As it turned out, the only teammate he found was Duane. He was huddled tinder the same tree Charlie had once stood under. When he saw Syl heading toward him, he frowned.
Syl's step faltered. Then he squared his shoulders and continued on.
“Hi,” he said. “Want to share my umbrella?”
Duane shrugged but got under anyway.
“I've got to talk to you about something,” Syl said.
“What?”
Duane's voice was steely, not at all the tone Syl was used to hearing from his friend. Once again, he faltered. But he didn't give up.
“You might already know what I want to tell you. At least, I'm pretty sure Kirk knows, and I think he told you.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” Syl plunged right in. “Remember me telling you about Cheeko?”
“The guy who looked like Eddie Cicotte?”
Syl nodded. “Yeah, him. He gave me some advice last season. I know now it was bad advice, but back then, I took it. And when I did, I started cheating. More than what Kirk told you about that jab I took at Russ and the catch I didn't really make.” He sighed. “I can't change what I did, but I want you to know that I'll never cheat again.”
He waited for Duane to say something. But his friend was silent.
He still doesn't trust me. Syl's heart sank.
“Syl,” Duane said finally, “Kirk never told me anything about Russ or a catch.”
Sylvester was stunned. “He — he didn't? Then why have you been so mad at me?”
Duane grimaced. “Because you have another secret you're not telling me, that's why.”
“No, I —” Syl started to protest.
Then Duane opened his glove and removed an old baseball — the ball Syl had missed after Duke had dumped over the bucket. Syl snapped his mouth closed.
“Thought so,” Duane said. “I'm outta here. Have fun playing with C. C., whoever he is.”
“C. C.?” Charlie Comet? Sylvester grabbed Duane's arm. “Where'd you come up with those initials?”
Duane thrust the baseball into Syl's hand. “They're right here!”
Syl found the writing. His eyes widened. There were two letters, and each had a down-stroke that then curved up and around to form what looked like a C. But there was also a second, smaller curve, like a hump attached to the top of each C, making the letters look like … Ms!
“Tell me the truth, Syl,” Duane spat angrily. “That day in the park? You pretended your ankle hurt just to get rid of me so you could play ball with whoever C. C. is! Some friend you are!”
Syl's jaw dropped. “What?! You don't really believe that, do you?”
Duane didn't answer. The only sound was the patter of rain on the leaves and the umbrella.
“Duane,” Syl said at last, “you're my best friend. I would never want to get rid of you.” He took a deep breath. “Can I explain about that day? Please?”
“Fine,” Duane replied gruffly.
So Syl began talking, telling Duane how Charlie Comet had appeared right after he'd hurt his ankle, how he'd promised to help him get his game back on, and how he'd shown him to bat lefty.
As he explained, a look of understanding grew on Duane's face. “Another mystery man,” he murmured. “Why didn't you tell me before?”
Sylvester dug his toe into the wet grass. “You would have thought I was crazy.”
“Oh.” Then Duane started laughing. Syl looked up, suddenly hopeful.
“Guess what? I already thought you were crazy!” Duane said. “And you know what would be even crazier? Not batting lefty, if it helps your batting and keeps your ankle from hurting!”
He stuck his hand out from under the umbrella. “Hey, it's stopped raining!” He poked Sylvester in the ribs good-naturedly. “Feel like playing some ball? I'll find Trent and Kirk and some others. I'll bet they're itching to get in some more practice, too. Especially Kirk. He can't stand Duke Farrell and is dying to beat the Grizzlies on Saturday. And who knows? Maybe together we can make you into a switch-hitter by then!”
Syl nodded happily and Duane took off to find their friends. Syl started to lower the umbrella. A movement in the bleachers caught his eyes. It was Charlie. He took off his New York Yankees cap, waved, and then hopped off the stands and disappeared into the trees behind them.
“Bye, Charlie,” Sylvester murmured. “And thanks.”