Heavy Hitters Read online

  “See ball, hit ball,” Justin said as Ben was putting on his batting helmet.

  “Sounds simple enough.”

  “Because it is simple enough,” Justin said.

  Ben walked to the plate, tapped the shin guards of the Parkerville catcher tonight, another kid he knew from football named Tim Barrett, got ready to hit. Not looking to take a strike, the way he sometimes did his first time up, looking to take a rip at the first good pitch he saw, knowing he wasn’t going good enough to lay off what might be the best pitch he was going to see the entire at bat.

  Maybe it was because Frankie was the first lefty he had seen all season, maybe because the ball was coming at him from the first-base side. Or maybe — just maybe — it was all the work he’d done with Justin.

  Whatever it was, Ben hit Frankie Henson’s first pitch of the game on a line over the second baseman’s head for what felt like the first really clean hit he’d had since he’d been hit.

  He thought about stomping the first-base bag the way guys did home plate after a big home run, it felt that good to finally put a bat on the ball that way. But he didn’t, he did what he’d been taught to do, cut the base, made the turn, even faked like he might try for second as their right fielder came up throwing. Came back to the bag. Took a low five from his dad, who leaned close to him and told him he was stealing on the first pitch to Darrelle.

  It was then that Ben took a quick look across the field to the Rams’ bench, saw Justin shaking a fist at him, then smiling and pointing to his own eyes.

  See ball, hit ball.

  Ben stole second, Darrelle singled him home two pitches later, Sam doubled down the left-field line scoring Darrelle with the Rams’ second run. Frankie against Justin now. Lefty against lefty. Justin’s first official at bat since he’d gotten bounced for throwing his bat.

  Parkerville might have needed a big-league lefty like David Price to get Justin out in that moment. Or CC Sabathia. Justin hit a 1-1 pitch from Frankie Henson over the right-field fence at what was called Parkerville Memorial Park. It was 4–0, Rockwell, and Frankie Henson still hadn’t gotten anybody out.

  When Justin got to the bench Ben said, “The only time I can’t see the ball is when you hit one out of sight.”

  It was 5–0, Rams, by the time the top of the first ended, Shawn doubling after Justin’s homer and Coop singling him home before Frankie Henson struck out the three guys at the bottom of the Rams’ order.

  But then Kevin Nolti, starting for the Rams tonight, got banged around the way they’d just banged around Frankie. Worse, actually, Parkerville not only scoring six runs in the bottom of the inning but leaving the bases loaded. Ben felt like the game had been going on for an hour, and they were only getting ready for the top of the second.

  Coop said, “What was the score the last time we played these guys in football? It’s gonna end up like that.”

  “Are you kidding?” Shawn said. “It’s going to be closer to the final score in basketball.”

  By the time Robbie Burnett came in to pitch the first one-two-three inning, top of the fifth, the score was 10–10. Ben had gotten one more hit, off the right-handed pitcher who came in to replace Frankie, walked the other two times he’d been up, scored four runs by now.

  But now he needed somebody to get on for the Rams in the top of the sixth, because he was scheduled to bat fourth in the inning. Not only were the Rams going to need at least one base runner to have a chance to go ahead in this game — that was if Ben could hold Parkerville in the bottom of the fifth — they needed at least one base runner so that Ben could face Robbie.

  Suddenly the only thing making him afraid on this night was that he wouldn’t get to face the guy who’d made him afraid in the first place.

  Afraid in baseball for the first time in his life.

  It meant he was feeling like a ballplayer again, the kind he’d always been.

  First things first, he did have to hold Parkerville in the bottom of the fifth.

  Then Ben promptly gave up a hit to Robbie, who then stole second, barely beating Coop’s throw. But Ben pinned him there, striking out the next two guys. Frankie Henson now. Ben got the count to 1-2, thought he could make Frankie chase a pitch that was nearly in the dirt for strike three. Instead Frankie stuck out his bat, and managed to hit a soft liner to center field.

  Robbie was running with two outs, Ben was slapping his glove hard against his thigh, knowing the game was about to be 11–10 for Parkerville.

