Hard Drive to Short

by Matt Christopher

  “Hi, Rod,” greeted Sandy.

  “Well hi, kid. Been playing ball?”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t want to say any more about the game, not unless Rod asked him specific questions. He didn’t want to tell Rod he had to go home to watch his sisters. Even Rod might laugh about that.

  “Saw in the paper you play pretty good ball. Keep that up and someday you’ll be playing with the Redwings.”

  Sandy grinned, but he didn’t know what to say.

  “Want to take a spin?” Rod asked. “Around a few blocks, maybe?”

  Sandy’s eyes popped. “A ride? On your motorbike?”

  “Sure!” Rod grinned. “Come on. Climb on the backseat.”

  Sandy wanted to very much. It wasn’t only the ride on the motorbike he’d enjoy. It was being with Rod.

  “Thanks, Rod. But I’ve got to get home.”

  Rod chuckled. “What’s the matter? Scared?”

  Sandy’s face reddened. “No, I’m not scared. I’ll take a ride some other time. I promise!”

  Rod’s laughter drifted after Sandy as he ran across the street and into his own driveway. He couldn’t get over it. Rod, a great second baseman, a guy a lot of kids would give five dollars to be with, had asked Sandy to go riding with him!

  Mom left a few seconds after Sandy got home. Jo Ann and Elizabeth were in the backyard, playing with a dollhouse.

  “Who won the game?” Elizabeth asked, putting diapers on her doll.

  “Nobody yet,” answered Sandy. “It’s only half over.” I wish you and Jo Ann were bigger, he thought. Then I wouldn’t have to babysit. I could still be playing in that game. Or, better yet, riding with Rod Temple on his motorbike. Sandy sighed.

  He liked Rod Temple, and he thought Rod liked him. They were two of a kind, thought Sandy. It made no difference that Rod was older and bigger than he. They both could do something extra well. They both were real good ballplayers. Everyone knew that Rod Temple was the best player on the Redwings. And Coach Malone had practically said that Sandy was the best player with the Spacemen.

  Later Nibbs and Jules stopped in and told him that the Spacemen had won the game 6 to 4. Pop was home by now, and Sandy had changed into his everyday clothes. They had supper, which Mom had prepared and left in the oven.

  The house seemed empty without Mom and Peter at the table. Especially without Mom. She had said she would work for a year. By that time the combined savings of Mom, Pop and Peter would be enough to put Peter through his first year of college and give him a good start toward his second year. Mom might have to work again after that. It all depended.

  Sandy was looking at his model of a space capsule — it was eighteen inches long with two astronauts strapped inside of it — and thinking about Rod Temple. In a little while he might see if Rod was in the driveway with his motorbike. Perhaps Rod might offer him a ride again.

  Someone knocked on the front door. Sandy heard Pop answer it, then Pop’s raised voice. “Sandy! Nibbs and Jules are here to see you!”

  “Okay, Pop!” He ran out of his room and met them at the door.

  “Hi, Sandy” Nibbs Spry’s hair was still wet from a shower. “We’re going to play miniature golf. Want to come along?”

  Sandy looked at them, unable to make up his mind. He enjoyed playing miniature golf with the guys, but what if Rod was out there? What if this might be his chance to ride on Rod’s motorbike? He could play miniature golf anytime.

  “I — I’m busy, guys,” he said lamely. “Maybe next time. Okay?”

  The two boys looked at him. “Okay,” said Nibbs, his smile fading. He and Jules walked away, and Sandy closed the door.

  Later on he wished he had gone with Nibbs and Jules because he didn’t see Rod and his motorbike that evening at all.

  4

  ON Saturday afternoon Rod Temple was polishing his motorbike again, and Sandy walked across the street to watch him.

  “Hi, Rod,” he called.

  “Hi, Sandy. Polishing up this baby again. You’d be surprised how quick she gets dirty.”

  Sandy didn’t think that the motorbike ever got as dirty as Rod implied. It always looked as clean and new as the day Rod had purchased it. Like now. You could see your reflection in it even if the curves distorted it.

  “Got time?” asked Rod. “I’ll take you for a ride.”

  Sandy was elated. His wish was answered. “Okay.” He didn’t want to sound as excited as he felt.

