Sylvester had intentionally hurt only one other player in his life. Back when he’d been listening to Cheeko’s advice, he’d jabbed a second baseman in the ribs hard enough to make the boy gasp in pain.
It was an unsportsmanlike move, one that he’d regretted. In fact, he’d felt so bad about it, he swore he’d never do something like it again.
Yet here was Mr. Teacy ordering him to do much worse to another kid!
Not a chance! Sylvester shook his head vehemently. Even though his own spikes were just hard rubber, he knew they’d do some damage if they rammed into flesh.
Mr. Teacy’s expression darkened. He stared daggers at Syl and repeated his gestures again.
Syl just looked away. Signal all you want, Mr. Teacy, he thought. I’m not doing it. I don’t care if it would help us win the game. It’s a dirty play, and I won’t do it.
He turned his attention back to the game.
A.C. was at the plate. When the pitch came, it must have looked as big as a beach ball, because A.C. hit it squarely. He dropped his bat and tore up the dirt on his way to first base.
Syl, meanwhile, took off for third. He timed his slide perfectly and touched the bag a split second before the Orioles’ baseman received the ball.
“Safe!” the umpire yelled.
The Comets’ fans and players went crazy, clapping and cheering. There may have been two outs, but the winning run was within their grasp!
Syl dusted off his pants, risking a glance at Mr. Teacy as he did. He gulped when he saw the man striding toward him, a furious look on his face.
“I warned you not to disobey my instructions,” Mr. Teacy said.
Syl was about to retort when he realized something was happening on the field. The Orioles’ coach decided it was time to replace his pitcher. It was a sound move; after all, the hurler had given up four runs in the inning. He may also have hoped that by halting the game to change pitchers, he would slow the Comets’ momentum.
While the new pitcher jogged to the mound, the Oriole infielders threw the ball around the horn. The third baseman leaped for a high catch, but missed. Syl turned to watch him retrieve the ball from the dugout. He half-expected to see Mr. Teacy standing behind him, his usual glare etched on his face. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with Mr. Baruth!
All the anger and the sense of betrayal Syl had been feeling that day bubbled to the surface. He crossed his arms over his chest. “What are you doing here?” he muttered. “Come to coach your newest best buddy?”
Mr. Baruth didn’t reply. Instead, he knelt down to tie a loose shoelace. At that same moment, the Oriole returned with the ball. He passed the man as if he didn’t see him.
Syl tapped the player on the shoulder. “Aren’t you going to say hello?” he said, crossing his arms again and jerking his head at Mr. Baruth.
The Oriole stared at Syl in confusion. “Uh, okay. Hello.” Then he threw the ball to his shortstop.
Syl blinked. Slowly, he dropped his arms to his side. His mind was whirling. “Why isn’t he talking to you?” he whispered.
“Why would he?” Mr. Baruth answered, standing up. “I don’t know him and he doesn’t know me.”
“You don’t? But I thought —”
“I know what you thought,” Mr. Baruth cut in. He motioned for Syl to step away from the bag so they could talk in private. “And I know who put that thought in your head.”
Syl nodded knowingly. “Mr. Teacy.”
“No,” Mr. Baruth said. “You put that thought into your own head. He just let you keep thinking it, because being mad at me got you to do what he wanted you to do.” He smiled broadly. “Until a moment ago, that is. When you refused to spike that Oriole, Mr. Teacy knew you were done with him. So he left.”
“Oh.”
Mr. Baruth tipped his head to the side. “Are you disappointed he’s gone?”
Syl thought for a moment. “Not really,” he answered truthfully. “I learned a lot from him, but I didn’t really like him. He kind of scared me, actually.”
Mr. Baruth chuckled. “You weren’t the first person to feel that way about him, Syl. Believe me!” He pointed to the field. “That new pitcher’s just about warmed up. I better be going.”
“Won’t you stay until the game’s over?” Syl begged. “I have so many questions!”
“Another time, Syl. Right now, you’ve got a run to score!”
Syl gulped. “I do? How? How am I going to score?”
Mr. Baruth shifted his gaze over Syl’s shoulder. “There’s the one who can answer that question. See you around.”
Syl looked behind him to see Coach Corbin approaching. “Listen up, Sylvester,” the coach said in a low voice. “There’s a way we can win this one now. But it all depends on you!”
With that, he outlined his plan in a whisper.
“So what do you think?” he finished. “Can you do it?”
Sylvester straightened his shoulders and nodded. “I’ll give it my best shot, Coach.”