Free Return of the Home Run Kid by Matt Christopher Page B

wreathed in a broad smile.
    “Do what? Who cares? Oh, never mind!” Sylvester snapped before Snooky had a chance to answer. “Buzz off, will you? What are you doing here, anyway?”
    Snookys cheerful expression faded. His face got all flushed. “Sorry, Syl,” he said, apologetically. “I didn’t mean to bother you. After all, I’m your friend, not your enemy.”
    Without another word, he stepped out of the dugout, never looking back.
    Sylvester sat there, fuming. The little creep, he thought, he really sounded sorry. Maybe he was. But I don’t have to sit there and take it eveiy time he needles me, do I? I can give it as well as take it. That’s what Cheeko would expect from me now.
    Yeah, Cheeko had shown him a thing or two. And it was starting to pay off. He had to play tough … and be tough, no matter what. Well, that’s what he’d do from now on, even with the likes of Snooky Malone.
    “What was all that about?” Duane asked, sliding into the vacant space next to his friend.
    “Nothing. Just a lot of nothing,” Sylvester answered.
    He fixed his attention at the plate in time to see Jerry Ash lay down a bunt, sending Bobby safely to second, but getting thrown out himself.
    “Bring ’im home, Eddie!” Sylvester shouted as the Redbirds’ catcher stepped up to the plate, pulling on his batting gloves.
    Eddie did, with a long triple to right center field. Then Terry fanned, and Jim singled, scoring Eddie. With the one man on, Ted popped up to third, ending the half inning.
    Terry held the Falcons to a walk in the bottom of the inning, so no runs scored.
    The Redbirds came up again with Trent leading off. His slump continued as he struck out.
    Sylvester couldn’t help but grin as he passed Trent on his way to the batter’s box amidst loud cheers and applause from the stands.
    With a cocky stance, he ground his feet into the dirt and took the first pitch — a called strike that seemed a little inside to him, almost a brush.
    The next pitch did more than brush him. It hit him.

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    B ase!” yelled the ump. Then; to Duke, “Watch it, Farrell. You’re putting some of ’em awfully close in there, mister. Another one like that, and you’re outta here!”
    About time, thought Sylvester. Boy, that sure hurt. It never felt like that when he practiced with Cheeko, when they weren’t for real.
    Sylvester rubbed the bruised spot where the ball had hit. His side throbbed, but he wasn’t about to let anyone know how much it hurt. After all, he had brought it on himself, by leaning into the pitch slightly. And you had to act tough, he remembered.
    The next batter, Duane, cracked a single over shortstop, advancing Sylvester to second base. But neither of them got any farther. Bobby hit a line drive to the shortstop, and Jerry fanned. Three out.
    As Sylvester ran to the dugout for his glove, Coach Corbin looked worried.
    “Are you okay?” he asked.
    “Sure, coach,” Sylvester replied. “I can hardly feel it any more.” But I won’t forget it, he added to himself.
    Ray Bottoms led off for the Falcons and lined a three-one pitch directly to Trent for the first out. Kirk Anderson fared no better, popping the first pitch back to Terry.
    “One more, Terry! One-two-three!” shouted Sylvester as Ernie Fantelli stepped up to the plate.
    But Terry pitched four balls, none of which crossed the plate, and Ernie had a free ticket to first base.
    With little happening in the outfield, Sylvester looked around the stands and caught Cheeko s eye. Leaning back in his seat, Cheeko made a little jab with his fist that looked like a cross between an okay sign and thumbs-up. Sylvester gave him a quick wave and turned back to the action on the field.
    Cleanup slugger Steve Button had just stepped to the plate and all three outfielders edged themselves back a little. Steve was ready and walloped Terry’s first pitch out toward center field. It looked as if it was all Bobbys, an easy out. But just as the ball started its