The Home Run Kid Races On by Matt Christopher

Author:Matt Christopher [CHRISTOPHER, MATT]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: JUV005000
ISBN: 9780316088565
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Published: 2010-04-01T04:00:00+00:00

11

You deaf or something?” Mr. Teacy said. “I asked, what’s taking you so long?”

Sylvester stared at the dark screen in dismay. Then he closed the phone and dropped it back into his bag.

“Sorry, I had a knot I couldn’t get undone,” he answered. As quickly as he could, he switched his sneakers for his spikes. “Say, isn’t Mr. Baruth going to be here today?”

“No,” Mr. Teacy said shortly. “He had someplace else he had to be.”

Syl was disappointed but tried not to show it.

“Let’s hope you’re faster on the base paths than you are at untying knots,” Mr. Teacy grumbled when Syl joined him at home plate. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“What do you mean?” Syl asked.

“I mean run!” Mr. Teacy cried.

Startled, Syl took off down the base path like a horse that’d been stung by a bee.

“You call that running?” Mr. Teacy mocked. “I’ve seen ducks waddle faster!”

Sylvester picked up his pace, slowing only when he reached first.

Mr. Teacy stormed up to him. “Didn’t I tell you to give me everything you’ve got?”

Syl nodded dumbly.

“Then why’d you slow down? You do that in a game and you’ll be picked off. Get back to home plate. And this time, round first and slide into second.”

Sylvester hesitated, remembering how poorly he’d slid during practice with the Comets.

“Well?” Mr. Teacy thundered.

Syl hurried back to home plate and got into a runner’s stance.

“On my mark,” Mr. Teacy said. “Ready? Go!”

Syl pushed off and began to run. To his surprise, Mr. Teacy did too—except he didn’t run with Sylvester so much as after him!

“Go!” he screamed. “Faster! Move those legs! Dig it out! Faster, boy!”

Maybe it was Mr. Teacy’s yells, or maybe it was the adrenaline that suddenly shot through Syl’s veins, but whatever the reason, Syl did run faster. In fact, he practically flew across the dirt toward first base. He touched the bag and kept going. Then, when he judged he was close enough to second, he bent his left leg beneath him, dropped, and slid toward the base with his right leg outstretched.

To his relief, unlike in practice, his foot reached its target. In fact, his whole right leg crossed the bag so that when he stopped moving, he was half resting on the base.

Mr. Teacy stood over him, looking appalled. “That’s your slide?” he said.

Syl took a deep breath and sat up. “That’s my slide,” he replied defensively, his face turning red. “What was wrong with it?”

“You overshot the mark by a mile. Your hands were in the dirt when you slid,” Mr. Teacy said, ticking each point off as he talked. “Your right leg was ramrod straight. And now you’re just sitting there like a bump on a log!” He shook his head in a gesture of pure disgust.

Sylvester flushed an even deeper red.

“Come on,” Mr. Teacy said, “I’ll walk you through it.” He started back to the plate without waiting to see if Syl was following.

And Syl almost didn’t follow. What made him return to the plate was something Mr.

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