“Don’t sweat it,” the older player advised. “If God wants you on varsity, he’ll find you a spot, Stone.”
The quiet spiritual observation surprised Bucky and brought a sense of comfortable assurance. “You’re right.” He tossed his teammate a grin. “Good one, preacher.”
Chapter Two: Target Practice
The soft orange glow of sunrise was just bathing the northern California hills behind Hampton Beach as Bucky finished his daily two-mile run. Slowing to a comfortable walk, he trudged up to the short brick wall outside his home and sank down for a brief rest. His pulse, although still racing slightly, began to slowly return to normal as he looked idly down the still - darkened residential avenue.
Despite the tranquil calm of early morning, the familiar baffled thoughts tugged at his mind. Should I have gone to Christian high school this year? Except for the Dream Season basketball triumph, it had been a year of steady reminders that his Christian faith put him out of step with the rest of the world marching easily through life at Hampton High.
The baseball diamonds at the high school were empty as he pulled into the student parking lot. The closely cropped green grass and smooth dirt infields seemed to whisper their seductive invitation. Turning off the engine, he sat thinking.
“Come on, Bucky! You’re gonna be late.”
He looked out of the Toyota’s window to see Sam peering at him. “What are you daydreaming about in there?”
Bucky shrugged and motioned with his head toward the ballfield. “Baseball.”
“Yeah, I heard.” The Vietnamese boy nodded sympathetically. “Dan said you kind of hit a speed bump in the batting cage or something.”
“Yeah.” Bucky shook his head. “I really want to get on varsity, but I think I screwed up.”
Sam hesitated. “Do you think . . . you’re ready to play varsity-level ball, and just had a clunky tryout. Or is JV where you ought to be?”
“Dunno.” Bucky tried to push away the same downcast thoughts he’d battled the night before. “I mean, the pitches came in, I was seeing them good. Just, when I swung, I didn’t get good wood on the ball hardly at all. No power to speak of.”
“Huh.” Sam reflected on the dilemma for a moment, then pulled his friend’s door open. “Hang in there, Buck. It’s only a game, man.”
“Yeah.”
Right after Algebra II, a secretary from the office handed him a note. “Come over when you can. T.B.” That was Coach, and Bucky’s heart did a flip-flop. Was the athletic director about to send him packing?
He found Coach Brayshaw huddled over his desk, scribbling names on a long roster. Trying to swallow his butterflies, Bucky forced a smile and knocked on the door. “You wanted to see me, Coach?”
“Yeah. Come on in, Stone.”
Bucky sat down, feeling a trickle of perspiration beginning to slide slowly down the small of his back. “Sorry I had kind of a less - than - great tryout,” he managed, figuring it was better to make the admission himself rather than have the older man wring it out of him. “I know I can hit better than that, but I had an off day.”
Coach Brayshaw nodded, an even look on his face. “Yeah. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Stone.” Gulp.
The director chewed on his lip for a moment before speaking. “Look,” he said. “You’re right. That was kind of a dud performance out there. Based just on the numbers, I’d probably put you on JV – at least for right now. And Litton on varsity. I mean, he was gangbusters out there, and we all know the guy can hit .375, no questions asked.”
Bucky flushed. It was exactly the scenario he had been dreading.
Brayshaw leaned forward, resting his chin on both hands and peering at the athlete. “But the thing is, I’ve been figuring all along that I’d have both you and Litton in my varsity outfield for all this season and all next one. Walker and I are counting on playoffs both years, and we figured all along that you two guys would help anchor the team. So here’s my question, Stone. Was that just a bad afternoon, and can you reach deep down and find me some rocket fuel? ‘Cause I want you in center field, batting third, all this season? And, hey, I expect power . . . and home runs . . . and a superstar batting average out of you and your pal Dan Litton.”
Bucky felt a tingle begin to flush around his neck. “Coach,” he said, his voice almost shaking, “if you put me and Dan on the team, I’ll work so hard you won’t believe it. We’ll hit the batting cages, we’ll . . . do whatever we need to do. I swear to God.”