  Rod stood away from the bike and looked at it. “Well, the shine’s still not too good, but I won’t spend more time with it now. Let’s take our ride.”

  He stuck the chamois cloth into a leather pouch behind the front seat, then turned the bike around so that it faced the street. He got on, and Sandy climbed on behind him.

  Rod started the motor and carefully drove out of the driveway, then sped down the street. The motor put-putted loudly as the little bike wove slightly from left to right for a few seconds, then evened its course and shot straight ahead. Sandy hung on tight to the handgrips of his seat, the wind lashing his hair and caressing his cheeks. What fun this was! It was the first time he had ever ridden on a motorbike.

  They rode down the street for several blocks, then turned left. Sandy wasn’t thinking about where they were going. He was thinking only of the ride and of being with Rod.

  “Hi, Sandy!” a voice suddenly shouted. Two others joined in.

  Oink Decker, Marty Loomis and Ken Bockman were waving to him from the sidewalk. He took a hand off the grip and waved back. He wondered if they envied him. Well, let them. He deserved to ride with Rodney.

  The bike pulled up to a curb in front of an ice cream store. “How about an ice cream cone?” asked Rod, digging into his pocket.

  “Okay.”

  After a few moments of searching Rod said, “Uh-oh. Left all my dough at home.”

  “I’ve got plenty,” Sandy piped up enthusiastically. “I’ll buy.”

  “You sure it’s okay?”

  “Sure, I’m sure.” Sandy lifted out his wallet. “What kind do you like?”

  “Maple walnut.”

  “I’ll get two. Doubleheaders?”

  Rod grinned. “Doubleheaders!”

  Sandy bought them while Rod stood outside with his bike. They ate the ice cream, then started up the bike and rode on. They arrived at Fillmore Park, a huge, beautiful place with two ball diamonds, tennis courts and picnic grounds in the wooded hills beyond. A high waterfall sparkled gorgeously to the left. Below, in a dammed-up pond, people were diving and swimming.

  A game was in progress on one of the ball diamonds.

  “Hey,” said Rod, suddenly smiling, “the girls are playing softball! I know some of them. Let’s watch them for a while.”

  Watch girls play softball? Was Rod kidding? For a minute Sandy thought that Rod really was. But Rod was already walking toward them, a broad, happy smile on his face.

  “Can I finish polishing the bike while you’re watching the game?” asked Sandy. That would be more fun than watching girls play softball.

  “Oh, sure. Go ahead.”

  “Thanks, Rod!”

  Sandy got the chamois cloth out of the pouch and went to work on the bike. He could not see where it really needed polishing, but he rubbed and rubbed all over the bright metal surface anyway. Now and then he looked up, hoping that Rod would return so they could be on their way.

  But Rod seemed to have made himself comfortable on the grass next to one of the girls’ teams’ benches. Sandy put the cloth away, sat and waited. Rod didn’t leave until the game was over. By that time Sandy was really tired of hanging around.

  He said nothing, though. He guessed that when guys got older they hung around with girls some. Sandy didn’t care. He felt good just being with Rod. Not only good, but big, too.

  5

  THE next time Sandy saw Rodney was early Tuesday afternoon. Rodney took him riding on the motorbike again and stopped at a miniature golf course at the edge of town.

/>   “How about playing a game?” Rod asked.

  “Okay. But you’ll beat me. I’m not good at miniature golf.”

  “So what?” They got off the bike, and Rod pulled it back on its stand. Then he reached into his pocket. Suddenly a look Sandy had seen on Rod’s face before was there again.

  “Well,” said Rod, “guess we can’t play. Stupid me. I forgot my wallet again.”

  Once more Sandy brought out his wallet.

  “Forget it,” said Rod. “We can play some other time.”

  “I’ve got money for both of us,” insisted Sandy. “I’ll pay.”

  Rod grinned. “Boy, it seems that you’re always loaded. How do you make your money, kid?”

  Sandy shrugged. “I get an allowance every week for doing chores around the house.” Sandy didn’t mention that one of his chores was babysitting his sisters.

  “Oh, no wonder!” Rod’s grin widened. “In that case, I’ll let you pay! But you’ll have to let me pay sometime. Okay?”

  “Okay.” The way Rod looked at him, the way he said that — Sandy didn’t know whether Rod was kidding him, or what.

