Free Stealing Home by Todd Hafer Page A

who cares about him, which is more than I can say for you.”
    Before Coach Lathrop could retort, Cody’s dad chimed in. “Mr. Lathrop, this conversation is now over. We’ve shared our concerns with you—and we will also share them with the organizers of the league. Meanwhile, there is still a tournament to be completed. We will speak with Cody about whether or not he should continue playing. But if he is cleared to play, you will not put him in harm’s way again. Do you understand me on that?”
    Coach Lathrop’s face flushed. He appeared on the verge of a tirade, but after several suspense-filled seconds, he simply nodded and walked briskly away.
    A few of the other parents who had gathered to watch the confrontation nodded their approval and patted Luke Martin on the back.
    “You’re doing the right thing,” Goddard’s father noted.
    “Son,” Cody’s dad commanded when he saw him, “please get in the car. We’re taking you to the emergency room right away to have your ribs X-rayed. And next time, you must tell me when you’ve been injured. I shouldn’t have to hear it from Deke Porter after you’ve played a tournament game in such a condition.”
    “Chop,” Cody muttered angrily to himself.
    “You should thank him, not criticize him,” Beth said. “He was really worried about you. He’s a good friend. Besides, he didn’t want to tell us at first when we asked him why you were running like you were hurt, but we bribed him with a milk shake. Every man has his price, you know.”
    “A milk shake, huh?” Cody said, smiling. “That sounds good.”
    Cody’s dad offered him a grudging smile. “After the X-rays.”
    Cody uttered a deep sigh of relief when he heard the doctor’s verdict—“Just a bruised rib—nothing broken.”
    Still, his dad held him out of the Saturday afternoon game, which the Rockies lost to the Plainsmen.
    “Guess we just couldn’t win without the dawg out there,” Pork Chop said to Cody’s dad after the game. “But it’s all good. We beat Lincoln with Madisonpitching. Brett got a no-hitter, for the first time in his life. I can almost die happy.”
    That night, just before he surrendered to sleep, Cody heard a pack of dogs barking underneath his bedroom window. He tried to shake the drowsiness from his head as he swung his legs over his bed. He walked silently to the window and opened the blinds.
    A yawn turned to a smile as he looked down and saw Pork Chop, the Evans twins, and Doug Porter—heads tilted toward him—howling and barking at full volume.
    “Good game, dawg!” Pork Chop shouted. “Way to put yourself out there for the team! You’re crazier than I am! I’ve never, never seen anybody steal home before. That was fierce!”
    “Thanks for the no-hitter,” Brett added. “I never coulda done it without you!” With that, the foursome turned and sprinted to Doug’s Camry. Doug left rubber in the Martin driveway before roaring away.
    Cody slid carefully into his bed. He woke the next morning with a smile on his face. He wondered if it had been there all night.
    He also woke up with a plan. He talked his dad into letting him play the final game of the tournament, which the Rockies entered without their head coach. Mr. McClintock had taken over, explaining to theteam that Coach Lathrop decided it was “in the best interest of everyone involved” if he stepped aside.
    The Rockies faced the Braves, who won a hardfought 8–5 victory. Cody went two-for-four from the plate, with two bunt singles down the third base line. Pork Chop homered in his last at bat, sending a Guzman fastball at least thirty feet beyond the center-field fence, where it almost hit a white poodle.
    The loss eliminated Grant from the tournament, but no one seemed to mind. The Brett Evans no-hitter was the talk of the tournament.
    Murphy came to the final game and screamed himself hoarse from the Rockies’ dugout. After the game, Brett tried to give his no-hitter game ball to Murph, who