The coach managed a tight smile at the mention of God. “Well, that’s another thing,” he said carefully. “The whole school knows that you and Litton are, you know, connected upstairs. That didn’t used to be my favorite thing, but lately it seems to be doin’ all right for us.”
“So we’re both in?”
The athletic coordinator nodded, then reached out his hand and gave Bucky’s a firm handshake. “I’m counting on you,” he said directly. “You give me every single thing you’ve got, Stone. All twenty games. And . . . I know you will.”
Flooding with a nervous kind of joy, the young ballplayer stood to his full height. “I won’t let you down, Coach.”
• • • • •
That night over a supper of cheese macaroni and salad he told Mom about the coach’s surprise decision. “Is it really that much of a difference – I mean, varsity or this, what did you call it?”
“JV?” Bucky set down his glass of cranberry juice. “Well, it’s just like in basketball. The varsity team is the real thing. Frosh and even JV are just warmups. Every kid in school aims to get on varsity.”
She came over and gave her son a one-armed embrace as he began stacking up the dirty dishes. “I’m so proud of you.”
After supper he went up to his room to work on a big batch of homework. Pulling several books out of his duffel bag, he suddenly groaned. “Where’s the chemistry folder?”
Going out to the Toyota he searched through the front and back seats for the missing material. He even looked in the trunk although he knew it wouldn’t be in there.
“Great!” he mumbled to Dad as he walked back into the house. “Stuff’s due tomorrow, and I walked off and left everything at school like a fool.”
“Going to go get it?”
Bucky shook his head. “Nah. I think I’ll try to call Jonathan. He lives only about half a mile from here, I think.”
The chunky chem partner answered on the first ring. “Yeh?”
“This is Bucky.”
“Hey, how ya doin’, Stone?”
“Not so good. I left all my stuff at school for chem.”
“Bummer. It’s all due tomorrow, boy.”
“I know. Do you have your paperwork there?”
“Sure. I haven’t done it yet.”
Bucky took a breath. “OK if I come over and peek off yours?”
“Sure, I don’t care. Come on over.”
“I know sort of where you live, but you better give me the details.” He quickly drew a rough sketch on the back of a piece of tattered napkin and took the stairs two at a time.
In the darkness it was hard to see where the little dirt road went off Route Two, but after missing it twice, Bucky finally pulled the Toyota into the cluttered front yard of Jonathan’s house. The stocky junior turned on a porch light.
Bucky surveyed the crowded living room that had the appearance of an abandoned souvenir shop. “Man, what’s all this stuff?”
“Oh, my folks collect everything in sight,” the boy sighed, picking a path through the piles of lamps and jewelry. “My mom sort of does it as a paying hobby.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Does pretty good at it too,” the older boy grinned. “They’re off bowling tonight. Every week.”
He motioned Bucky into his surprisingly tidy bedroom. A massive computer screen flickered with a random display of color cartoon characters. Pulling a folder out of the desk, he slapped it down on the bed. “Help yourself.”
Bucky examined the data penned along the left-hand side of the lab report. “Man, you got this stuff down better than I did.”
“Aaaah, I just copied it off old Smarty - pants herself.” Jonathan sniffed. “‘Course we’re all on the same team, so ain’t no reason why we can’t all use the same figures. Teacher said we could divide that up any way we wanted to.”
Quickly Bucky recorded the data into his notebook and added the required conclusions, with Jonathan pointing out several suggestions as they worked together. In just over twenty minutes he had the assignment completed.
“Man, that’s a relief,” Bucky sighed, slapping his book shut. “Thanks a lot.”
“No problem.” Jonathan reached over and flipped a switch, watching as the computer’s flickering images disappeared. He glanced up at a huge wall calendar. “Two more weeks till baseball season starts.”
“A’s fan, right?”
