That weekend at church he gave Pastor Jensen a brief rundown on the playoff game. “If we can win two more games we’ll be the district junior varsity champs!”
The pastor smiled gently. “Sounds like you’re doing well,” he responded. “Bucky, I hope being on this team will turn out to be a positive experience for you.” His voice held a curious note of warning.
Bucky caught the note of concern and frowned. “What are you driving at?”
“That’s a fierce level of competition out there,” the silver-haired pastor observed. “I’ve known a lot of guys who lost their good judgment in the heat of battle.”
“Like how?”
For a moment the pastor said nothing. Finally he went on. “I’ve always thought you were one young man who had what it took to live for the Lord. I mean, really live for him – there in public school, in your friendships, everything.”
Bucky nodded.
“Live for him on the field, too,” Pastor Jensen said with an urgency in his words. “If you’re going to play, make sure every play glorifies God. Every play.”
Bucky was silent. “I will,” he said at last. He looked the pastor in the eye. “I promise.”
“Good!” Pastor Jensen’s customary twinkle returned. “And good luck! Hit a homer for me!” Shaking hands with both Bucky and Sam, he turned his attention to his other parishioners.
That afternoon Bucky spent a long hour alone in his room, thinking about what Pastor Jensen had said about being a witness through his athletic skills. That night before bedtime he prayed for a while about the upcoming playoffs.
Monday after class, Coach Brayshaw called a special practice. The Panthers hadn’t faced the tough squad from Redwood City this season, but the athletic director seemed to have a complete scouting report on the opposition. “We’ve got our hands full with that number one pitcher of theirs,” he commented grimly to the boys, worry lines creasing his forehead. “He’s as good as we’ve seen all season.”
He sent them out to the field, and proceeded to work his crew hard on defensive fundamentals for more than an hour. “I’ve seen playoff games turn on one key play,” he barked at the infielders. “One double play that didn’t happen. One botched rundown where a base runner got himself out of a pickle. Or the pitcher doesn’t hold a guy on first, and he swipes second base too easily.” He stared from one athlete to the next. “And you know what? Almost always, a team that makes a habit of flubbing . . . man, they pay a price. If we give Redwood City four or five outs in some inning, they’ll take advantage – believe me.”
Bucky was perspiring freely by the time the team dragged itself into the locker area. While he waited for a shower stall to open up, Dan sidled up to him. Glancing around, he said in a low voice: “Are you in on our little deal in history class?”
“What?”
Dan looked around. “The Thursday tests. Are you in on it?”
Bucky looked confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Come on. History with Harville. You’re sitting, like, two rows up, right?”
“Yeah. Second period, same as you. What about it?”
Dan paused. “Well, you know that chapter test we have every Tuesday?”
Bucky groaned. “Yes, I know it. Those things are ugly, man. What do you think kills every Wednesday evening at my house? I must study an hour and a half for that dumb exam. I haven’t seen a Wednesday night TV show since, like, Christmas.”
“Well, no need for that. How’d you like an advance copy?”
Bucky looked at him, confused. “Where’d you get it?”
“That depends. You in?”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about. What is this, anyway?”
Dan sat down next to him. “Harville just makes up that test in his office, you know. For all three class sections. Right during class, while we’re working on our reports. You’ve seen him there in the back, feeding it into his desktop.”
“So?”
Dan shrugged. “A friend of mine just waits until the right time, goes back there, pops his thumb drive in, and in five seconds he has a clean copy of it. No sweat.”
Bucky couldn’t fathom such naivete. “Are you kidding? Harville doesn’t even remove the test data from the computer menu?”
Dan shook his head. “I guess he doesn’t know any better. Big dummy. Just leaves it sitting there on his desktop with a big ‘Take me, I’m yours’ sign on it. Anyway, we’ve gotten it three weeks in a row. It’s easy, man. My friend even fills in the answers, runs it off, and sells it to kids for two bucks a pop.” He laughed. “I think he’s got about thirty ‘subscribers’ so far. Not a bad living.”
