“Sure. Tomorrow afternoon.”
“How often are practices?”
“Every day, beginning next week. Except on game days.”
“How often does the team play?”
The older man considered for a moment. “Right now it’s a ten-week schedule, with games twice a week, starting in March. So, twenty games in all.” He looked at a list. “All of ‘em on Tuesdays and Thursdays this year.”
“What time?”
“Three in the afternoon. Home and road. Any problem?”
“No,” he grinned, tingling at the thought of playing. “That’ll be great.” He began to turn away, then added, “Thanks! I’ll be here tomorrow then.”
“OK,” the coach nodded. “Good luck, kid.”
With a big grin Bucky headed toward home. In the parking lot he ran into his friend Sam, just pulling out in his faded Nissan.
“Guess what?”
The Vietnamese boy reached down and switched off the engine. “I give up. What?”
“I decided to go out for baseball!”
Sam gave a cynical snort. “Good luck. From what I hear you’ll need it.”
“Oh, come on! Not for the frosh team.”
The older boy cocked his head. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. They say anybody can make frosh.”
“Why don’t you try out for baseball?”
“Are you kidding?” Sam complained. “I’ve never even held a bat in my hand before. I couldn’t make frosh, let alone junior varsity.”
“So what? Go for frosh; maybe we’d both make it.”
Sam gave his friend a look of injured dignity. “Play with you babies? No chance.” He laughed. “Maybe badminton. Now there’s a real sport.”
Bucky grinned. “Well, wish me luck. Tryouts tomorrow.”
“For sure. Good luck.”
Bucky paused, then added casually, “What about church this weekend?”
The older boy shook his head reluctantly. “Not for a while,” he said with a sigh. “My dad was really down on me after the ski trip when I talked about going to church. He told me ‘No way.’ Just let it go for now, OK?”
Bucky nodded glumly. “OK. I’ll keep praying, though.”
“You do that.”
With a wave, Bucky headed for the bike rack.
The following afternoon was perfect baseball weather. Promptly at 2:30, Bucky joined about twenty-five other boys at the freshman field. Several of them had on regular baseball outfits and carried professional-looking gloves. But most of them were casually dressed in jeans and Nikes.
In just a few minutes, Mr. Walker and an assistant came up. “Ready for some hardball, guys?” he grinned. His eyes fell on Bucky and he gave a little nod. “I guess most of you have played at least some ball before,” he began, “so we don’t need to tell you the little stuff, like three strikes and you’re out, run to first base when you get a hit, and try to hit the ball over the fence if at all possible.” He paused. “Especially in the final inning of a close one, right?”
The boys laughed nervously.
Quickly the two coaches organized a series of drills, and the freshmen were soon paired up, pegging balls back and forth to each other. For a few minutes Bucky struggled to adjust to the smaller hardball, but he soon found his range.
“Smith, Stone, Timms,” the coach called out a few minutes later. “Outfield. Grab some flies.”
Out in the grassy field, Bucky shielded his eyes and watched the hitter toss the ball in the air and swing at it. With a crack of the bat, the tiny sphere headed toward the knot of boys. Bucky ran in a few steps, then groaned as he realized he’d come in too far. The ball sailed over his head and rolled a good forty feet. He bounded after it and gave it an enormous heave into the infield.
“Don’t worry about it,” the coach hollered. “Takes some getting used to. Try this one!”
Again the baseball sailed through the air. This time Bucky moved more cautiously until he was sure of the fly’s trajectory. Neatly catching it, he flipped accurately to the plate.
“Better!” praised the coach.
Minutes later, the boys headed toward the batting cages. “Here’s where I blow it,” Bucky muttered anxiously to his partner. “I haven’t got a clue how to hit this kind of pitching.”
“Just shut your eyes and swing hard,” the other player advised with a laugh. “Try to put the bat right on the ball.”