  They played golf and Rod won by four points.

  An hour before the Batwings-Spacemen game on Thursday, Sandy, dressed in his baseball uniform and carrying his glove on his wrist, walked across the street to see if Rod was out in the driveway. He wasn’t. Neither was the motorbike, though it could be in the garage.

  Sandy had hoped he’d see Rod. Maybe, just maybe, Rod might have offered to give him a ride to the game.

  Disappointed, Sandy walked the four blocks to the ball field.

  “You’re not going to be running home halfway through the game today, are you?” Marty Loomis said as they played catch with each other.

  “I’ve got to be home by a quarter of seven,” replied Sandy.

  “Why?”

  “I have something to do, that’s why. Now quit asking questions, will you?”

  You couldn’t tell every guy on the team you had to watch over your little sisters. They’d rag on you forever.

  The Batwings were up first. Sandy started at short. Duke Miller was on the mound.

  “All right! Some noise out there!” yelled Coach Malone from the bench. “What are you — statues?”

  The men started chattering like a cageful of monkeys. The Batwings’ leadoff man stepped to the plate. Duke, a lefthander, stepped to the mound. Catcher Marty Loomis gave him a sign. Duke wound up and delivered. The batter swung at the first pitch. Crack! A sizzling grounder to short.

  For an instant Sandy felt his nerves jangle. He had thought he was ready for a ball hit toward him, but now that it was coming at him he felt caught off guard. The batter’s hitting that first pitch was a surprise.

  “Take it, Sandy!” shouted Kerry Dean from third.

  Sandy bent over to field the ball. It was coming hard and fast, faster than he realized. He lowered his glove, felt the ball smack solidly into the pocket, then rose and pegged it to first.

  Out!

  “Nice play, Sandy!” Nibbs Spry yelled from the other side of the keystone sack.

  The ball zipped around the horn. Sandy caught the throw from Kerry, tossed it to Nibbs, then stood in his position at short, swinging his arms loosely back and forth in front of him. Man! he thought, was he lucky. He had expected to miss that grounder for sure.

  The Batwings’ second batter came to the plate. Duke threw three pitches before the batter took his first cut. He missed, then cracked a line drive over the third-base sack that went for two bases.

  The next hitter, a lefty, banged an inside pitch to right field, scoring the man from second. Stubby Tobin’s throw-in held the hitter on first.

  The Batwings’ clean-up hitter fouled off two pitches, then socked a high-bouncing ground ball to Sandy. Sandy fielded it and snapped it to Nibbs. Nibbs stepped on second, then pegged the ball to first. A double play!

  Sandy smiled. He felt better.

  First at bat for the Spacemen was Kerry Dean, who waited out the pitcher, taking two balls and two strikes before his first cut. It was a strikeout.

  Jules Anderson let a strike go by him, then laced the next pitch just inside the first-base bag for a double. He stood on the sack, clapping his hands and yelling for Sandy to knock him in. Sandy stepped to the plate. The guys on the bench and the fans began yelling, too.

  “Bring ’im in, Sandy! Bring ’im in!”

  His face was hot. His palms sweated. He wiped them on his pants, then gripped his bat close to the knob and waited for Ed Thomas, the Batwings’ pitcher, to put one in there.

  In it came, chest-high. Sandy swung. Missed! “Strike!” said the ump.

  Another. “Strike two!”

  Sandy stepped out of the box, dried his hands on his pants, then stepped in again.

  6

  BALL!”

  The first nervous sensations were gone. Sandy felt more sure of himself. Ed had speed, but his curve was just a wrinkle.

  The pitch came in. It was knee-high and curving. Sandy cut at it. Crack! The ball struck the ground in front of Ed, then bounced over his head and to the outfield. Frank Mintz, coaching at third, windmilled Jules on to home. The throw-in from the outfield held Sandy on first.

  Well, he had done it. He had evened the score.

  Oink Decker blasted a hot grounder to shortstop, and Sandy ran as hard as he could to second, not thinking he’d ever make it. The shortstop fumbled the ball! By the time he retrieved it the men were safe on their bases.

  Marty Loomis connected solidly with the first pitch, but it was a high fly to right field and easily caught. Two away.