“Till the day I die. And, boy, I thought I would die the way those fools choked in the playoffs last year. Up three games to one and then, el-foldo. I’m still bleedin’ over that one.”
Bucky grinned. “How come you guys live out here in the dust and dirt instead of in town?”
“Oh, my folks like it out here. We moved here when I was about five, and somehow the town’s just never grown out this way. You live where? Over on . . .”
“Woodman Avenue.”
“That’s pretty nice houses over there.”
“Yeah.”
Jonathan bounded to his feet with a sudden burst of energy. “Come on, city boy. Let me show you something cool.”
They went back into the clutter of the living room and Jonathan went over to a wall cabinet. “Check this out.”
He slid open a recessed drawer and pulled out a long black automatic pistol. Holding it up in the murky light of the room, he waved it in the air. “Not bad, huh?”
The younger student gaped. “Where’d you get that?”
Jonathan snorted. “My dad’s got about five of ‘em. I guess that’s his hobby.”
“What kind is it?”
With a smirk Jonathan rattled off a foreign - sounding name Bucky had never heard before. “We got a couple of twenty-twos, plus a Glock and a huge old Magnum my dad keeps in the truck. But this baby’s my favorite. Twelve shots a clip and it fires smooth, let me tell you.”
Bucky gulped. “Would this kind of gun, you know, kill somebody if you . . .”
“Sure would. This ain’t no Cracker Jack prize, Stone, it’s the real thing.”
“You know how to use it?”
“Sure. Out here in the woods, who cares?” He slammed the drawer shut. “Come on.”
Reluctantly Bucky followed the other boy outside. Rummaging around in the trash can next to the steps, Jonathan fished out a couple of tin cans and an empty bottle of pancake syrup. “We’ll go for these.”
Wordlessly Bucky watched as Jonathan set the three targets on the top rail of the fence circling the large front yard and driveway. With the tiniest swagger in his step, he paced back to the porch light where Bucky waited. “OK, now, children,” he intoned, “let’s waste somebody.”
Sighting along the barrel of the gun he squeezed the trigger. With a pop that seemed to echo right down the hill, the first can flew off the rail and landed a good eight feet away.
“Bingo.” Lifting the pistol again he squinted and took aim at the syrup container. The second muffled report rang out in the darkness, but the target stayed perched on the rail.
“Missed it!” The chunky student muttered an oath and then turned toward Bucky. “Here you go.”
“Oh, man, I don’t know.” Involuntarily he took a step backward.
“Come on.”
‘“No, I really . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t really want to.”
Jonathan pursed his lips. “What’s the big deal?”
Bucky glanced over at the fence railing where the second tin can and the syrup container were still visible in the moonlight. “I don’t really like guns.”
The other boy snorted. “You’re just shooting at tin cans, man, not at helpless student nurses or something.” He hefted the weapon and held it out again. “Don’t worry, this won’t turn you into the Terminator or Dirty Harry or anything.”
With a sense of foreboding Bucky accepted the weapon. The metal felt cold and threatening in his sweating palm. “What do I do?”
Jonathan grinned. “You just look down the barrel of that baby and point and shoot. Safety’s already off so you’re ready to fire away.”
Bucky stared at the automatic. “You’re sure it’s safe?”
The other boy began to laugh. “Yes, Bucky Boy, it’s safe. As long as you point it at the can instead of at you or me.”
“OK.” A bit of resentment rising within him, Bucky stepped forward. Raising the pistol to eye level, he sighted at the tin can. The gun wavered in his grasp for a moment, but he waited until his nerves steadied enough to hold the target clearly in his sights.
Bam! The pistol kicked in his hand a little bit, but when he looked up the can was gone.
“Man, you nailed that sucker. Pretty good, Stone.”
“Thanks.” Bucky forced a nervous laugh. “Lucky beginner, I guess.”
“We’ll see.” Jonathan motioned toward the syrup container. “Go for that one too.”
This time Bucky didn’t hesitate. Aiming carefully, he squeezed the trigger again. With a muted thunk the plastic bottle toppled over and spun in the dust.
