Watching him, Libby felt a smile twitch her cheeks. She knew what Petey could do. Very soon, those hecklers would be silenced.
Pete shifted his eyes as one of the Beta Theta Pi men separated from the tight cluster of players and ambled toward home plate. He swung his bat, nonchalant, a slight grin on his lips. His teammates laughed, calling out, “You go, Chester! Home run, buddy, home run! Easy hit!”
Pete remembered the player from his first night on campus— one of Roy’s friends who’d come running when Roy quirked his fingers for reinforcements. He swallowed. Bennett had already played these guys; he knew the team was made up of Roy and his cohorts. So why had Bennett dragged Pete into a rematch with them? He didn’t want to suspect his friend of using him to cause trouble, but his mind swerved in that direction anyway.
Bennett, at third base, cupped his hands and yelled, “Get ’im, Pete! Easy out!” A few of his teammates echoed the cry, but their voices lacked real confidence. Pete supposed he couldn’t blame them. After being—as Bennett had put it—stomped by Roy’s team the other evening, they’d been hoping for a champion pitcher to save the day. And what they got was a peg-legged cripple instead.
Suddenly, from the spectators, a familiar voice rang out. “Strike him out, Petey! One, two, three . . . out!”
A few outright snickers followed the comment, but Pete didn’t mind. Having Libby offer her support gave him the boost in confidence he needed. He straightened his shoulders and locked eyes with Chester, who settled into position at home plate. Pete looked the batter up and down, silently measuring his height, and chose the best place to aim the ball based on the distance between the man’s waist and knees. Drawing his arm back, he prepared to throw.
“Hey!” a voice blasted.
Startled, Pete jerked, throwing himself off balance. He regained his footing and then turned toward the voice.
Roy stood in front of his team with his hands on his hips. “Aren’t you gonna take a practice pitch?”
Bennett stepped off the base, his face twisted into an angry scowl. “That’s interfering with a play, Ump—automatic strike!” He glared at the umpire, daring him to call it.
But the umpire raised his skinny shoulders in a shrug. “Fair question.” He called to Pete, “You want to practice? We’ll give you two throws.” Chester bounced in place on the balls of his feet, looking from the umpire to Pete.
It had been a while since he’d pitched, but Pete didn’t want to risk wearing out his arm before the game ended. He set his jaw. The fewer throws, the better. And he’d better make each one count. Pete shook his head. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
Chester hunched into position. The crowd began a low-pitched mutter: “Home run, home run, home run . . .” Pete closed his ears to the taunting hum and drew his arm back. With a snap, he released the ball. It smacked into the catcher’s mitt. Chester jerked upright, his jaw dropping. He hadn’t even swung.
“Chester!” Roy screeched from the sidelines. “You dimwit, watch the ball!”
Chester threw his arms wide. “Watch it? It came so fast, I didn’t even see it!”
Roy ran both hands through his hair. “Watch closer this time!”
Bennett called, “That’s the way, Pete! One down! Two to go!”
Pete’s teammates echoed the cry, surprise underscoring their voices. Pete tried not to smile. He waited until Chester settled into position, then snapped off a second pitch. Chester swung, but too late.
“Strike two!” the umpire bellowed, then sent a hesitant look toward Roy. Pete chose not to look at Roy. He sensed the man’s irritation from a distance of forty feet.
“One more!” Bennett nearly crowed, bouncing on his heels beside the base. “Just one more, Pete—c’mon, buddy, you can do it!”
An unearthly hush fell as Pete pulled his arm back for the third pitch. He cocked his elbow and snapped the ball toward home plate. The ball zipped directly over the unpainted slab of wood and into the catcher’s glove.
The umpire jammed his thumb toward Chester. “You’re out!”
Chester stood for a few stunned seconds, staring at Pete as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. Then he dropped the bat and rejoined his team, skirting around Roy. Roy clenched his fists for a moment, glaring at Pete, then he grabbed another teammate. He threw the man forward, hissing, “You better get a hit.”
But the second batter didn’t get a hit, either, nor did the third. By the ninth straight strike, Pete’s team was wild with excitement. Even the spectators, who’d remained unnervingly silent through the final six pitches of the first inning, broke into uncertain applause when Pete came off the field.