  Stubby Tobin was up next. He waited out the pitcher till there was a three-two count on him, then smashed a line drive over short. The ball hit the grass behind the bare ground and rolled out between the left and center fielders. Sandy scored from second. A quick retrieve and throw-in from the center fielder held Oink up at third.

  Nibbs Spry, looking anxious and dangerous at the plate, did no more than foul two pitches to the backstop screen. He struck out, ending the first inning.

  Sandy felt good as he ran out to short and picked up his glove. Two to one. If only the Spacemen could pick up a few more runs before he had to leave.

  He was prepared this time for a first-pitch hit. But the leadoff man let it pass. “Strike one!” called the umpire.

  Duke laid the next pitch in there, too. The batter swung. The blow was solid, driving the ball like a meteor to deep right field. It hit behind Stubby. Before Stubby picked it up and pegged it in, the runner was on third base.

  The next batter hit a high-bouncing grounder to second base. The runner on third took off the instant the ball was hit.

  Nibbs fielded it and whipped it home. The peg was a mile high over Marty’s head, and every Spacemen fan in the stands groaned. So did Nibbs. The runner scored, and the hitter ran to second.

  A scratch single advanced the man to third. Duke was on his way to walking the next hitter. He threw three balls without a strike. Then he shot two straight over the heart of the plate.

  “Atta boy, Duke!” yelled Sandy. “Throw the next one in there, too!”

  “Belt it out of the county, Nick!” a Batwing fan shouted.

  Duke pitched. Crack! A high, towering fly over the infield!

  “I’ll take it! I’ll take it!” called Sandy.

  The ball became a fuzzy white sphere against the velvet blue sky, and Sandy was afraid he might misjudge it. Then it came down. Step back! Step back! It’s coming down behind you! He raised his glove. Plop! He had it.

  Duke smiled as Sandy tossed him the ball. “It was an infield out, anyway,” said Duke.

  Sandy shrugged. “Yeah, but catching is good practice.”

  A blazing grounder through the pitcher’s mound scored the Batwings’ next run and again left men on first and third. The infielders talked it up loud and steadily, hoping to give Duke the encouragement he needed to pitch well to the next batter. />
  He threw a strike. The next ball was hit to short right field. Stubby Tobin ran in as hard as his short legs would carry him. He dove at the ball and missed it, landing on his stomach. He clambered to his feet, chased after the ball, snapped it up and pegged it in, holding the runner on third.

  But another run had scored, making it three so far this inning. And there were men on second and third.

  Why in heck had Stubby run in after that ball, anyway? thought Sandy angrily. He ought to know he wasn’t that fast.

  Duke pitched to the following batter, getting two balls and a strike on him. Then a hot eight-foot-high drive to Sandy! The ball was curving downward slightly as it headed for him. He leaped, then snagged it. He saw the runner on third returning to tag up. Sandy snapped the ball to Kerry. Out! A double play!

  Coach Malone smacked the shortstop on the seat of the pants as he came in to sit down. “Nice catch and quick thinking, buddy.”

  “Thanks,” replied Sandy, taking a deep breath.

  He hoped his teammates would rally and get back those three runs. The Bat-wings led, 4 to 2. But his hopes vanished as Duke hit into a double play with Ken Bockman on first. Kerry singled. Jules flied out.

  Sandy checked the time with Phil Peters, who was holding his wristwatch. Phil was the Spacemen’s mascot and Punk Peters’s kid brother. It was ten after six. He had half an hour to play before he had to leave.

  The top of the third. Duke looked hot as he mowed down the first batter with three called strikes. The second batter lined a sizzling grounder to Nibbs. Nibbs fumbled it, picked it up quickly and pegged to first. A close play.

  “Out!” yelled the base umpire.

  Good ol’ Nibbs, Sandy reflected. The best second baseman in the league.

  Duke walked the third batter, but the fourth popped a fly to him, ending the half-inning.

  Sandy led off, and the Spacemen fans began yelling for him again. He thought of Rod Temple, wondering if Rod was in the stands. But Rod was probably practicing baseball or playing in a game himself.

  Crack! A smashing drive between left and center fields! Sandy dropped his bat and ran. He rounded first… second. Frank Mintz, coaching third, held him up at the third-base sack.