Jonathan whistled. “Two for two. I guess I won’t ever challenge you to a duel.” He looked down at his ample stomach. “I’m too easy a target anyway.”
Gingerly Bucky handed the weapon back to him. “Thanks.” He could sense that his pulse was still racing.
“Anytime, man. You ever want to shoot target practice, just say the word. My folks are gone most of the time anyway.”
“Yeah.” Bucky glanced down at his watch. “I better get goin’.”
As he drove down the little dirt road leading back to the highway, he looked in his rearview mirror at the country house still barely visible through the dust and moonlight. The excitement of shooting the pistol brought a guilty tingle to his skin.
Chapter Three: Baseball Weekend
It was a chilly afternoon as Dan and Bucky lined up with the varsity squad for the first drill of the season. Scanning the rest of the would - be players, Bucky could see that several of the boys were well - built athletes.
“Looks like a decent team,” he observed to Dan as they trotted laps after the first exercise routine.
“And you and I are gonna have to carry a big share of the load.” Dan joined his teammate for the obligatory two laps around the field. “Coach expects a whole bunch of RBIs out of the two of us, sucker.”
Bucky shook his head as they quickened their pace. “I haven’t done hardly any hitting since two years ago.”
“Yeah, but we been hitting the batting cages all the last two weeks,” the stockier athlete reminded. “You’ll be okay.”
A radio lying in the grass near the batting area crackled with the news that the A’s were easily on their way to a fourth consecutive win to start the new season. “Hope we can do that good,” Bucky grinned as he donned a batting helmet and took his place in the cage.
Despite the long time away from baseball, the hours of recent practice with the pitching machine paid off as he sent pitch after pitch rocketing into the outfield area. Several other players gathered around to watch the hitting display.
“Not bad, Stone,” Dan whistled. “You may steal my Number Four spot in the lineup.”
“No way. With your power?”
Waving the bat menacingly at the pitcher, Dan cocked his head. “Let ‘er rip, Simpson.”
“You got it.” The first pitch whistled in right at thigh level. With a wicked crack of the bat Dan deposited the ball deep in left - center field. “Chew on that!” he hollered at the outfielders as they scrambled toward the fence.
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“Looks like a triple from here,” Coach Walker grinned. “Good poke, Litton.”
“Thanks.” Dan smiled in spite of himself. Baseball!
After practice the two boys ambled casually back to the parking lot, not bothering to shower and change. In the distance Bucky could see Deirdre just climbing into her car. Both of them waved at her, but she gave just a casual nod of acknowledgment in response.
As Dan hummed a little tune that sounded like a funeral dirge, Bucky looked over at him without speaking.
“Can you give me a ride home?” Dan said all at once.
“What’s the matter with your car?”
Dan kicked at a rock. “One of the cylinders isn’t firing quite right, so I took it over to old Carlson this morning. Said he’d probably be done with it by tomorrow.”
“Sure.” Bucky fished in his duffel bag for the keys. “I guess I’ve owed you a few rides.”
That night was a rare homework - free evening. After family worship Bucky plopped down with Rachel Marie to watch one of her favorite TV programs. He watched, bemused, as she chirped in delight about her favorite characters on the weekly show.
“I don’t get it,” he teased at one point. “What’s so funny about that?”
She sighed impatiently. “You have to watch every week so you’ll know what’s going on. The bunny always does that.”
“Bedtime.” Mom poked her head into the living room. “Soon as that’s done, sugar-pie.” The third-grader began to whine a protest but a pointed look from her mother quieted her.
Bucky gave his little sister a kiss and a quick squeeze as the final credits began to roll. “Good night, R.M.”
“Who’s that?”
“Short for Rachel Marie, dodo.”
“Oh.” She snickered. “Good night.”
Dad lumbered into the living room and flopped down on the couch, propping both his feet up on the cushions. “Don’t tell your mother.”
Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10) Page 64
