Neil Armstrong Is My Uncle by Nan Marino Page B

even see it.
    â€œStrike three. Second out,” says John Marcos.
    Before John throws back the ball, Greg McGinty signals to him that it’s time to talk. He runs over to where John Marcos stands behind home plate.
    I wait.
    Normally these things don’t take too long, but John and Greg keep blabbing.
    â€œCome on, guys, we’re burning daylight.” I turn around and look at my team, waiting for one of them to join in and back me up.
    Big Danny pulls a candy bar out of his shirt pocket. MaryBeth Grabowsky plays with her hair. The Donovan twins are in left field, elbowing each other over who gets to stand in the best position. Conchetta Marchetta ties and reties her sneakers. A few other kids stare up at the sky. No one says anything about hurrying.
    Greg points to Muscle Man. A few times John Marcos shakes his head and waves his hands around. I try to lean in to listen, but their conversation is soft. I can’t hear a word.
    I think about joining them. I’m the pitcher after all, and I’m entitled to walk over there to see what’s up, but to be honest, I’m a little scared of Greg McGinty.
    He’s big. He grunts. He’s Muscle Man’s older brother, and he can probably tell in a heartbeat that Muscle Man’s mere existence causes me grief.
    A dozen years go by before Greg McGinty heads back to the field, and John Marcos walks over to me.
    â€œTake it easy on him.” John looks at the ground when he speaks.
    â€œAre you kidding me?” I look at the ground too. It’s how we always talk on the field. This way, no one knows what we’re talking about.
    â€œLook, we don’t want this to be a simple strikeout. Let him kick the ball. Come on, Tammy, it’s thirteen against one. It’s only fair.”
    John doesn’t wait for my answer. He said his piece and expects it to be done.
    I bounce the ball hard and don’t bother to catch it when it flies up over my head.
    Only fair. Hmph.
    The kid was stupid enough to challenge the entire block, and now we have to be easy on him?

Chapter Fourteen
New Rules
    J OHN TAKES HIS position behind home plate. I turn around to make sure the team is on their marks. I nod to second base, and Big Danny shoves the rest of a candy bar into his mouth. Billy Rattle is at first. And somehow Greg McGinty has pushed his way into playing third base. Benny Schuster, who’s normally at third, is playing the outfield.
    â€œReady when you are, Tammy.” Muscle Man is so cheerful that I want to smack him.
    Instead, I do what John Marcos said. I pitch a long slow pitch, the kind that I do for the under-seven crowd.
    Talk about a gift. This pitch barely crawls over home plate. Even a runt like Muscle Man could send it flying.
    Good thing he’s stiff, because if he was as relaxed as Billy Rattle or John Marcos, it would have gone clear across the railroad tracks and onto Sunrise Highway. Bad enough that it sails past Big Danny and into the outfield.
    â€œCome on! Move it!” I shout to Matthew Donovan, who’s closest to the ball. Or was that Michael?
    The Donovan boys reach the ball at the same time and collide into each other.
    Muscle Man touches first base and keeps running.
    â€œThrow it here,” Big Danny yells, but the twins are too busy slamming into each other to pay attention to the second baseman.
    Michael kicks Matthew in the shins. Matthew hurls a few choice curse words back at him. Benny Schuster scoots between them but gets pushed out of the way by both of them before he gets his hands on the ball.
    Muscle Man rounds second, and Big Danny’s hands are still empty.
    A few of the other boys scramble toward left field and end up getting pulled into the fight by Benny and the twins.
    â€œLet’s rumble!” shouts Tony Mogavero, as he dives on top of the heap. All I can see is a mound of arms and legs. It’s hard to tell who’s who.
    Left field is turning into a free-for-all.
    The