Bucky grunted in disgust. “Oh, that’s great. Thirty people all turning in identical answers.”
“Come on. It’s no big deal to vary your answers a little bit. We don’t sell to idiots, you know.”
“Well, I’m not interested.” Bucky grabbed his towel and headed for the shower.
“How come?”
“That’s cheating. I don’t do it.”
Dan groaned. “This isn’t cheating. Not really. You still have to learn the material – you just know what material to study.”
“Oh, right. If it’s not cheating, why not ask Harville to give us all the test the night before so we can all study together? Plus, save us each the two bucks. Give me a break!”
“Look,” the stocky outfielder protested. “I’m just trying to help, man. All this does is save everybody some time. What’s the point of history, anyway? To learn these fifty or so facts. Okay – so now we know what facts they want us to know, and we learn them. What’s the harm?”
Bucky sat back down. “All right, smart guy. I’ll tell you what. You and I are on the ball team. We’re not supposed to cheat in school. Remember? So let’s go right now to Coach Brayshaw and ask him if it’s all right to do this. To swipe a teacher’s test off his hard drive when he’s out of the room – that’s your first clue right there, Sherlock. And then instead of studying a whole chapter, we just memorize a few answers that some other kid penciled in for us. If you think that sounds great, then I’ll follow you right now into Brayshaw’s office and we’ll get his okay. If he says yes, you know what? I’ll buy you a new baseball glove out of my own pocket.” His face was flush as he made the scathing offer.
Dan’s face hardened. “Look,” he said tightly. “Okay, I don’t suppose Brayshaw would go for it. And obviously Harville’s an idiot for putting his test right on the open computer. But the fact is: it’s a dumb class, and only a dummy wastes extra time on it. I’m not going to use this stuff ever. You’re not going to use it ever. Nobody on the team is going to use it. And I just don’t see what the big deal is. We can all save some time studying, and that gives us more free hours to hit the batting cages or whatever.”
The taller athlete stood up again, his pulse racing. “Well, you and your buds do what you want. I’m not in it. I signed up for baseball . . . I made a promise. I don’t take drugs and I don’t cheat. End of story.” He was about to exit the locker room when he impulsively added: “I think it’s a massive screwup myself, if you want my opinion. We’re lucky to be in the playoffs, and now you guys are going to get caught and blow it. Well, if that happens, don’t come crying to me.”
“Hey!” Dan retorted, his face hardening. “Don’t get excited. I was just trying to help. Just an offer to a friend – I thought. And by the way, Stone, you just keep this entire conversation to yourself. You got that? Stay outta my way.”
Bucky gave him a noncommittal look and headed into the shower room, his heart pounding over the confrontation.
Chapter Ten: A Mini-Watergate
Tuesday at school, interest in the afternoon playoff game against the Devils was at fever pitch. Hampton High’s senior team had experienced a dismal season, finishing in the cellar, so all eyes were focusing on the sophomore squad’s big junior varsity playoff.
It was perfect baseball weather in the Bay Area. Classes
let out at noon for a big pep rally in the gymnasium. With Hampton Beach hosting the game, a good turnout of students was anticipated. Huge posters shouting “Exorcise the Devils” dotted the hallways and gym walls.
The team gathered in the dugout promptly at 2:45 for a final word from the coach. “Well, gents,” he said briskly, “you know what this game means to us and to our school. I want every one of you to do your very best. If you give me one hundred percent this afternoon, then I’ll be proud of you no matter what the final score is.”
“As long as we’re on top,” one player muttered.
Bucky took the field with a strange sense of disquiet. Dan’s offbeat and unexpected proposal about scamming the weekly history tests had him a bit unnerved. Was it really cheating to simply swipe a time-saving shortcut from a teacher who was too dumb to take even ordinary security precautions? He recalled his heated reaction in the locker room and flushed. Maybe he was too fussy, too rigid, about things. The last thing he wanted was for his Christianity to make him a campus-wide joke, wiping out any chance whatsoever to be a witness for Jesus.