Roy stormed out to the pitcher’s mound. His first pitch was wild, hitting the batter on the leg. “Take your base, Jim,” the umpire said, then offered a mild reprimand. “It’s supposed to be a friendly game, Roy. Take it easy, huh?”
Roy didn’t respond.
Bennett bumped Pete’s shoulder. “Let’s hope Melvin sends Jim home—we could use a point.” But Jim remained stuck at first base when Roy threw six straight strikes and brought down Melvin and then Ted, earning cheers from the crowd.
Pete noted that the cheers and applause for Roy possessed greater enthusiasm than what had been offered him, but he chose not to be offended. Roy was well-known; Pete was new. Roy was a bully who could exact revenge; Pete was a ministry student who would turn the other cheek. He understood the reason for the exuberant response. Even though a small part of him wished it might be different, that once—just once—the rousing cries would be for him. Then again, he doubted his future congregation would ever stand in the pews and applaud at the close of a sermon.
By the bottom half of the third and final inning, Roy’s team had two runs to the Delta Tau Delta’s zero. Bennett’s frustration grew, evidenced by his red face and tightened jaw muscles. “You never should’ve let ’em hit off you,” he said to Pete when the team gathered to line up for batting.
Pete tried not to bristle. Had Bennett expected him to throw nine straight strikes each inning? Not even professional pitchers managed that feat.
Bennett went on. “We gotta make it up.”
“So who’s up?” Jim asked.
Ted consulted his list. “Lanny, then Stanley, then Bennett, then . . .” He swallowed. “Pete.”
Bennett’s lip pinched into a grim line. “All right, listen.” He looked at Lanny and Stanley. “All you gotta do is get on base. Bunt if you have to, but get on base. I know I can hit him. I got the rhythm now. You two get on, and I’ll hit you home.”
Lanny and Stanley exchanged quick looks. “You sure?”
“I’m sure. Now go!” He slapped a bat into Lanny’s hands and gave him a push. Pete watched the man shuffle to home plate and take his position. Just as Bennett had instructed, he bunted toward third and barely made it to first ahead of the ball. Bennett’s team cheered, and a few spectators, including Libby and Alice-Marie, joined in.
“See there? See there?” Bennett clapped Stanley on the back. “Now it’s your turn!”
But Roy’s team must have suspected Stanley would mimic Lanny’s play, because the third baseman inched forward. He easily snagged the ball and shot it across the field to the first baseman, who tapped the base before Stanley crossed it. Lanny, on his way to second base, paused momentarily, as if confused as to what he needed to do. Then he darted toward second base as the first baseman shot the ball to the player at second base. Lanny tried to dive between the second baseman’s legs to avoid being tagged, but the baseman whacked him on the shoulder just before his fingers connected with the short plank of wood serving as a base.
“Out, and out!” roared the umpire, pointing first at Stanley then Lanny.
Defeated, the pair returned to their team. They looked at Bennett with sad eyes. “We tried,” Stanley said.
Bennett didn’t answer. Snagging a bat, he stomped to home plate. Pete held his breath. He’d seen Bennett in moods like this before, and it wouldn’t
take much to send him into a rage. He hoped Roy wouldn’t do something stupid.
Roy, smirking, bounced the ball in his hand. “You gonna bunt, too, Martin?”
Bennett whacked the ground with the end of the bat. “Just pitch it.”
Without preamble, Roy pitched a fastball. Bennett braced, swung. A resounding crack! signaled a solid hit. Roy jumped aside as the ball zinged past his knees, hit the ground, and bounced between the second baseman and shortstop. Bennett took off running, arms pumping, lips set in a determined sneer.
The ball continued its pell-mell course toward the outfield. The center fielder called it and ran forward, swooping his glove to scoop it up—but he came up empty. The surprised look on his face sent the spectators into gales of laughter. Both the left and right fieldsmen raced toward the ball, which finally came to a stop near a stand of trees at the edge of the grassy area. The left fielder got to it first and threw it to third, but it went wild, and Bennett crossed third base before the baseman could recover the ball.
