Free Look Who's Playing First Base by Matt Christopher

1
    T HE BOY was tall, dark-haired and left-handed. He was new in the neighborhood. He lived in the same ten-story brick apartment building
     that Mike Hagin lived in, but so far Mike hadn’t had a chance to talk with him. All Mike knew was what Art Colt had said.
     Art was a close friend, and if anything new happened within ten miles of Plainview, Art would be the first to hear about it.
    “He’s from Russia,” Art had said. “His father’s a teacher.”
    “Can he speak English?”
    “I don’t know. I haven’t talked with him. But he goes to our school. So does his sister.”
    “What’s his name?”
    “Yuri something.”
    That was all Art could tell him.
    Then came the day when Mike was walking home and saw Yuri throwing a hard rubber ball against the side of the apartment building
     and catching it on the first bounce. Twice the ball struck a curved narrow ledge about three feet above the pavement and rebounded
     to Yuri without touching the ground. He seemed to be playing a game.
    Suddenly the ball struck the ledge again and bounced over Yuri’s head, too high for him to catch. It struck the hard pavement
     behind him and bounced toward theswimming pool about a hundred feet away.
    Mike could see that Yuri wouldn’t be able to get it before it plunged into the water, so Mike ran after the ball as hard as
     he could. The ball dropped into the pool just as he reached the pool’s concrete deck.
    He looked around and saw Yuri running forward, a grin on his round, handsome face.
    “It won’t sink,” said Yuri. “Anyway, thanks for trying.”
    Mike returned the grin. He was shorter than Yuri, and stockier. “There’s a long pole here somewhere with a net on it,” he
     said. “I’ll look for it.”
    “Oh — thanks.”
    Mike found the pole behind the concretewall on the opposite side of the pool. It was about ten feet long and big around as a broom handle. The net on the end was
     used to clear leaves and bugs from the water.
    Mike scooped up the ball and held the net up to Yuri, who took out the ball and thanked Mike again.
    While Mike put the pole back, he saw that Yuri was waiting for him.
    “I’m Mike Hagin,” he said. “I live up on the sixth floor.”
    Yuri put out his hand and Mike took it. “I am Yuri Dotzen. I live on the fourth floor. We just moved here a few days ago.”
     He had a foreign accent but his English was clear. “I go to Plainview School.”
    Mike smiled. “So do I! Maybe we can go together.”
    Yuri’s eyes warmed. “That would be nice. I have a sister, too. Anna. She is younger than I.”

    “Maybe she knows my sister, Ginnie,” said Mike. He frowned thoughtfully. “Yuri, are you really from Russia?”
    Yuri laughed. “Of course. We moved to the United States a year ago.”
    Mike looked into the dark brown eyes. “You speak English pretty well.”
    “That is because I learned it in school. So did my sister. And my parents speak it most of the time at home.”
    Russia. Man, Russia was halfway round the world. Mike could see the map of Europe in his mind and the huge country of Russia
     occupying most of its eastern part. The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. The country that had launched Sputnik, the first
     satellite to orbit the earth.
    “You ever going back?” he asked.
    “I don’t think so. We like it very much here.” Yuri laughed and ran toward the apartment building. “Did you ever play this
     game? One point for catching a first bounce, two for catching it in the air.”
    “No. But try.”
    “You must try to hit that ledge,” advised Yuri. “If you hit it squarely, the ball will fly back to you in the air. If you
     miss a catch, it’s my turn.”
    The game was simple, and Mike caught twelve bounces and two flies before he missed.
    They started to walk to school together the next day, and their sisters tagged along. The girls were in the same grade but,
     like Mike and Yuri, had different homerooms.
    Then one day Mike heard that the Moodys were