Bucky waited nervously in the on-deck circle as one of the other players took his turn in the cage. Off in the distance he noticed a tiny figure leaning up against the outfield fence. Even at that distance he recognized Lisa in her abbreviated cheerleading outfit. Dropping her pom-poms, she waved vigorously at him. He grinned.
“Get in there, Stone,” Mr. Walker urged. “Your turn.”
Reluctantly Bucky picked up a bat and headed for the cage.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” the coach reminded.
Bucky looked confused.
Mr. Walker tossed him a faded batting helmet, giving him a stern look. “Batting helmets at all times, even during B.P.” His face softened. “Coach’s orders, Stone.”
“OK.” Bucky pushed the helmet down over his ears and stepped into the box.
The player on the mound, an older boy from the varsity team, grinned fiercely at him. “Ready?”
Bucky winced. “Sure. I guess.”
The pitcher went into his windup. The ball: sailed in, low and outside.
Bucky gasped. “Boy, that’s faster than I expected. It doesn’t look that fast even on TV.”
The catcher laughed. “You freshmen! You act like you’ve never seen a fastball before. Get up there and swing, kid!”
The next pitch was right down the middle. Bucky lunged at it weakly, but missed.
“You! Stone!” The coach jogged over.
Bucky’s face reddened. “What?”
“I remember you told me you haven’t played this kind of ball before. Let me help you a little.”
Bucky let out his breath. “Thanks.”
Quickly the coach gave him some pointers on stance and bat position. “This isn’t softball anymore,” he pointed out. “There you want a flat level swing, almost a slow swing, for line drives. In baseball, it’s all bat speed. You have to make up your mind quick – and then jump on a pitch you think you can hit. We call it ‘pullin’ the trigger.’ See?”
Bucky nodded. “I think so.”
“OK, get in there again.” He hollered to the pitcher. “Jim, only fastballs for a little bit. This kid’s new.”
The next few pitches were right down the middle, and Bucky tried to follow Coach Walker’s advice. On the third pitch, he made solid contact and the ball rocketed over the pitcher’s head and into center field. “That’s it!” the coach exulted. “Base hit right there. Up the middle, baby.”
Bucky grinned.
“Take five more.”
Again the young hitter waited for the pitches. On two out of the five he sent good line drives into the outfield.
“Attaboy,” the coach grinned. He gave his assistant a questioning look and a wink, making a notation on his chart. “Next time we’ll feed you some curve balls.” He laughed. “Then we’ll see the sharks gather around.”
Bucky stepped out of the batter’s box and pulled off the helmet, a smile on his face.
“Hey, not too shabby,” the catcher complimented. “You got a nice stroke there, dude. Maybe some power too.”
Half an hour later, tired but tingling with excitement, Bucky bicycled his way home.
Chapter Two: Weekend Surprise
Bucky sat slumped alone in the overstuffed chair in the living room. Outside, some much-needed rain had finally arrived from the Pacific Northwest. The steady downpour made a metallic sound as it beat down on the rooftop.
Bucky yawned, glancing at his watch. Eight-thirty. “Now!” he decided to himself. He climbed resolutely out of the easy chair and fished in his pocket for his cell phone. He punched in the s
even familiar numbers and waited.
“Hello.” He recognized the voice of Lisa’s mother.
“This is Bucky,” he began. “Is Lisa there?”
There was a tiny pause. “Sure,” she said at last. “Just a minute.”
While he waited, Bucky thought back to the first time they had dated. Instead of participating in a risqué dance at the gym, they’d spent a frigid evening walking around in the parking lot, talking about God and trying to obey Jesus. He grinned, thinking about it. Since then, though, the relationship had just tiptoed along. Somehow both of them sensed a need to let things progress slowly.
In a moment Lisa’s familiar voice came on the line. “Hey, mister,” she greeted him. “How’s it goin’?”
“Good, I guess,” he said, relaxing. “Sorry I haven’t seen you much lately.”
“Not since Mrs. Bishop assigned seats in algebra class, to be exact,” she complained.
“I saw you out there on the ball field Thursday. When I was taking batting practice.”
“Oh, yeah. How’d you do?”
