Free Safe at Home by Mike Lupica

yelled.
    They both looked at her as if she’d just stuck her ice cream cone in her ear.
    She shook her head, this sad, sad look on her face. “It’s from a famous movie,” she said.
    Jack said to Nick, “
Do
you want the truth?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Just give it to him in little sips,” Gracie said, taking a big lick of chocolate ice cream, leaving marks all around her mouth. “Like when you have to take yucky cough medicine.”
    “Wellllll,” Jack said, “some of the guys—not all, just some—think you’re too small to play catcher. That’s one thing.”
    “But I’m not even close to being small for my age,” Nick said in protest.
    “For your age,” Jack said. “But remember, we’re talking about varsity.”
    “Boys,” Gracie said to herself, shaking her head again. She did that a lot when she was hanging around with them. “You ever hear girls talking about varsity like it’s one of those secret societies in Nick’s comics?”
    “I’m just saying,” Jack said. He paused and said, “And it’s more than that, and more than Coach Williams treating you like teacher’s pet.”
    “That’s not my fault, that he’s trying to make me stink less.”
    “I’m not saying it is,” Jack said. “You’re the one who asked.”
    “What else?” Nick said.
    Jack took a deep breath and let it out and finally said, “They
do
think you stink. Mostly at throwing.”
    “But throwing is his best thing!” Gracie said.
    “Not this week,” Nick said.
    “You don’t forget how to throw in a week, Captain,” she said.
    “See, the thing is, Bobby Mazzilli was
great
at throwing people out,” Jack said. “He didn’t have the kind of arm you do, but he had this quick release, and it made his arm seem stronger than it really was. Not only did he save a bunch of games for us last year, by the end of the year, guys were afraid to run on him.” Jack gave Nick a serious look, no jokes now, and said, “They think guys are gonna run wild on you. Just like we did all week in practice.”
    “They’re right,” Nick said.
    “You don’t know that,” Gracie said. “You haven’t even played a game yet.”
    “If you can’t do it in practice,” Nick said, “why would anybody think you can do it in a game?”
    “This is the dumbest conversation I’ve ever had with you guys,” Gracie said, “and I’m not really even in it.”
    Then she smiled and said, “Come on. You’re about to prove you can still throw. At the dunking booth.”
    When they got there it was almost a dream situation for Nick. His English teacher, Mr. Dodds, had just begun his turn in the Easy Dunker.
    Mr. Dodds was on the side of the dunker to Nick’s left, sitting behind a screen like the one behind the plate in baseball, which protected him from getting hit by the balls, if not from the small pool of water underneath him.
    Next to Mr. Dodds was the target, a white bull’s-eye with a black circle around it, set in the middle of a bright yellow wall.
    Nick knew other teachers had taken turns in thebooth, and not just seventh-grade teachers. When they’d first shown up at the fair, Hayworth’s headmaster, Mr. Garson, had been in the hot seat, drawing the longest line of the day.
    Now it was Mr. Dodds, who seemed to be smiling and having a good time—the opposite of the way he was in class, where he hardly ever cracked a smile. Where he was most famous for what was known as the Stare.
    “Now, that is what I call a sitting duck,” Gracie said.
    Nick said, “But if I put him in the water, he’ll probably dog me more than he already does.”
    “Dude,” Jack said, “how many times are you going to have this kind of clear shot at him?”
    “One of you guys do it,” Nick said. “The way I’m going, I’ll probably bust one of the kindergarten windows.”
    Gracie took Nick by the arm, putting him third in the line, telling him he didn’t even have to use his own tickets to pay for his throws, he could use hers.
    “Thanks so