Top of the Order by John Coy

Author:John Coy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Feiwel & Friends

CHAPTER 14

“Let’s go, Big Gig.” We’re warming up in the field in the bottom of the first inning. Six to nothing—excellent way to start the game.

“Jackson.” Diego throws me a grounder and I bend down to grab it. I smoke the throw back to him at first.

“Second,” Hauser calls out.

I run over to cover and Hauser delivers the ball on the corner of the bag. I swipe the tag on an imaginary runner and flip to Sydney, who’s backing me up. She throws to Cerrato, as Gig digs in at the mound.

“Batter up,” the umpire calls.

“One-two-three inning.” I smooth the dirt in front of me as the first batter steps into the box. I smell my freshly cleaned uniform, bubble gum, and grass—the smells of baseball. Gig whips the first pitch in for a strike.

“That a way, Gig,” I holler. He might miss school, but he’d never miss a game.

He winds up and throws another bullet. The batter swings late for strike two.

“Give him the heat,” Isaac shouts.

The batter waves lamely at the next pitch.

“Strike three,” the umpire shouts.

“Way to fire, Rocket Man.” I hold up my index finger to indicate one out.

On the next pitch, the batter hits a high pop fly.

“I got it,” I shout as I move back onto the outfield grass. The ball keeps floating higher and I keep moving back. “I got it,” I yell louder.

As the ball falls, I realize it’s deeper than I thought. I hurry back, but the ball bounces off my outstretched glove. I turn to chase it, but Isaac picks it up and fires it in to hold the runner.

How embarrassing. Everybody was watching me, and I didn’t make the catch.

“Isaac, that’s your ball,” Coach Wilkins says. “The center fielder has to call the infielder off.”

I tap my chest to let him know it’s my mistake. I shouldn’t have said I had it. It’s nice of Coach not to call me out. He’s fair that way. He treats Isaac like a regular team member, not like someone who deserves special treatment just because he’s the coach’s son.

I move a step closer to second. We could use a double play to bail me out.

Gig winds up and fires a strike. “Way to burn.” I pound my glove.

He throws again and the batter hits a two-hopper to the hole. I move right, backhand it, and throw to second. Sydney grabs it and tries to throw to first, but the runner barrels into her and knocks her over. She falls to the ground but hangs on to the ball.

“You okay?” I run over to help her, but she’s already jogging back to her spot.

“Nice pink glove,” someone on the other team hollers.

“Where can I get one like that?”

Sydney ignores them and gets down in her stance.

Gig shakes his head and stomps around the mound like an angry elephant.

“Two out,” Coach calls.

Gig rears back and throws.

“Strike one,” the umpire calls.

Gig blazes another strike.

“Strike two.”

It looks like he’s taking his frustration out on the batter.

“Strike three.

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