He laughed. “Awful, at first. You know, I never played real ball before. I had no idea fastballs are so . . . fast. But I started to get the hang of it.”
“I saw you hit a couple pretty good ones,” Lisa praised him. “Do you think you’ll make the team?”
“Oh, I think so. From what I hear, just about everyone who tries out gets on the frosh squad.”
“I don’t mean that,” Lisa said quickly. “Do you think you’ll get on JV?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Most years, two or three of the freshmen get on the junior varsity team. You know, if they’re real good. Maybe you’d have a chance at that. I mean, they play real games and everything. Not just scrimmages, like the frosh squad.”
“I – I guess I didn’t know about that. Boy, that would be great, wouldn’t it?”
“Sure would.” She paused. “You might even find some cute cheerleader to sit next to on the bus for the road games.”
Bucky blushed a little, then laughed again. “Could be. Can you recommend any cute cheerleaders?”
“Bucky!”
“Just kidding. Who could it be but you? Well, keep your fingers crossed.”
“You bet.”
He took a deep breath. Here goes nothing, he thought to himself. ‘‘Listen, any chance you could come to church with me tomorrow? We’re having a special musical group there and everything.”
There was a short silence. Bucky frowned, sensing that the bubbly mood had abruptly faded away. “Well?”
When she spoke, her voice was just a little bit guarded. “I can’t,” she said at last.
“That’s too bad,” Bucky answered, trying to keep his tone light. “Maybe some other time.”
“I don’t know,” she responded. There was a hint of indecision in her voice, as if she were trying to decide whether to explain or not.
“Anything wrong?”
“I . . .” She paused. “Well, you may as well know. I told my mom how born-again and all you seemed to be. And I guess she’s kind of down on it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I mean, I wouldn’t mind checking it out, but she really was dissing the whole thing.”
He felt a slight flush of frustration creeping into his cheeks. “So . . . what’s that mean, then? Am I off your Christmas list for good?”
“No,” she said quickly. “But for now, I think we should just not go out of our way to mention stuff like that in front of her. I mean, she has a lady where she works, and all she does is yak about all the stuff she never gets to do. Can’t drink, can’t smoke, can’t have cable TV, and on and on. A zillion picky little rules, and Mom got really turned off by it all.”
Ouch. Bucky cradled the phone, thinking. All the pleasant, almost romantic, feelings were suddenly evaporated. “Listen,” he began apologetically. “Christianity’s a pretty big bunch of people. You know? And with millions of people trying to make it work, there’s bound to always be a few who make it look bad.” He paused. “You know me, don’t you? Do I seem that way to you?”
“No. ‘Course not.”
“Won’t you give me a chance, then?”
A few moments went by. “Sure. I guess so.”
His confidence began to return. “Well, maybe church isn’t the best place to start. Why don’t we get together next week and just talk about it?”
“I suppose.”
“How about Wednesday night? I could come over and we could do homework together, and then just get into it. As much or as little as you want.”
“OK. Algebra and Bucky Stone Weird Religion 101!” Her usual cheer returned.
Bucky sighed in relief. “You got a deal,” he grinned. “I’ll see you in school.”
As he snapped his cell phone shut, Mom walked by. “Who was that?”
He shrugged. “Lisa. I invited her to church, but she couldn’t come.”
“That’s too bad. How come?”
“I’m not sure, really. I guess they knew some Christians before who weren’t very friendly or something. Real legalistic types, you know?”
Mom gave an understanding nod. “That’s bound to happen. There are people like that in every church there is, including ours.”
Bucky grimaced. “Have we got more than our share, or is it just my imagination?”
She smiled. “Well, honey, there’s always going to be those who get the idea that holy living is the thing that qualifies us for heaven. Instead of Calvary.”
“And that’s legalism.”
“Uh huh. Big time.”
“How do I explain all this to Lisa?”
Mom pondered. “Why don’t you ask the pastor tomorrow? He might be able to make it all clearer than I can.”
