Free Wild Pitch by Matt Christopher

be back in ten minutes.
    “I suppose that means I should be out of here by the end of that time,” Eddie said softly to Phyllis, smiling.
    “Not necessarily.”
    She had one hand on her lap, the other combing her hair. “Been waiting long?”
    “Since twenty minutes of two.”
    She frowned. “Twenty minutes of two?”
    “Yeah. But that’s okay. I finally made it. Feeling better?”
    “Much better. I’d like to get out of here right now.”
    “What’s the rush? Aren’t they treating you right?”
    “Oh, sure. It’s not that. The nurses are great, except for the one who comes in early in the morning, wakes me up, and hands
     me a pill. It’s just that I can’t do anything. All I do is sleep, eat, and take pills. It’s driving me up a wall.”
    Eddie grinned. “How about baseball?”
    “What about it?”
    “Are you anxious to get started again?”
    He didn’t want to tell her what Mingo had said about her decision to quit. Not yet, anyway.
    She stopped combing her hair, laid the comb on top of the table, and looked at him.
    “Why? Why should you care?”
    “Why shouldn’t I care? It’s my fault you’re in here, isn’t it?”
    “You said it was an accident.”
    “Sure, it was. But it’s still my fault. So I feel I owe you one.’”
    “You owe me nothing.”
    He went to the window, wondering whether he’d be able to cope with her. He turned back to her. “I’ll help you play again,
     Phyl,” he said seriously.
    She met his eyes.
    “In a pig’s eye you will.”
    He stared at her. “You don’t want me to?”
    “Do you think that just because I’m a girl I can’t do it without your help? I worked myself up to playing on a boys’ team,
     and I think I did a good job at first base until you threw that clunker. I think I can make a comeback on my own” — she paused,
     looking away from him — “if I make a comeback at all.”
    Now it comes, he thought.
    “What do you mean ’if’?” he asked.
    She shrugged and studied her nails. “I’ve decided not to play anymore.”
    Eddie stood, slightly stunned. He thought he’d be prepared for it, but hearing it from her own lips affected him more than
     he had expected it would.
    He came away from the window, stood by the bed,and looked at her. She kept studying her nails; an excuse, he suspected, for her to keep from meeting his eyes.
    “You can’t quit, Phyl,” he told her.
    Her eyes popped up. “Oh, can’t I? Who said so? You?”
    “Yes. You’d be giving up. Not only that, but you’d be letting your mother and father down. They wanted you to play.”
    “Now you sound like a father. Or a shrink. Are you going to major in psychiatry when you go to college?” she asked smartly.
    He grinned. “Quit kidding, Phyl. Be serious.”
    Her eyes filled with tears. “I — I’m just afraid that I— I can’t face a pitcher anymore!”
    “Any pitcher? Or just me?”
    “I don’t know!”
    Their eyes met and held. Then she looked away, grabbed a tissue from the table, and wiped her eyes.
    “That’s the biggest reason why you can’t quit, Phyl,” Eddie said. “You’ve
got
to get back into baseball. Don’t you see? You’ve got to get over that feeling. And I want to help you. I mean it. I really
     want to help you.”
    Her eyes reddened.
    “I’ll— I’ll think about it,” she said.
    He smiled. “I hope you will. I’m going now. Your mother should be coming back soon, anyway.” He headed for the door. “Take
     care.”
    “I will. Thanks for coming, Eddie.”

12
    There was a game on Wednesday. The Lancers were
up against the Bruins, and Eddie had to pitch because Harry was sick.
    Eddie looked at the coach, pleased for the chance to pitch again, but suddenly worried, too, that he might throw another wild
     pitch and hit another batter.
    The coach seemed to have read his thoughts as he patted Eddie on the shoulder and said, “We have only two guys on our pitching
     staff, Eddie, ol’ boy. You’ve
got
to pitch. I could put