“You’re the only white person here,” MJ said to Jamie, scanning Hartwell Field.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Juanito replied, his eyes darting all over the diamond.

“We must have traveled back to when black players had their own league,” said Jamie. “They called it the Negro League.”

“Do you think any of the guys from Mobile that the Coach mentioned are down there?” asked MJ.

“Maybe,” said Jamie.

“Well, whoever they are, they’re pretty good,” said Juanito, “especially that guy at shortstop.”

The children watched as a skinny kid, who seemed much younger than the rest of his teammates, fielded grounders at short. Both his feet and his release were lightning fast, and he was skilled at turning the double play.

A few minutes later, the time travelers heard one of the coaches shout, “Batting practice!”

A few of the players jogged in toward home. The kids watched as the young shortstop grabbed a bat and slowly walked to the plate.

“Man, he looks like he’d rather take a nap than step into the batter’s box,” said Juanito.

“Yeah, he looks like he doesn’t even want to bat,” said MJ.

The young hitter calmly dug in on the right side of the plate and glanced out at the pitcher. He looked lazy.

He was anything but lazy, though. He promptly swung at the first pitch he saw, driving it into the gap in left-center.

“Way to go, Henry!” yelled one of the coaches.

“That’s the way to stroke it, Henry,” shouted one of his teammates.

“Did you hear that?” said MJ. “They called him Henry.”

“Yeah,” said Juanito. “That’s got to be Hank Aaron!”

“I bet you’re right,” said Jamie, “only I didn’t know he was a shortstop.”

“Best shortstop in the Mobile City Recreation League,” said a deep voice.

Startled, the children turned to see not the Coach but a distinguished looking, well-dressed black man, with a felt hat sitting on his head. He was approaching them from behind.

“Now, what are you three doing in here?” asked the man, looking especially at Jamie. She did stand out. “The game isn’t starting for another two hours.”

“Sorry, mister,” said Jamie, thinking quickly. “We’re not from around here, and we kind of just wandered in to see who was playing.”

“I see you got your gear,” said the man. “Are you ballplayers?”

“Yup. We sure are,” answered Juanito. “But we’re not as good as those guys down there.”

“Well, don’t be bothered about that, son,” said the man. “Not many folks are.”

“Hey, mister,” said MJ. “Is that really Hank Aaron at bat?”

“Sure is,” said the man. “Can you believe he’s only 17 years old and still in high school?”

The children all turned to stare at each other. Their eyes met as they realized how far back in time they had gone in the locker.

“How do you kids know Henry Aaron?” asked the man.

“Everybody knows Hank Aaron,” said MJ rather matter-of-factly. “He was the best.”

Both Jamie and Juanito shot MJ a look.

“Was?” asked the man. “Son, he’s just starting out.”

“I meant is,” MJ corrected quickly.

The man chuckled.

“You know him?” asked Jamie.

“I sure do,” said the man. “I’m Herbert Aaron, his father.”

The children smiled. They could hardly believe they were standing there talking to Hank Aaron’s dad.

“Did you teach him to play?” asked Juanito.

“I wish I could take credit for that,” said Herbert Aaron. “No, Henry had a gift, from the first time he picked up a baseball. Even if he does look like he’s asleep half the time.”

“He’s batting cross-handed, though,” said Juanito.

“I know,” said Hank’s dad. “It’s something, him being able to hit with his hands the wrong way.”

Hank’s dad left, and Jamie turned to her friends.

“I think I know why we’re here,” she said. “It’s to help Hank Aaron, the greatest home run hitter of all time, break his habit of batting cross-handed.”

“Hey, what are you three doing?”

The kids turned to see a police officer coming toward them.

“You’re not supposed to be in here yet.”

“We can’t leave,” whispered MJ to his pals. “We’ll have to sneak back in then, and they’ll be watching us.”

“What should we do?” asked Jamie, for once uncertain of an answer.

“Run!” yelled Juanito, who was, as usual, not afraid to act.

The kids took off, the policeman hot on their tail.

“We’ve got—to try to lose him—inside the ballpark,” said Jamie, in full stride. “We’re here to help—Hank Aaron!”

The kids made their way back into the hallway where they had left the locker. The cop was right behind them.

“You three, stop right there!” he yelled.

With nowhere to go, the children had no choice but to climb back into the locker and close the door. . . .