When Manny went to bed that night, a light rain was falling. It was still misting when he woke up the next morning. It was ten o’clock, so he stood up, stretched, and went to the kitchen to find something for breakfast. On the table was a plate of bagels along with a note telling him that his parents had gone to do errands and that he should call Stu. He grabbed a sesame bagel and spread it with cream cheese before picking up the phone and dialing the Fletchers’ number.
“About time,” Stu groused good-naturedly. “I called over an hour ago. Can you come to the field at eleven o’clock instead of two? Sean has to be somewhere this afternoon.”
Manny peeked out the window. It had stopped raining, but the ground was dotted with puddles. “I can make it, but it’s going to be a little wet, don’t you think?” he said.
Stu laughed. “Look at it this way: the muddier the park, the fewer people who will be there to bug us. Right?”
“Can’t argue with that logic,” Manny agreed. “See you in an hour.”
He polished off the rest of his bagel, drank some orange juice, and filled a water bottle to bring to the ball field. By the time he’d changed into his shorts and T-shirt, it was nearly eleven. He scribbled a note to his parents; grabbed his cell phone, his glove, and a bat; and set off for the park at a trot.
The mist had stopped and the sun was starting to peek through the clouds as Manny hurried along the sidewalk. In ten minutes, he’d reached Belford Park. A combination sports field, playground, and amphitheater, the park had one of the town’s three baseball diamonds. Sometimes, organized teams reserved the field, so it wasn’t always available for pickup games or practice sessions. But as Stu had predicted, today the field was empty, thanks to the earlier rain.
Stu was already there. “Finally!” he said when he saw Manny. “Come on, let’s play ball!”
“Shouldn’t we wait for Sean?”
“What would you rather do,” Stu countered, “sit around or hit around?”
In reply, Manny picked up his bat.
Stu trotted to the mound with a sack full of baseballs. He dumped the contents on the ground and selected one.
Manny stepped into the batter’s box. “Think you can find the strike zone?” he teased.
Stu went through a quick windup and unleashed a pitch that screamed toward the plate at top speed. At that exact moment, Manny recalled two things: Stu had a rocket for an arm—and he, Manny, wasn’t wearing a batting helmet!
With a shout of alarm, he leaped backward out of harm’s way.
“Interesting technique!” Stu called from the mound.
“Very funny!” Manny growled. “Why didn’t you tell me I’d forgotten to put on a helmet? Do you have one?”
Stu made a face. “You know my mom always makes me bring one. She’s such a safety freak! This morning alone, she made me put on sunscreen and bug spray, take my vitamins, and use hand sanitizer before I left the house.”
Manny grinned. He knew that Stu thought his mother was overprotective. When it came to Stu’s health, she believed too much caution was better than too little!
“The helmet’s over by the bench with my other stuff,” Stu said. “You can get it if you want. Or,” he added as Manny took a step in that direction, “you can show that you trust me and not wear it!”
Manny stopped and looked at his friend. Stu tossed a ball up and caught it. “Come on, Manny, you know how good my aim is!” he said with a grin.
Manny snorted and continued to the bench. “Yeah, I know your aim is good,” he replied as he fitted the helmet in place. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather keep my skull in one piece.”
When Manny was back in the box, Stu faced the plate, reared back, and threw another sizzler. He did have decent aim; the ball flew just below Manny’s waist.
Manny swung. Crack! The barrel of the bat met the ball cleanly, sending it soaring off into the outfield.
“Whoo-eee!” Stu whooped. “That pill is gone!”
Manny grinned but didn’t cheer. He didn’t want Stu to think he was bragging.
Stu hurled five more pitches. Manny hit four of them squarely. He knocked the last one straight up into the air. Instinctively, he darted forward to make the catch, only remembering when the ball stung his bare hand that he wasn’t wearing his mitt.
“Yowch!” he cried, shaking his fingers to ease the pain.
“Careful! Your fingers are just as important as your head!” Stu warned. “We need all your parts in good working order if we’re going to win against the Sharks!”
Manny laughed as he hustled to help Stu retrieve the balls from the field. “Hey, where do you think Sean is?”
“Here I am!” Sean called from the outskirts of the field. He hurried toward them. “Sorry I’m late.”
“No problem,” Manny said. “We were just doing a little pitch-and-hit to warm up.”
“Now that you’re here,” Stu said, “we’ll switch to shortstop stuff.”
“Okay,” Sean said. “Just tell me what to do.”
Manny took off the batting helmet, scratched his head, and looked at Stu. “I’m not sure, actually,” he confessed. “Got any ideas, Stu?”
Stu started juggling the three baseballs he was holding. “I’m full of ideas and all of them are good!” he quipped, his eyes following the path of each ball in turn. After a moment, he let them fall to the ground. “Sean, you go to shortstop. I’ll go to second. Manny, you hit us some grounders and fungoes, and I’ll talk Sean through different fielding situations as they come. Sound good?”
Sean looked worried. “That sounds good except for one thing,” he said. “I didn’t bring any fungoes for us to hit. Did you guys?”
Manny and Stu exchanged dismayed looks. Does Sean really not know what a fungo is? Manny thought.
All at once, Sean started laughing. “Man, you must really think I’m a dunce! I may not have played on a team before, but sheesh! Even I know what a fungo is!” To demonstrate his knowledge, he picked up a bat and a ball, tossed the ball into the air, and hit a pop fly. “Okay?”
Manny smiled. “Better than okay!”
“Let’s go!” Stu agreed.