The top of the first inning was unremarkable – three up, three down. Bucky paced nervously in the dugout, too excited to sit, waiting for his number five spot in the batting order to come up.
With two on and two out, he got ready to hit for the first time in the game. The opposing pitcher sent a wicked slider across the plate almost before he was set in the box. The umpire called a strike.
Bucky thought of complaining, but thought better of it. Digging in, he prepared to hit anything close.
The second pitch drifted in, a slow curve ball that broke down into the strike zone. Swinging awkwardly, Bucky sent it straight up into the air over home plate. Circling carefully under the ball, the catcher made an easy catch and tossed it nonchalantly into the infield.
Frustration welled up in Bucky’s heart as he waited for Dan to toss him his glove. “Tough pitch,” Dan observed cheerfully, shaking his head sympathetically as though the earlier confrontation had never happened. “Get ‘em next time.”
“Yeah.” Trotting out to center field, Bucky resolved to put hitting – and Dan’s ethical shenanigans – out of his mind and concentrate on the opposing batters.
The innings dragged by without a score. Finally, in the sixth frame, the Devils put a runner in scoring position with a hit batter and a stolen base. With two outs, Bucky poised in center field, ready to make a do-or-die play to save a run.
On the very first pitch, the batter connected and sent a line drive whistling straight into center field. Bucky could tell immediately that the ball wasn’t catchable. Grabbing it on one hop, he heaved desperately toward home plate. The peg was right on target, but the baserunner slid in safely under the tag.
A groan went up from the Hampton High fans. Bucky nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Was the season going to end with them losing one to nothing?
The Panther hitters surrendered meekly in order in the bottom of the sixth; so did the Redwood City Devils in their final at-bat. As Bucky scanned the horizon once again, his heart began to thump furiously. The Panthers were facing their last at-bats and he was scheduled to hit fifth in the inning.
What if it all comes down to me? What if I make the final out, and three hundred fans have to drive home thinking: “That Stone is totally lame”?
The butterflies threatened to overwhelm him, but he swallowed hard and breathed a prayer for God’s peace to empower him. Maybe he wouldn’t even have to hit. The Panthers’ top sluggers were coming up. A single and a homer and we’re out of here with a W, he thought hopefully.
The leadoff hitter did indeed start off with a single, bringing whoops from the grandstands. “Come on, Panthers!” hollered one of the noisy cheerleader from the sidelines. “Let’s win this sucker!”
Coach signaled the next hitter to bunt. They were playing for a tie so they’d have a chance to beat their opponents in extra innings. Anything but that, Bucky thought anxiously, his pulse pounding with the unfolding drama. Watching carefully, the batter laid a perfect little dribbler down the third base line. Sprinting madly down the line, he arrived at the bag at the same time as the desperate throw.
“He dropped the ball! He dropped the ball!’ cheered the Hampton fans. “First and second; no outs!”
With victory a real possibility now, the team tensed up in the dugout, considering their options. Go for a base hit to tie? Sacrifice to get two runners in scoring position? A double steal?
Playing it safe, Mr. Brayshaw put the bunt sign on again. This time the play worked as expected, and the runners both advanced on the putout to first.
“This is it!” Bucky said to himself, relaxing just a bit. “A base hit right here, the team wins, and I can go home.” This hope died when the Devils’ catcher signaled for an intentional walk to the Panthers’ cleanup hitter. With the winning runs already on base, why should the opposing team take a chance on pitching to the star hitter on the Panther squad? Besides, they now had a force at every base with the possibility of a game-ending double play.
“OK, Stone,” Brayshaw announced grimly. “I figured they’d play it this way. But we’ve got you and Litton to beat ‘em, and at the very least a chance for a sacrifice fly to tie us up.” He clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “Just hit that ball hard into the outfield; no grounders!”
Bucky’s throat was tight with the tension as he pounded the bat against the hard dirt of the on-deck circle, watching as the weighted doughnut fell off and rolled to one side. It was the moment every player was supposed to dream about – the pivotal play, the make-or-break chance for glory. He tried to force a grin, but he could feel a hard knot in his stomach as he made his way slowly to home plate.
