Free Field of Screams by R.L. Stine Page A

knew differently. I remembered Ernie telling me how Shadyside led by two in the bottom of the ninth.
    Just the way it was now.
    History was repeating itself!
    â€œDon’t start celebrating yet,” I cautioned.
    â€œWin. We have to win!” said the voice in my head.
    Gibson was so determined. It was like a fire inside me. I felt powerful. Alive.
    But would it be enough? Would it change history?
    And would that save the team and get me home?

22

    T he bottom of the ninth didn’t start out well. Wade was tired, I guess. Anyway, the first Wildcat batter—that skinny second baseman with the glasses—hit a triple on the first pitch.
    I winced. Not good. Definitely not good.
    The next batter singled. So did the one after that. But at least I was able to keep the runner at third from going home.
    The bases were loaded. Just the way Ernie described it.
    The next batter stepped up. He hefted the bat with his left hand.
    My stomach did a flip. “This is it,” I said. “This is where it all happens!”
    â€œShut up and look sharp,” Gibson warned in my head.
    I was too scared to get annoyed.
    I hugged the third baseline, but the rest of the team shifted over toward right field. “Move it, Buddy!” Coach Johnson yelled.
    I ignored him.
    â€œBuddy!” he yelled again.
    I waved at him, but I didn’t budge.
    Coach called time and ran over to me.
    â€œWhat do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
    Oh, boy.
    â€œI’m playing third,” I replied, trying to sound innocent.
    â€œI see. Are you playing third on my team?”
    I gulped. “Uh—yes, sir.”
    â€œSo why don’t you move where I tell you to move?” he barked.
    â€œHe’s going to push the ball to the left, Coach. I just know it,” I argued.
    â€œOh, you know it, do you?” Coach snapped. “How do you know? Do you have a crystal ball or something?”
    â€œKind of,” I mumbled.
    â€œOh, for Pete’s sake.” Coach sounded disgusted. “If you’re not moving toward right in three seconds, I’ll take you out of the game!”
    I groaned, but I moved. What else could I do? Istood there halfway to second, gazing tensely at that third base line.
    The runners took their leads. The guy on second took such a big jump, he ended up only a few feet away from me.
    The second the pitcher threw, I sprinted to the right.
    WHAP! The batter cracked a line drive straight down the baseline.
    â€œGo!” Gibson yelled in my head.
    The ball screamed through the air. I’d never reach it! I’d never make it.
    But then something swelled inside me. It couldn’t get by. It wouldn’t get by!
    I leapt through the air. My arm stretched out so far, I thought my shoulder was going to pop.
    â€œI got it!” I screamed.
    The ball hit the tip of my glove.
    And stuck. I squeezed my fingers around it.
    One out!
    It had seemed such a sure base hit, the runner was already halfway home. He turned and tore back toward third. From the ground, I reached out and slapped the base with my glove.
    Double play. Two out!
    Feet skidded behind me. Still flat on the ground, I rolled back toward second. The runner from second spun to go back. I rolled twice in the dirt and tagged the heel of his shoe.
    Three out!
    A triple play!
    The game was over. And we won!
    The crowd in the bleachers erupted in a huge roar. I lay there, staring up at the sky.
    â€œYes!” I screamed. “Yes!”
    My teammates raced to me from all directions. They pulled me to my feet and then hoisted me onto their shoulders. We paraded around the field as the crowd cheered.
    Boog was jumping up and down like an idiot. “An unassisted triple play! Did you see that?” he yelled to the whole world.
    I was still dazed from what I did. What we did. Buddy Gibson and I. An unassisted triple play!
    I went through the trophy ceremony in a daze of happiness and relief. In fact, it