Jinxed! (5 page)

I loved my new job!

• • •

That was the only scoring for either team until the seventh inning, when the Humdingers had runners on second and third. There were two outs. The batter swung and grounded a ball right
at Mike Stammer, who was playing shortstop. It should have been an easy out. Mike got the ball and wheeled to make the throw to first base, but his feet got tangled up. He fell down, and the ball rolled into the outfield. Both runners scored—and just like that, it was a tie game.

“Early season jitters,” Wayne Zane told Mike during the seventh inning stretch. Wayne took off his mask and shin guards and chest guard, and put them on the bench. It was his turn to bat.

“I've had the early season jitters for eight weeks,” Mike said.

“Hmm. That
is
a long time,” Wayne admitted. “Maybe you've really got the June swoon.”

“I've had it since last July,” said Mike.

“Well, then. It must be a two-summer slump.”

 

Mike glared at him.

“Just sayin'.” Wayne headed to the on-deck circle for his practice swings. I stayed on the bench. I saw Mike getting a cup of water.

“I could have gotten that for you,” I said.

“Afraid I'll drop it?” Mike joked. He swigged the water and refilled the cup.

“I'm supposed to help out,” I said with a shrug.

“Sorry your clover didn't work,” said Mike. “It'll take a seven-leaf clover to break this jinx.”

“Have you tried a rabbit's foot?” I asked. I'd seen one in the junk drawer at home.

“Nah, that grosses me out,” he said.

“Me too,” I admitted.

“You just gave me an idea, though,” said Mike.

• • •

The Humdingers scored three more runs and won the game. The Pines' fans were slow and quiet as they trickled out of the ballpark.

“Come back tomorrow afternoon for Kids Get In Free Day,” the announcer, Victor Snapp, said over the PA system. “Be sure to get here early and secure your seat for the second game against the Humdingers, and see the big surprise that the Porcupines have in store for you.” I wondered if Victor knew what it was. I wished I could run up to the booth and ask him, but I was still helping the team.

I put the bats away while Grumps, the Porcupines' manager, told off the team. His real name was Harry Humboldt, but everybody called him Grumps. Lots of guys in baseball have nicknames. The funny thing about Grumps was that when he was a player, his nickname was Happy Harry. I even had his major league card from the 1980s. He had a big grin. Managing must have made him grumpy.

“I've seen better fielding from six-year-olds!”
Grumps shouted. He didn't name names, but he looked at Mike Stammer. “You can't give a team extra outs, especially when you're not scoring that many runs. That's why we're in last place by nine games.”

“Ten games,” said Wayne Zane. “I saw on the scoreboard that the Rosedale Rogues won again.”

“Nine games, ten games, it's still early in the season,” Grumps replied. “Just don't get into a hole you can't dig yourselves out of.”

“And the first rule of holes is, when you're in one, stop digging,” said Wayne Zane.

“That's right,” said Grumps. “So stop digging!” He marched out of the locker room.

Everyone was quiet for a moment.

“Sorry, guys,” said Mike Stammer. “I don't know what's wrong with me. I've been hitting OK, but if I don't fix my fielding, I'll get sent down again.”

“Hey, there's nowhere down from here,” Wayne Zane reminded him.

“Gee, thanks. That makes me feel a lot better.”

“Just sayin',” replied Wayne.

worked for a very long time after the game. I didn't want to leave until Dylan did. I didn't want to look like a lollygagging dillydallier.

I rounded up the wet towels, put the equipment away, and swept up sunflower seed shells in the dugout. After a while, I couldn't think of anything else to do. I got dressed to go home. By that time, the players were already gone. Dylan came in just before I left.

“Thanks again for going to the visitors' dugout,” I said.

“It was nothing,” he said.

“It was something,” I said.

“Don't worry about it.” He got dressed fast and headed out. I was really sure he was mad at me.

I started to bike home, thought of something, turned around, and caught up with Dylan. I beeped my bike horn at him, and he turned around.

“What now?”

“I'm sorry about what happened at school. If that's what's bothering you, I'm sorry.”

“What happened at school?”

“I wanted to brag about being a batboy, but you got to go first. I interrupted you.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dylan said. “I'm not mad about that.”

“So what's bugging you?”

“Oh, man. You're the last one in the world who would understand.”

“Understand what? Try me.”

“I just don't like baseball.”

“What?”

“I think it's boring.”

“How could anybody find baseball boring?” I asked.

“I knew you wouldn't understand.” Dylan started walking again.

“I'll try!” I said. “Seriously.” I pedaled after him. “Just tell me what's boring about it. You have pitchers and batters and home runs and triples and stolen bases and hot boxes and . . . and . . . Hey, how come you have this job if you don't like baseball?”

“My dad said I had to do something this summer besides hang around the house,” Dylan replied. “He gave me a few choices, and I
picked this one. I figured I'd only have to work half the time, since I wouldn't have anything to do when the Porcupines are on the road.”

“So you just called the team up and asked for a job?”

“I sent them a résumé. My dad helped me with it.”

“Hey, me too! Did you have to do an interview?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you wear a tie?”

“My dad made me, but Wally didn't like it.”

“Me too! Did you have to explain the infield fly rule?”

“No, but I could have. I studied. Wally asked me to explain what a balk is.”

“Oh.” I was glad I didn't get that question. I knew what a balk was, but had trouble explaining it.

“Anyway,” Dylan said. “I like hanging out with you. It makes things a little less boring.”

“Thanks.” I decided I would help Dylan turn into a real fan before the end of the season. How hard could that be when we were so close to the action?

met Dad on the sidewalk in front of our house. He was walking our dog, Penny. She was happy to see me and barked. I knelt down to scratch her ears.

“I didn't think you'd be back so late,” said Dad. “The game was finished two hours ago.”

“There's a lot to do afterwards,” I explained.

We went inside. Dad unleashed Penny, and she followed me into the living room.

Mom muted the TV. “It looked like you were having fun,” she said, “even though the Porcupines lost.”

“Yeah. Wait—you were there?”

“We wouldn't have missed it for anything,” said Mom.

“Besides,” said Dad, “we wanted to make sure you weren't shirking your duties.”

“He's so proud of you,” Mom said. “He kept nudging the guy next to him and saying, ‘That's my boy.'”

“You did it, too,” Dad muttered.

• • •

I decided to go to bed early. The Porcupines had a day game tomorrow. And not just any day game, either. It was Kids Get In Free Day. The ballpark would be packed, and a lot of my friends would be there. I wanted to be rested and ready.

I looked at the bookshelf lined with binders and boxes full of baseball cards. I liked baseball cards even before I liked baseball. I liked seeing
where players came from and what minor league teams they had played for. Some of my favorite cards had random facts about players that had nothing to do with baseball: It would say that a player's boyhood nickname was Peanut or that his favorite food was Mallomars. When I knew about the guys in the game, the game was more interesting.