The crowd erupted. The whoops and whistles sent Roy into a tantrum. He stomped his feet, waved his fists in the air, and hollered vulgar threats at his teammates. Eventually, the umpire brought everyone under control. He looked toward the group of Delta Tau Deltas. “Who’s up?”
Pete gulped. His turn.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Bennett leaned forward and braced his palm on his knee, ready to sprint. Just a tap—that’s all Pete needed. A tap. Hard enough to give Bennett time to cross home plate. They’d agreed to a shortened game of three innings, given they were playing on the Sabbath, and they’d reached what could very well be the finishing play. He could take losing if only they scored a run.
He watched Pete limp to the batter’s box. Still hunkered low, he hollered, “Good eye, now, Petey ol’ pal—you can do it! Give ’er a clop!” Just a tap. That’s all you need.
Roy stood with his arm hanging limply, the ball caught between his thumb and two fingers. “Ump, are you gonna allow this? He can’t bat. How’s he gonna run the bases?”
Pete didn’t so much as flinch, making Bennett grin. Ol’ Roy wouldn’t rattle Pete. The umpire scratched his head, staring at the wooden peg sticking out from Pete’s pant leg. “We let him pitch. I guess that means we have to let him bat.”
Roy snorted and sent a warning look across the Delta Tau Delta team members. “Don’t any of you come crying later that this wasn’t a fair game. I tried to give the gimp a break.” Then he reared back, raising his knee and angling his elbows high, and released the ball. It whizzed toward the plate, and Bennett held his breath, inching forward, as Pete scowled at the approaching ball. At the very last minute, Pete swung.
The bat caught the ball and sent it high in the air, sailing toward the left fielder. Bennett feared the player would catch the ball, but he dashed toward home plate anyway. If the man caught it, he’d try to return to third before the ball made it in.
Pete tossed the bat and took off toward first base with his funny double hop-skip way of running. Bennett crossed home plate before Pete made it halfway to first. “Run, Pete, run!” Bennett waved his hands at Pete while their teammates hollered encouragement. “All the way—keep going!”
Roy stood in the center of the diamond, one hand cupped over his eyes, watching the ball. The outfielder danced back and forth, his face aimed toward the sky. But every other member of the opposing team watched Pete. And every other member openly laughed. Some held their stomachs; others doubled over and slapped their knees. The sound of their mirth topped the roar of Pete’s teammates. And, uncaring, Pete kept running. Hop-hop, skip, hop-hop, skip, faster and faster.
Bennett stared at the outfielder, holding his breath. If the man caught Pete’s fly ball, it was all over. The ball arced and began its descent, seeming to fall straight toward the waiting glove. And then the outfielder jerked. His jaw dropped, and he stared at Pete, who turned on his peg at first base and aimed himself toward second. The ball hit the ground behind the outfielder, and he didn’t even try to retrieve it.
Roy jumped up and down and screamed, “The ball! Get the ball!”
But the man stood there, mouth open, and watched Pete chug along, now midway between second and third. Roy took off running for the outfield. He pushed the fielder out of his way and retrieved the ball, but by the time he gave it a heave toward home, Pete was only a few feet from home plate. Pete’s peg leg thudded on the plate a few seconds ahead of the ball. The catcher didn’t even try to snag it—just stood grinning at Pete and shaking his head.
“Two to two!” Bennett grabbed Pete around the middle and lifted him in the air. “Two to two, Pete! We’re tied! We’re tied! And we’ve still got one more out to go!” Their teammates raced forward, surrounding them. Everyone patted Pete’s back, congratulating him.
The umpire shooed them away from home plate. “Get your next batter up here. Game’s not over yet.”
Roy stomped around, smacking his players on the arm and bringing everyone under control. Then he stormed to the pitcher’s mound. A furious gleam lit his eyes.
Bennett, gesturing toward Roy, whistled through his teeth. “I don’t envy the poor sap who bats next. Roy’s out for blood. Who’s up, Ted?”
Ted pointed at a skinny, pimple-faced youth named Parker Potts. “Him.”
