the Pines’ clubhouse manager, and our boss. “We wanted to get you kids something.”
“Look!” Dylan showed me the back of his jersey. Instead of BB, it said CRITTERS. “I guess that’s my new nickname,” he said. “I love it.”
“It suits you,” I said. I ran to my own locker. I had a new jersey too. It was signed by all the players and also by Wally, Grumps, Pokey, Spike, and Victor Snapp. It looked like they even had Ernie Hecker sign it! I flipped it over to see the nickname the team had given me:
KID MAGIC.
About the Author
Kurtis Scaletta’s previous books include Mudville, which Booklist called “a gift from the baseball gods” and named one of their 2009 Top 10 Sports Books for Youth. Kurtis lives in Minneapolis with his wife and son and some cats. He roots for the Minnesota Twins and the Saint Paul Saints. Find out more about him at www.kurtisscaletta.com.
About the Artist
Eric Wight was an animator for Disney, Warner Bros., and Cartoon Network before creating the critically acclaimed Frankie Pickle graphic novel series. He lives in Doylestown, Pennsylvania, and is a diehard fan of the Philadelphia Phillies and the Lehigh Valley Iron Pigs. You can check out all the fun he is having at www.ericwight.com.
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