Free Parts & Labor by Mark Gimenez

when we get out of
college!"
    No
one ever paid any attention to Ronald. His weekly political rants had become
routine. Mom said that's what happens when kids are home schooled—they watch Fox
News all day.
    Coach
Slimes abruptly turned from his position at the entrance to the dugout—I
thought he was going to yell at us for not paying attention to the game—but he pointed
at O-Rod and Curtis and said, "Emmitt was the best, hands down," then
he pointed at Joey and Skipper and said, " Medal of Honor ," and
finally at Ronald and said, "No politics in the dugout! Although you are
right."
    "Coach,"
Ronald said.
    "What?"
    "I
gotta pee."
    Coach
exhaled and dropped his head.
    "Little
league," he muttered.
    The
first two batters grounded out, but then the game took a surprising turn. Mitch
walked, Cole singled, and Joey got hit by a pitch. The bases were suddenly loaded
… which I didn't know because I was sitting on the bench finishing off a
Baby Ruth bar (I tried to eat sunflower seeds in the dugout like the big
leaguers do, but I kept choking on the shells) and again thinking about that all-beef
hot dog smothered in mustard at the concession stand after the game— boy,
that's going to taste good —when Coach's loud voice interrupted my thoughts.
    "Max—you're
up!"
    What?
I'm up?
    "Dad," Cade pleaded, "pinch hit for
Max. I can still get the victory."
    Coach
shook his head. "I would, but I can't. The rules don't allow it. Max
has to bat."
    Not
exactly the vote of confidence I was hoping for. Coach turned to me.
    "Max,
we have two outs. So don't swing. Our only hope is that he walks you."
    "But
if I don't swing, he might strike me out."
    My
words came out funny because I was chewing on the Baby Ruth.
    "What?"
    "If
I don't swing, he might strike me out."
    Still
funny. Still chewing.
    "Max,
I can't understand what you're saying. Swallow the candy bar."
    I
swallowed the rest of the Baby Ruth, which took a few seconds because of the
chewy caramel center. Coach now had his hands on his hips.
    "I
said, if I don't swing, he might strike me out."
    "If
you swing, you'll strike out for sure."
    "I
could try to put down a bunt."
    "Yeah,
and I could try out for the Yankees. Don't swing that bat, Max."
    I
put on a batting helmet and grabbed my aluminum bat. I dragged the bat to home
plate. Vic was grinning behind his catcher's mask. He held up two fingers.
    "Two
outs!" he yelled to his teammates. "And my little sister's a better
hitter than Max!"
    Actually,
she was. She played tee ball and had real extra-base power for a kindergartner.
But everyone in the place heard Vic and laughed—except my family. Mom's hands were clenched in front of her face as if she were praying—
    "Please, God," Kate Dugan whispered in the
stands, "let him get a hit. He needs a hit. Just a little hit, or an
error, that'd work, too …"
    â€”Scarlett
was again hiding her face in her hands, and Maddy was still sleeping in Mom's lap. But Norbert was gone. He was no longer sitting in the bleachers next to Scarlett. I
searched the crowded bleachers and found him standing at the fence right behind
home plate. Our eyes met, and he said, "Swing with great force,
Max."
    I
glanced over at Coach. He flashed me the "take" sign—a slap on his
right leg—and mouthed "Do not swing." I turned back to Norbert.
    "Swing
with great force, Max."
    I
swung with great force at the first pitch and missed the ball by a mile.
    Coach
yelled, "Max, did you miss the sign?"
    He
gave me the "take" sign again, real emphatically this time—he slapped
his leg so hard I thought he might hurt himself. I looked back at Norbert.
    "Swing
with great force, Max," he said again.
    I
swung with even greater force at the next pitch and missed again.
    Coach
threw his hands up and yelled even louder: "Max! What are you doing? I
gave you the take sign!"
    He
stepped onto the field and called over to the umpire.
    "Blue!
Timeout!"
    The
umpire called time. Coach waved me