Bennett stifled a groan. The young man didn’t look strong enough to heft a bat, let alone swing it. But Bennett grinned and threw his arm around Potts’s shoulders. “Get on up there. Doesn’t even matter if you strike out. Game’s gonna end at three innings no matter the score, just like we agreed, and we’re already tied. So they can’t say they skunked us. That’s all that matters. So swing away, Parker—swing away!”
Parker took Bennett at his word and swung away, missing the ball three times in a row and bringing the game to an end. Bennett turned, expecting his teammates to congratulate him for bringing Pete into the game, but to his surprise, everyone crowded around Pete instead. The Delta Tau Delta men, half of the Beta Theta Pi team, and at least a dozen spectators surrounded him, asking how he learned to pitch like that. Didn’t it hurt to run on his peg leg? If they got a game together next Saturday, would he be able to pitch for them?
Bennett stood back, his jaw slack, while Pete received the attention and Bennett was ignored. He spun around in disgust and came nose to nose with Roy, who scowled into his face.
“Think you’re pretty smart, turnin’ that cripple into a hero?” Roy hissed the words, his voice raised only enough to reach Bennett’s ears. “Well, I saw the pledge list. Saw your name—and his.” Roy sent a disparaging look past Bennett in Pete’s direction. “As president of Beta Theta Pi, I decide who pledges and who doesn’t. And if you think you’re gonna sneak into my fraternity, you better think again.”
Roy stalked off, waving his hand as a silent command for his teammates to follow. Most of them scuttled after him, but three stayed behind, worming their way in front of the Delta Tau Delta men. They leaned in close to Pete, gesturing and talking excitedly.
Bennett propped one fist on his hip, shaking his head in disgust. He’d carefully plotted to bring Pete into the group, but he hadn’t anticipated being bumped by him! Exactly how had the tables been turned? He yanked the hat from his head and smacked his leg.
“Bennett?”
The puzzled female voice came from behind Bennett. He turned and found Alice-Marie watching him, her head tipped to the side. She held a small pink parasol over her head, the ruffled brim shading her face from the sun. Even so, her nose glistened with perspiration, and curls stuck to her forehead and cheeks. He grunted, “Yeah?”
Her rosy lips formed a pout. “My, you’re so grumpy. And after such an incredible display of athletic prowess. Why, do you realize you were competing with some of the school’s very finest athletes? And you met them run for run.” She shook her finger at him. “I would never have taken you for a sore winner.”
Bennett heaved a sigh. “I’m not sure I won anything tod
ay, Alice-Marie.”
She glided forward two steps, bringing her skirts into contact with his pant leg. She smiled, twirling the little parasol. “The day isn’t over yet . . .”
Only a fool would have missed the implication, and Bennett was no fool. But for once, he wasn’t in the mood for flirtation. There were bigger battles to be won—namely, finding a way to get in to the most prestigious fraternity on campus. He stepped away from Alice-Marie. “I’m hot and tired. I’m gonna go to my room and cool off.”
She gave the grass a stomp. “Bennett Martin, I never would have guessed you’d be as ill-tempered as my buffoon cousin. Why, Mother says we shouldn’t even claim that part of the family—they all behave like such bohemians.”
How did Libby tolerate this girl’s senseless prattle? “What are you talking about?”
“He’s always been insufferable. He simply can’t bear to be bested in anything—not even a simple game of checkers! So I wasn’t at all surprised to see him stomp away like a spoiled little brat. But I expected you to—”
Bennett caught Alice-Marie’s hand. “Roy’s your cousin?”
She huffed. “Isn’t that what I just said? On my father’s side, second cousin twice removed. Or something equally ridiculous. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t care for his boorish behavior, and right now I certainly don’t care for yours! So—”
“I’m sorry.”
She stopped and gave him a skeptical look.
He ducked his head and peeked at her, attempting to appear sheepish. “I’m hot and tired, and you’re right—I got cranky. It won’t happen again.”
“Well . . .” Alice-Marie swayed slightly, making her skirts dance. “I suppose I understand, seeing as how you’ve been playing hard under the hot sun. But”—once again, she pointed her finger at him—“don’t expect me to always be so forgiving. I don’t care for being barked at.”
Kim Sawyer Page 10