  Would have been 11–10 if somebody other than Sam Brown was playing center field.

  Ben turned and saw that Sam had closed so fast on the ball, with his amazing speed, that he was picking it up just a few feet beyond the infield dirt, fielding it in perfect stride, the transfer out of his glove happening as fast as everything else was at Parkerville Memorial Park, coming up throwing to the plate.

  The rules in their league were you couldn’t come into home plate standing up if there was going to be a play there. Coop got himself into perfect position blocking the plate as Robbie came hard down the line, Coop as fearless as he was funny.

  Sam’s throw came to him on the fly, a perfect throw to Coop’s glove side, Coop not even having to turn his body to catch it.

  The play that should have made it 11–10 for Robbie and Parkerville wasn’t even close, Coop waiting for Robbie’s slide, his bare hand on the ball in the pocket of his catcher’s mitt, knowing that the only bad thing that could happen was Robbie sliding into the glove and knocking the ball loose.

  The home plate umpire had come around to Coop’s left, to have the best possible look at the plate, immediately threw up his right hand, and yelled “Out!”

  Unbelievable throw, unbelievable play.

  When Ben turned to see where Sam was, he saw that Sam Brown was already at their bench, he’d tell Ben later he never stopped running after he made his throw, knowing that Robbie had no chance, never doubting that the inning was over and the game was still tied.

  That was just Sam.

  When Ben got over to him, the two of them touched gloves and Sam grinned and said, “Just so you know, Robbie still hasn’t touched home plate.”

  Then Cooper Manley was with them, his face mask tipped back on his head, his helmet in his hand, smiling the way he always smiled when sports felt like this, like it was the Core Four against the world.

  “Only boneheads,” Coop said, “think they can run on Sam’s arm and through me.”

  Sam looked at Ben now, his manner all business, because there was still work to be done.

  “We softened Robbie up,” he said. “Now you finish him off.”

  Justin was there, too, looking at his arm like he was looking at an imaginary wristwatch. “I believe it’s payback time,” he said.

  Then it didn’t look as if Ben would get the chance, not unless the game went into extra innings. Robbie got two fast outs in the top of the last, looking as if he were throwing even harder than he had in the opening game. Getting the ball from their catcher, barely waiting, in such a good rhythm he looked almost impatient to throw his next pitch.

  Before Ben left the bench for the on-deck circle, two outs now for the Rams, Justin came over to him. “Step out on him. It will throw him off a little, trust me.”

  Ben nodded. “Got it.”

  Justin said, “All’s we need is a base runner.”

  Ben said, “If Steve gets on, I’m getting a hit off this guy, I know it.”

  Steve Novak was a new kid, having just moved to town after spring break for Rockwell Middle School. He was a decent enough player, but Mr. Brown had him batting tenth tonight, because you were allowed to bat ten in their league. Steve was really fast, could play any position on the field except catcher. But he always seemed to hit better in batting practice than he did in games.

  Bottom line? Wasn’t an accident he was hitting at the bottom of the order.

  Somehow, though, he fouled a couple of pitches off at 2-2, worked the count full on Robbie Bur
nett. And when Robbie didn’t get a call he wanted with his 3-2 pitch, a ball at the knees, Steve Novak had gotten a walk off him.

  Ben exhaled for the first time since Robbie had delivered his 3-2 pitch, walked to the plate. Took a great big deep breath now.

  And got ready to face Robbie Burnett again.

  Sam and Coop and Shawn — and Justin — knew how much this at bat meant to him. So there was no loud chatter from any of them. The only voice he heard now was Justin Bard’s, telling him, “Be a hitter.”

  Yeah, Ben told himself.

  Be a hitter.

  If he was ever going to be one again, it had to start right here, against this pitcher. The one who’d put him down hard.

  Time to get back up.

  See it, hit it, see it, hit it.

  Hard.

