Sylvester reared back and threw. Mr. Teacy laid down a bunt that dribbled toward the mound. Syl scooped it up and turned to see Mr. Teacy standing on first. He took a big lead off the bag and signaled for Syl to pitch again.
Syl went into a windup. As his front foot lifted, he heard Mr. Teacy take off for second. He got rid of the ball as quickly as he could and rushed to cover second. Unsure of what he should do next, Syl crouched in a pantomime of a catch.
He looked up to see Mr. Teacy barreling at him like a runaway train. His brain screamed for him to run off the base. But he steeled himself as Mr. Teacy hit the dirt in a slide.
But it wasn’t a normal slide. Instead of keeping his outstretched leg low and near the bag, Mr. Teacy aimed it high—and suddenly Syl was looking at the business end of some very sharp metal spikes!
“Yow!” He leaped aside just in the nick of time. “Are you crazy?” he shouted at Mr. Teacy. “You almost gored me!”
Mr. Teacy gave a soft laugh as he dusted off his pants. “Yeah, but I made the steal, didn’t I?” He adjusted his cap and added, “Now it’s your turn.”
“What? No way!” Syl shook his head vehemently.
Mr. Teacy took a step toward him. “You said you’d follow my instructions without question,” he reminded Syl.
Syl stood his ground, refusing to be intimidated. “Yeah? Well, guess what? I am going to ask some questions, but they’re not about your instructions!” he yelled. “Like, who are you, really? Who is Mr. Baruth? Why did you choose me and not someone else? Why only me?”
The questions came out in a rush of emotion. He hadn’t meant to ask them that way, but now he put his hands on his hips, waiting to see if Mr. Teacy would answer.
Mr. Teacy fixed him with a humorless smile. “What makes you so sure you’re the only one?”
Syl recoiled as if he’d been slapped. “You mean… I’m not?”
Mr. Teacy didn’t answer, just continued to smile.
Tears suddenly pricked Syl’s eyes. He dropped his gaze to his feet. “That Oriole,” he whispered. “Mr. Baruth has been coaching him on how to hit homers, hasn’t he?”
Mr. Teacy still didn’t reply.
“Hasn’t he?” Anger mixed with betrayal caused Syl’s voice to crack. When Mr. Teacy still didn’t speak, he jerked his head up, ready to demand an answer.
But Mr. Teacy had vanished.
“Syl? Syl! Are you okay?”
Sylvester whirled around to see Duane, Trent, and Jim biking toward him at breakneck speed. Anxiety was etched across their faces.
“We heard you shouting!” Trent said breathlessly. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” Syl mumbled. “I just—nothing.”
“What’re you doing out here, anyway?” Jim asked. “I thought you were doing home-work or helping your mom.”
“Well, I thought you guys were playing video games,” Syl countered.
Trent rolled his eyes. “My mom made us quit for the day. Said it was too nice outside to be holed up inside. We were going to play a little pitch, hit, and catch at our ball field, but that tee-ball tournament is still going on.”
“Then I remembered this place from the other day,” Duane put in, “so we decided to play here instead. We would have come sooner if we’d known you were here already.” He gave Syl a questioning look then.
Syl looked away. “Well, since we’re all here, why don’t we play some ball? Come on, Duane, you’re on my side. I’ll pitch first.”
The others readily agreed, and so for the rest of the afternoon the four boys took turns batting, catching, and running the bases. Syl laughed and joked along with them.
But deep inside, threads of anger and jealousy were slowly twining into a knot. With every passing moment, that knot was growing, and at its center was Mr. Baruth.