He smiled ruefully. “I guess I’m oh-for-two at inviting people to church. Sam told me he couldn’t come, either.”
“Oh, really?”
“His dad won’t let him.”
He followed her into the kitchen, where she pulled a couple cans of diet soda out of the fridge and popped the tops. “Well,” she said, taking a sip, “sometimes inviting friends to church right away isn’t the best thing to do anyhow. Just be their friend for a while. Let them see Christianity in you first of all.”
“I’ll try,” Bucky sighed, draining the entire can in one long, carbonated gulp.
The next morning in church Bucky sat next to his little sister as the deacon announced the opening hymn. “Psssst, time to sing,” he whispered to Rachel Marie as he stood to his feet.
She remained in her seat, adding the finishing touches of color to the apostle Paul bending over Eutychus. “I’m not done yet,” she complained.
“Oh, come on, doofus,” he urged. “Stand up and sing with me.”
Scowling, she stood up. “I can’t see the screen; that lady’s in the way.”
Rolling his eyes, Bucky pulled her closer. “How about now?” He pointed to the third line.
Suddenly, he heard a voice on his other side. “This seat taken?”
He turned abruptly. “Sam!”
His friend grinned. “Don’t faint,” he snickered. “Just keep singing.”
During the offering appeal, Bucky leaned over and whispered, “What happened? You almost scared me.”
Sam couldn’t stop smiling. “It’s a long story,” he whispered, “but my mom and dad had a major discussion last night.”
“And?”
“My mom wanted to let me come to church if I wanted to.”
“Isn’t she Buddhist, too?”
Sam nodded. “Even more than my dad, really. But she said to him – well, in Vietnamese, but she said, ‘That’s part of why we came to America, because of freedom. Our kids should get to worship any way they please.’ He gave a little shrug. “My dad finally said OK.”
“Cool!” A big smile crossed Bucky’s face. “It’s great to have you visit, dude.”
After the service, Bucky int
roduced his friend to Pastor Jensen. “Oh, yes,” the pastor beamed. “Bucky mentioned that you were his good friend.” He shook Sam’s hand with enthusiasm. “So glad you could visit us today.” He smiled at Bucky. “You drag this fine-looking gentleman here again, Bucky.” It was so corny yet endearing that both boys laughed.
“I’ll try,” Bucky nodded, poking Sam in the ribs. He hesitated, wondering whether or not to get the pastor’s counsel about how to handle his situation with Lisa’s mother. He decided that with Sam there it wasn’t the best time, and the two boys headed for the parking lot.
“See you at school,” he said casually to Sam, as his friend unlocked the car door and climbed in.
“Sure.”
“Thanks for coming today. It was awesome having you here.”
“You bet,” Sam said noncommittally, gunning the car out into the street. He drove away without looking back.
“Well, that was a nice surprise,” Mom observed as the trio drove home.
“Yeah, it sure was.” Bucky picked up a kindergarten cutout from the floor and handed it to Rachel in the back seat. “I guess his folks decided to let him make up his mind for himself on how he wants to worship.”
“Who was that boy?” Rachel piped up from the rear.
“Oh, just a friend of mine,” Bucky answered.
“What’s his name?”
“Sam.”
“Oh.” She picked up a tattered brown teddy bear. “His name is Sam, too. Now we both have a friend named Sam.” She giggled.
After baseball practice on Monday, Bucky slumped on the locker room bench, his head leaning against his locker. Every inch of his five-foot-ten frame ached from the strenuous workout. He heaved an enormous sigh as he reached for a towel to mop his forehead. Unlacing his new baseball shoes, he tossed them into the locker and took another deep breath.
A chunky outfielder walked in and plopped down on the bench, perspiring freely. “What’s happening?”
Bucky looked up. “Man, I’m worn. I think I was in that batting cage for twenty-five minutes straight today.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Curve balls. Nothing but curve balls. Oh, and then a mixture of the two. Fastball, curve, fastball, curve.”
“How’d it go?”
Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10) Page 11