  The first pitch from Robbie was so far outside that Tim Barrett, the Parkerville catcher, didn’t even touch it with his mitt, the ball going all the way to the screen, Steve Novak having to do nothing more than jog down to second base, you were only allowed one base on a wild pitch to the screen.

  Go-ahead run on second.

  Ben looked out at Robbie, mad at himself for wild-pitching Steve into scoring position, Ben thinking that somehow Robbie looked more nervous in this moment than he was. Maybe throwing a pitch that far outside because he was afraid to come in on Ben after what had happened in the opener.

  But Robbie came right in with a fastball down the middle, and Ben took it for strike one. As much as he wanted to swing the bat on this guy, the ballplayer in him made him force Robbie to throw a strike after missing that badly.

  1-and-1.

  Now Ben asked the ump for time, stepped out the way Justin had told him to, leaned down and tied a shoelace that absolutely did not need tying. Took another deep breath. Got back into the box, took his stance.

  This time Robbie came inside on him, the kind of inside pitch that had been turning Ben’s front knee to jelly since he’d gotten hit.

  Just not this time.

  He saw it all the way, knew that as far inside as it was, it wasn’t far enough inside to hit him. Ben saw the ball that well coming out of Robbie’s hand. He just knew, after watching what felt like a couple of hundred pitches from Justin at Highland Park that day.

  So Ben just calmly raised his arms, leaned back in that cool way Jeter did with inside pitches, just sucking in his gut and sticking his butt out. Just not moving his feet.

  Not bailing out this time.

  Not even against Robbie Burnett.

  2-and-1.

  Ben thought about stepping out on him again, didn’t, just stepped right into the next pitch he saw, a Robbie fastball about belt high. Stepped right at Robbie with his front foot, not toward third base or the Rams’ bench or downtown Parkerville, stepped into that fastball and drilled it into left-center, a screamer up the gap, one Ben knew was going to roll all the way to the wall.

  Steve Novak scored easily, Ben stopped at second even though he was sure he could have made third, Mr. Brown having a big thing about never making the last out of the inning or the first out of the inning at third base.

  So he stopped at second, even though in that moment Ben felt like he was home.

  Home free.

  Ben hoped that Darrelle would find a way to keep the inning going, get Sam to the plate and maybe Justin, bust the game wide open so that he wouldn’t have to pitch the bottom of the sixth with a one-run lead, not that he ever minded doing that.

  But Darrelle struck out swinging, a 3-2 Robbie fastball up in his eyes, like Darrelle had decided to swing no matter where the pitch was.

  Ben jogged toward the Rams’ bench, not to celebrate his hit, no interest in that, still too much work to do. Just like that he had to go from being a hitter — on the night when he felt like a hitter again — to being a pitcher.

  When he had his glove, he made sure to run alongside Justin so he could say, “Thank you.”

  “For what?” Justin said. “Being the kind of teammate you are?”

  “You still didn’t have to do it, you have enough going on.”

  Justin said, “Yeah, I did.”

  He went to first, started throwing grounders to the infielders while Ben warmed up with Coop. No chatter from Coop now, he always knew when to be all business.

  All Coop did when Ben had finished with his warm-up pitches was to make a quick patting motion with his mitt. Take it easy. Coop knew Ben well enough to know how pumped he’d been when he got to second base, knew how much Ben had been going through even if the two of them hadn’t talked about it, Coop and Sam and Shawn knowing this was something Ben had wanted to work out for himself.

  Not knowing about Justin showing up to coach Ben that day, like he was a friend coming out of the bull pen.

  Now Ben was the bull pen guy, in a real game, a close game, a chance to make the run he’d knocked in stand up by getting three more outs.

  Coop, being Coop, did have one comment he wanted to make, jogging out to the mound and saying, “A one-two-three inning would be gorgeous,” then heading back to the plate before Ben even had a chance to respond.

  It turned out to be a one-two-three inning, Ben having already pitched through Robbie and their best hitters in the bottom of the fifth.

  He struck out their catcher, Tim Barrett, on three pitches.

  Got their third baseman to hit a slow roller to Justin at first, Justin having to take just a few steps before he stomped on the bag, hard.

