The Home Run Kid Races On by Matt Christopher Page A

leave me alone. I’ve got a game to play.”
    Mr. Teacy laughed softly. “I’ll leave you alone,” he said, “but I’m not going to leave. Not until I see you put my lessons
     to work, that is. So the sooner you show me what you’ve learned, the sooner I’ll be gone.”
    Syl didn’t have time to say anything in return because at that moment, the slugger put what Mr. Baruth had taught
him
into practice.
    “Heads up, Syl!” Kirk yelled. “It’s all yours!”

15
    S ylvester whipped his gloved hand up into the air and kept his eyes glued to the ball soaring through the blue sky. He moved
     a few steps to his right, positioned himself directly under the ball, and waited for it to fall into his glove’s pocket for
     the out.
    To his astonishment, the ball didn’t drop into his glove. Instead, it seemed to veer away just before he caught it.
    “What the —?” He spun around, scrabbling in the grass. He finally picked up the ball and threw to the cutoff man. But he was
     too late. The Oriole had already rounded third on his way to an in-the-park, two-run homer.
    “Syl, what the heck happened?” Kirk bellowed from left field.
    Syl shook his head. He couldn’t believe he’d missed it either. In fact, he was certain he should have caught it. He replayed
     the ball’s trajectory in his mind. It was coming down on a line right to his glove—until suddenly, it wasn’t.
    No,
Syl fumed, slapping his empty glove against his thigh,
that miss wasn’t my fault. Something or someone made that ball change course. And I bet I know who it was.
    He narrowed his eyes and scanned the visitors’ stands. Then he looked at the people in the hometown bleachers. He saw Mr.
     Teacy leaning against the fence. Search as he might, though, he didn’t see Mr. Baruth anywhere.
    Of course, I didn’t see him at the Jackdaws-Orioles game either,
he reminded himself.
That doesn’t prove he wasn’t there—or that he’s not here right now!
    He was so busy thinking about Mr. Baruth that he didn’t realize Bongo had retired the Orioles until Steve called for him to
     hustle in for their turn at bat.
    Syl was batting cleanup, so there was no guarantee he would get to the plate that inning. Jim, the lead-off hitter, started
     the Comets off strong by ripping a line drive past the second baseman, good for a single.
    Syl applauded with his teammates, happy for his friend. Then he picked up a bat and began swinging it. It appeared as if he’d
     get his turn after all, and when he did, he wanted to be ready.
    Eddie was up next. He had a powerful swing that sometimes yielded hits but more often led to him striking out. This time,
     he managed to send the ball to shallow right field. He made it to first and chose to stop. Jim, however, rounded second and
     continued on to third.
    “Slide!” the third base coach yelled. “
Slide!
”
    Jim hit the dirt. The throw came in low and hard. A flurry of dust blocked Syl’s view.
Is Jim safe or out?
    The umpire fanned his arms to either side. “Safe!”
    Syl and the rest of the Comets let out a whoop. Coach Corbin applauded madly, grinning ear to ear. Syl grinned, too, in part
     because he was proud of Jim—but also because the third baseman, the Orioles’ slugger, had lost out that time.
    Kirk came to the plate with runners at first and third and no outs. When the pitch came, he swung from his heels, clearly
     hoping to homer and put his team ahead. Instead, he hit a blooper. The shortstop faded back and caught it easily.
    “Okay, Syl,” Coach Corbin said in a low voice. “We could use some power now.”
    Sylvester nodded and walked toward the batter’s box. As he did, he saw a movement behind the bench.
    It was Mr. Teacy. He was holding his bat, but not in a normal batting grip. His hands were spread wide, with the fingers of
     his right pinching the fat part of the bat.
    Drag bunt,
he mouthed to Syl.
    Syl hesitated. He glanced back at Coach Corbin for confirmation that he was to hit away.