Free Comeback of the Home Run Kid by Matt Christopher

1
    I 've got it! I've got it!”
    Sylvester Coddmyer the Third backpedaled from the pitcher's mound. He and his friend Duane Francis were playing a game of
     pitch, hit, and catch. Duane had just hit a high fly ball toward shortstop. Sylvester was trying to get under it.
    “You're going to miss!” Duane called, laughing.
    Syl kept moving. If he'd learned one thing from playing on the Hooper Junior High Redbirds baseball team, it was never to
     give up.
    He crossed from the grassy infield to the sandy base path. Head craned back, he searched the sky, found the ball, and realized
     it was going to fall behind him. Eye still on the ball, he took one more step back.
    Suddenly, his left foot wrenched sideways. He gave a sharp cry of pain and fell in a heap. The baseball thudded down next
     to him and rolled away.
    “Syl! Are you all right?” Duane ran up, his face full of concern.
    “My ankle!” Syl gasped. “It hurts really bad. I think you better find someone to help me.”
    Duane scanned the park. His expression went from concern to outright panic. “There's no one around anywhere!”
    “My mom's home,” Sylvester said. “Can you go get her?”
    Duane took off at a dead run in the direction of the Coddmyers' house. Syl lay backon the grass and tried to ignore the pain in his ankle.
    “Sylvester!”
    A tall blond man wearing a New York Yankees baseball cap and sweats suddenly came into view. Syl blinked in surprise. Hadn't
     Duane just said there wasn't anyone else in the park?
    “That was a bad fall,” the man said. He gestured toward Syl's foot. “We should take a look.”
    Syl hesitated for a moment. But his ankle was really throbbing now and the tightly laced cleat wasn't making it feel any better.
     So he nodded.
    The man carefully took off the cleat and peeled back the sock. He gave a low whistle.
    Sylvester sat up and looked at his ankle. It was as puffy as a marshmallow and turning black-and-blue. Suddenly queasy, he
     lay backdown, closed his eyes, and took some deep breaths.
    “Is it broken?” he whispered. A broken ankle, he knew, could take a long time to heal. School had just let out — and summer
     baseball was only a few weeks away. If his ankle was broken, his whole vacation would be ruined!
    “I think it's just sprained,” the man replied, “but you'll need an X-ray to be sure. For now, we need to get it elevated.”
    The man grabbed Syl's baseball glove and tucked it underneath the injured ankle. Syl bit his lip, trying not to cry out in
     pain.
    The man sat back on his heels. “It's going to hurt for a while. Even after the swelling goes down and the bruises disappear,
     that ankle's going to feel pretty weak. You'll have to work hard to strengthen it again. And even then, it might give you
     some pain.”
    Syl swallowed hard. “So much for summerbaseball.” He squeezed his eyes shut but a tear slipped out anyway.
    The man was silent. Then he said, “Maybe not. If you want, I could work with you to get you ready to play.”
    Sylvester's eyes flew open. He stared at the man. Something about this situation —a mysterious man showing up out of nowhere
     and offering to help him with his game — was eerily familiar.

2
    S ylvester Coddmyer the Third's baseball career had started two seasons ago. Back then, he hadn't been a very good player. In
     fact, he almost didn't make the team that first year.
    Then he met a man named George Baruth. With Mr. Baruth's encouragement and advice, his fielding and hitting improved — a lot.
     To his own and everyone else's amazement, he began making miraculous catches and hitting nothing but homers every time he
     came up to bat! His home run streak was so remarkable that some people offered topay him to publish his story in their magazine. But Sylvester turned them down. Money didn't matter to him; he was just happy
     to be playing the game he loved.
    When this past season started, he assumed he'd be just as good a player as he'd been the previous year.