  Two away.

  Justin could have tossed the ball to Ben, decided instead to come over to the mound. “Finish this,” he said, stuffing the ball into the pocket of Ben’s glove like he was spiking it.

  Parkerville’s right fielder, Tommy Monahan, at the plate. Saw three Ben McBain fastballs, all of which had a little something extra on them. Tommy swung at the first, took the second for strike two, swung through a strike three it looked like he missed by a foot.

  This time it was Coop, who’d sprinted out to the mound, who spiked the ball into Ben’s glove and said, “Totally gorgeous.”

  But when Sam got to the pitcher’s mound from center field, Ben immediately handed the ball to him, saying, “This is yours. You don’t make that throw, we don’t win this game.”

  Justin pushed Ben’s cap from behind, down over his eyes, and said, “Game over, slump over.”

  They walked off the field together, Ben and Justin leading the way, Sam and Coop and Shawn behind them. Mr. Brown was waiting for them in front of the bench, along with Ben’s dad. They both high-fived him. Then the Rockwell Rams were ripping into the homemade cookies and drinks that Steve Novak’s mom had brought, Mr. Brown telling them to eat up and drink up, he wanted to have their sit-down in the outfield and then get everybody on their way back to Rockwell.

  “Good night to be a Rockwell Ram,” he said.

  Great night, Ben thought, feeling pretty great himself.

  They sat in the grass on a summer night and ate cookies and replayed the game, even knowing Mr. Brown would be doing the same thing in a few minutes: Sam’s throw. Ben’s hit. Coop’s catch and tag at the plate.

  “You know what I think that tag was?” Ben said to Sam. “I think it was gorgeous.”

  “Hey,” Coop said, “that’s my word.”

  Ben looked past his teammates now, saw Mr. Bard leaning against the fence, Justin with him, Justin looking even happier to be with his dad on this night than he had been beating Parkerville.

  More than any of them, he looked like he didn’t want the night to end.

  The way, Ben thought to himself, he wasn’t going to want this summer to end.

  The one promise Justin had gotten out of his mom was that they wouldn’t move before the end of the Rams’ season, even if the Rams made it all the way to the state tournament for eleven-year-olds.

  Other than that he didn’t have an exact date. One day before Justin showed up for practice Coop said it was like one of those disaster movies where you knew the
world was supposed to come to an end, you just didn’t know when.

  But Justin kept showing up for practices, was still batting cleanup for them, hitting as well as he ever had as the Rams started to string wins together and play themselves into a tie for first place — three-way tie, with Parkerville and Moreland — at the top of the Butler County League.

  Somehow, though, away from baseball Justin always seemed to have something to do when Ben would ask him to come over and hang out. Or go swimming at Shawn’s. Or just meet in town for ice cream or pizza or a movie.

  Or just more hanging out.

  “It’s like he’s still here but already gone,” Ben said to Lily one afternoon after they’d been swimming at Shawn’s.

  “I hear you,” she said. “He ended up not quitting the team, but it’s like he’s quitting everything else a little bit at a time.”

  They were on the swings at McBain Field, just the two of them.

  “If it was me,” Ben said, “I’d want to be with you and Sam and Coop and Shawn as much as I possibly could.”

  “You wouldn’t have any choice, I’d make you.”

  “Oh, like I always do what you tell me to do,” Ben said.

  “Oh,” Lily said, “like you don’t.”

  Ben said, “You know, I’m not nearly as afraid of you as you think I am.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, McBain. You just keep telling yourself that.”

  “What I really keep telling myself,” he said, “is that there’s more we should be doing to help Justin.”

  “Not if he doesn’t want us to, you can’t,” Lily said.

  “When has that ever stopped us if we thought something was really important?”

  “You saw what happened when we all played basketball,” she said. “Sometimes helping hurts.”

  “Justin helped me with baseball,” Ben said, “and that just helped.”

  Lily smiled at him. “I know you want the world to work the way sports does, where if you try hard you win. But sometimes it just doesn’t.”