Free Baseball Pals by Matt Christopher

1
    J immie Todd brushed away a lock of brown hair from his forehead. He pounded his fist into his baseball glove and scowled at
     Johnny Lukon.
    “Why can’t I pitch?” he said. “I’m captain. We just voted on it, didn’t we? And can’t a captain play whatever position he
     wants to?”
    “But you’re no pitcher,” said Johnny. He was a long-legged boy with brown eyes and fire-red hair. He was wearing a brand-new
     first-base mitt. “Why don’t you let Paul pitch? He’s a lefty, and lefties make good pitchers.”
    “Sure,” said Alan Warzcak, sitting on one of the legs of the batting cage. He was small but could run faster and hit better
     than most boys his age. “You never pitched before. Let Paul pitch. He’s taller than you and he has a good curve.”
    Jimmie clamped his teeth over his lower lip. His eyes darted fire. He thought of a lot of things he could call Johnny Lukon
     and Alan Warzcak. But he didn’t. His younger brother, blue-eyed, sandy-haired Ervie, was standing beside him. He didn’t want
     Ervie to go home and tell his mother he’d been quarreling with the boys on the ball diamond.
    “I can pitch, too,” Jimmie said stubbornly. “I’ve been practicing ever since the weather got warm.”
    Ervie’s big blue eyes rolled around to him. Jimmie’s ears reddened. Ervie was sort ofchubby. He wore blue overalls that dragged at the heels of his shoes. He hardly ever said anything. His eyes always did the
     talking. Every time Jimmie told a fib, those eyes would look up at him, and Jimmie would feel guilty.
    “Well, almost ever since then,” Jimmie corrected himself.
    The blue eyes rolled away. Ervie never even smiled.
    “If we want a team in the Grasshoppers League, we’d better make up our minds now what positions we’re going to play,” said
     Jimmie. “I’ll pitch. Johnny Lukon will play first base.”
    Then he turned to his best friend, Paul Karoski. Paul was the nicest kid he had ever known. He never said much. He never argued.
     He was the tallest one around, too. He was a good pitcher, although Jimmiethought that Paul would make a better first baseman. But now that Johnny Lukon had a first-base mitt, there was only the outfield
     for Paul to play.
    “I know what you could play, Paul,” Jimmie said, his eyes sparkling. “You can play the outfield, can’t you?”
    Paul shrugged. “Yes. I suppose so.”
    Jimmie’s brows arched. “Will you?” he pleaded. “You can play center. That’s where most of the flies are hit.”
    If he made Paul believe that playing center field was as important as pitching, maybe Paul wouldn’t mind the change.
    “If you say so,” Paul said.
    Jimmie’s face brightened. He looked at Johnny, Alan, and the faces of the other players standing around. His expression clearly
     said, “I told you so, didn’t I?”
    He felt good. Everything was settled now.He was going to pitch. All winter long he’d been thinking about it, while he read a book on big-league pitchers. He used to
     think a pitcher had to be tall and able to throw a ball faster than anyone else on the team. But that wasn’t so. The book
     had told about pitchers who weren’t very tall and were still great hurlers. It had told about pitchers who weren’t the fastest
     throwers on their teams, but were smart and could throw hooks that struck men out like anything.
    That was the kind of pitcher he wanted to be. Smart, and throw a lot of hooks. Jimmie smiled happily. He looked at Ervie,
     who was standing beside him with his hands in his pockets. But he couldn’t tell whether Ervie was happy or not.
    Something about him made Jimmie lose his smile. Something about the way Ervie was looking at Paul Karoski.

2
    J immie took a deep breath. He turned away from Ervie and tried not to be bothered by him. He wished he could leave Ervie home.
     Then he wouldn’t be afraid to tell the boys anything. With Ervie around, he had to be careful what he said and what he did.
    His eyes roved over