“Number 15, Bucky Stone.” The amplified words echoed through the field’s PA system. He saw that the first and third basemen were playing up, desperate to choke off the tying run at the plate. Shortstop and second were playing back, set for a game-ending double play. The outfielders were in slightly, determined to gun down a runner trying to score on a sacrifice fly.
Hit it hard to the outfield. Coach’s words rang in his ears. Hundreds of pitches in the batting cages, the endless drills to time a curve or slider, the hours of mental rehearsal – ball low and outside, let it go by, strike, SWING! – were a perspiring blur of preparation as he stood in the box waiting for the pitcher to make his offering.
The first pitch tumbled in slowly, slicing the strike zone in the gathering twilight. Strike one! Already the ballfield lights were on, casting gloomy shadows across home plate.
Shaking slightly, Bucky swung the bat back and forth. Just a hit, he pleaded, trying desperately to quiet his nerves.
The next pitch was on the outside corner of the plate. In the split second of decision time a hitter has, he decided this was it! Timing his swing for a shaved instant of delay, he connected solidly with the pitch. The ball sailed through the air on a line, clearing the second baseman’s outstretched glove by a good three feet. Base hit, right field!
The fielder charged the ball and whirled to throw toward home. As Bucky rounded first base and looked behind him, he saw a huge cloud of dust where the go-ahead baserunner had slid in at home plate. Standing over the action was the blue-clad umpire with his arms outstretched, giving the safe sign.
A deafening roar of celebration went up from the stands and the entire Panther squad began to charge toward first base where Bucky stood in a daze. Pummeling him enthusiastically, they shouted over and over, “Great hit! Great hit!” Dan Litton gave him an extended bear hug. “Way to go! Mr. Clutch, baby!” The prickly drama in the locker room seemed a distant memory.
Chapter Eleven: Called to Testify
Tingling all over, Bucky began to push his way through the throng of ballplayers and students surrounding him. Several grabbed at him enthusiastically, continuing to offer praise for the clutch game-winning hit. “Boy, are we gonna party tonight!” the team catcher shouted in his
ear.
His insides still a bit raw with the miracle, Bucky finally shed his admirers and walked over to the now-empty dugout. Thank you, Jesus, he murmured aloud as he slowly gathered up his gear.
Fans and parents were already heading toward the main parking lot, still buzzing over the come-from-behind thriller. From a distance, Coach Brayshaw gave him a thumbs-up of approval and a fist pump to show his appreciation for the valiant contribution. Too far away to make himself heard amid the hubbub and celebration, he mouthed the words: One week from today! Bucky nodded to show he understood.
Turning the corner he nearly collided with a delighted Lisa. “You did it!” she squealed. “I knew you were going to win it for us!” She wrapped both arms around his neck and gave him an extended kiss. Two girls walking past whooped their teasing approval, and Lisa pulled away, laughing hysterically. “You guys are just jealous ‘cause I got him first.” Still silly with joy, she bounced up and down on her toes, then hugged him again. “I just had a feeling you were going to get a hit. And then when that ball got into the outfield, I could tell we were going to win. That was so awesome!”
He grinned. “Just lucky,” he deadpanned.
“No way. You, Mr. Stone, are a sensational ballplayer. And I . . . am going to hang onto you for dear life. Half the ladies in this school are gonna want to get their claws in you, but no way.” She slipped one arm through his and yodeled in a giddy voice that cracked comically: “I’m mad for Number Fifteen! I don’t care who knows it!” She almost panted, out of breath. “Did your parents come tonight?”
He shook his head cheerfully, not minding. “Nah. You know, they’re just not used to the idea yet . . . that it’s kind of a big deal. I imagine they’ll come next week, though. Since it’s the finals and all.”
“When is it again?”
“A week from today.”
Lisa jerked her head toward the Burger King that was just a block down from the Woodman High campus. It was a popular hangout for the high school students, and the young couple had already shared a few pleasant moments in a corner booth there. “How about a treat, hero boy? I’m buying.”
Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10) Page 17
