The 823rd Hit (5 page)

“They don't talk much,” he said. “Dad says they had a falling-out years ago.”

“Over what?”

“I don't know. Before we moved to Pine City, we barely knew Uncle Marvin.”

“That's too bad.” I had always wanted a brother. I figured we'd be best friends.

Casey put his cards away. “I'm missing a few cards,” he admitted. “For example, that guy who hit Granddad's home run ball? Andy Pafko? I don't have any cards for him. I sure wish I did. They're hard to find and worth a lot.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“A really long time ago,” he agreed.

• • •

I checked my own cards when I got home. I didn't think I had Andy Pafko. I did have some cards from the 1950s that Grandpa had collected as a kid, but not every player for every team, every year, the way Casey did.

I had my grandpa's cards in a box, not a binder. I flipped through it, looking for Cubs. I nearly missed Andy Pafko because on the card he was a Brooklyn Dodger. The front of the card called him Andy Pafko, and the back called him Andrew. I also noticed a big number one inside the baseball graphic on the back. That made it the first card in the series for that year.

It was a cool card. I definitely didn't want to trade it. I never traded my cards, anyway. I especially never traded the ones that used to belong to Grandpa or Uncle Rick. Sometimes I gave them away and sometimes I lent them to people, but that was different. I didn't want to trade this one. It was fun to think about what I
could
trade it for, though. I could make Casey wear a Porcupines' cap for a year. I could make him go to a game against the Rogues and cheer for the Pines. Maybe I could get him to wear a Pines' cap for a day just to let him see the card.

I cackled like an evil supervillain in a movie.

he Porcupines came home for the last weekend of the regular season. According to Dad, Friday counted as a school night, so I couldn't work. I made up for it by getting to the ballpark early on Saturday. I even made coffee. The coffee machine used to scare me, but I got over that.

Teddy Larrabee was the first player to show up. He helped himself to a cup of coffee.

“Did you have a good birthday?” I asked him.

“The guys took me out for pizza,” he said.
“But I'm still pretty bummed about losing that ball.”

“Yeah, that's a drag.” I could have told him that I had found the guy who caught it, but what was the point? Uncle Marvin would never sell the ball.

“Maybe you miscounted?” I suggested. “Maybe you counted one hit twice or forgot one? You can't be sure that ball was exactly number eight hundred twenty-three, not if you started counting when you were in T-ball.”

“Yes, I can,” Teddy said. “Because I wrote 'em all down.” He pointed at his notebook. “I've been keeping track.”

“Really? Even when you were a kid?”

“Yep.”

He handed me the notebook. It was the spiral-bound kind, with the narrow line spacing that teachers seemed to like. On the first page the printing was big and loopy like a little kid's writing.

May 7. Today I got a hit!

May 13. I got another hit!

I flipped through the notebook pages. The handwriting gradually got smaller and neater as Teddy grew up. Every page was full of base hits. About halfway through he had started adding other info: the inning, the opposing team, the pitcher's name, what the game situation was, and what happened next.

July 17. 2B off Cole Robinson of Somerset. 3rd inning, one out, nobody on. Left on base.

Even with more than 800 hits, Teddy hadn't gotten through the first section of the notebook. I flipped to the last entry in the book. It was hit number 823.

“You haven't gotten a hit since your birthday?” That was like six or seven straight games without a hit.

“Nope,” Teddy answered. “Ever since I lost that lucky baseball, I've been in the worst slump. I was hoping that you could look for that fan who caught it? He might be sitting in the same section today. Maybe I can cut a deal.”

“Actually, I already did find him,” I said, and I told him about Uncle Marvin. “He's been waiting sixty years for that ball. He won't trade it for anything.”

“I respect that,” said Teddy. “I just hope I can break out of this slump without the ball.”

“Of course you can,” I told him.

“I sure hope so,” he said. “I have a lot of blank pages in that notebook. I plan on filling them all before I'm done.”

• • •

Teddy was zero for four that day. Grumps, the Pines' manager, took him out for a pinch hitter in the seventh inning. The next day, Grumps put Luis Quezada at first base. Luis was a utility
infielder and pinch runner. The only bright side for Teddy was that Luis didn't get a hit, either. Teddy was back at first in the next game, but he still didn't get any hits.

• • •

“Remember that Andy Pafko card?” I told Casey after school on Tuesday. We were walking to his house.

“You mean the card you made up?”

“I did not.”

“Did so.”

“I've got it right here,” I told him. I patted my backpack. The card was tucked inside my math book.

“Prove it,” Casey said. “Seeing is believing. But before you ask, I already told you: I'm not wearing a Porcupines' cap, even for five seconds.”

“I know,” I said. “I just want to see Uncle
Marvin's home run ball.” I thought maybe once we had the ball and the card out, I could talk Uncle Marvin into trading the ball for the card. I hated to do it, but Teddy needed the ball more than I needed the card.

“That's fair,” Casey said.

We went in through the kitchen. Uncle Marvin was doing another crossword and listening to a game on the radio.

“Uncle Marvin, can Chad see your home run ball?”

He looked up from his crossword. “Hmm. All right. I guess I trust you now.”

“Awesome.” I started following him out of the kitchen.

“You wait right here,” he said. “I still don't want you to know where it's hidden. A guy can't be too careful.”

I unzipped my backpack and took out my
math book. The radio was blaring a big league game from Chicago.

We heard something heavy being moved in the other room, and then we heard Uncle Marvin shout, “
Gabbagah!
”

A moment later he appeared, wagging his finger at me. “You already took it!” he cried.

“What? How could I? I've only been here twice. Casey was with me every second.”

“All I know is that my home run ball is missing!” Uncle Marvin sat down and took some deep breaths.

“Maybe you just forgot where you put it,” said Casey. “It
was
more than a couple of weeks ago.”

“Nonsense. I know exactly where I put it. It was in a shoebox on top of the china hutch.”

“Let me look for it, Uncle Marvin,” said Casey.

“Fine.”

“Can I help?” I offered.

“Can he?” Casey asked his uncle.

“I suppose,” he said. “I guess he didn't take it. But somebody did.”

We started in the dining room. I found the shoebox on top of the china hutch, but sure enough, it was empty. We searched the living room and also Uncle Marvin's study.

Uncle Marvin searched his own bedroom. When we went to the porch, Arthur started screeching and showing us his claws.

“Arthur likes the porch,” said Casey. “It's his territory. That's why I never use the front door.”

“At least we know nobody else got in that way,” I said.

Fortunately, there weren't many places on the porch to look—just a beat-up armchair that had been slashed to ribbons and a scratching post in perfect condition.

We couldn't find the baseball anywhere. When I left, Uncle Marvin had his head in his hands and was groaning. I decided it wasn't a good time to show him the Andy Pafko card.

Wayne Zane was right about one thing. Teddy's lucky baseball didn't seem to bring good luck to anybody.

he Porcupines finished the season in fourth place. Because of the seeding, they would play the Rogues in the first round of the playoffs. The series would open in Rosedale. Then the games would move to Pine City Park for the weekend.