Al Capone Does My Shirts by Gennifer Choldenko Read Free Book Online

ball comes at me slow. Wait for it, wait for it. I swing. The bat whistles through the air. The ball sails by.
    “Strike one,” the catcher calls.
    Don’t think. My coach at home always said, “You start thinking, you get your drawers all in a twist.” I glance up to see a group of girls watching. I wonder if Piper will walk by. She has to go this way to get to the boat.
    I swing the bat back to ready position. The pitcher does his prepitch dance. Take your time. Turn your hips to the ball. Meet it. Meet it. I watch it arc out. Hold.
    “Ball one.”
    What an eye. I can’t help sneaking a smile at Scout.
    But the pitcher’s antsy now. He’s ready to go. I swing my bat to ready and wait. The ball comes close. Too close. I hold.
    “Strike two.”
    I stand up. “That was a ball. It almost hit me.”
    “It didn’t though, did it, prison boy?” the curly-haired catcher says.
    “It was a ball,” I mutter. Doesn’t this guy know the strike zone? Are we playing baseball or what? I nod to Scout, like he should watch the calls.
    He seems to understand and positions himself behind the catcher.
    The pitcher smiles. He wipes his hands on his shirt and sends a fastball. His best pitch yet.
    It comes right where I like it, and I swing, but I forget about the bat being so light. I hit it, but not solid. It’s a grounder. I drop the bat and thunder toward first base. The short stop fields and throws. The first baseman fumbles off to chase the short stop’s bad throw. I’m almost . . . almost . . . I’m on. Not pretty, but I stick.
    I look out at the girls. They’re gone. They couldn’t even wait to see if I got a hit? A wave of homesickness washes over me.
    Scout’s up now. He’s a small guy. That’s probably why the bat is light. It’s his. He hits hard, though. Hard enough for me to take second and third. But then Daily and Meeger strike out and the next guy hits a pop fly the shortstop catches with his bare left hand. Del’s team is up.
    “What position?” Scout asks.
    “First,” I say.
    He shakes his head. “Meeger plays first. How ’bout second?”
    I shrug. I’m not wild about playing second, but when you’re new, you’re new. I borrow a glove from a kid on Del’s team and make my way to second base.
    First batter is pretty bad. Holds the bat like it has germs. Pitcher strikes him out.
    Second batter looks like he’s going to be good, but who knows, because the pitcher walks him. If he did that on purpose, then the guy must be really good.
    Third batter wallops one hard right to me. I leap left and shag it on the fly, then rip it back to first. Meeger on first gets it in his glove and taps the guy as he slides back to first. Two outs! UNBELIEVABLE! My first double play ever! Not a double play combination like the famous Chicago Cubs’ Tinker to Evers to Chance. But pretty darn close. I can’t wait to tell my dad!
    “Nice,” Scout calls.
    I try to nod like this is no big deal, but I can’t get the grin off my face. Every guy on our team is looking at me and Meeger.
    “Nice going,” I tell Meeger.
    “Prison guy can field them balls,” Stanford says.
    “Them gangsters taught him how to play,” another guy agrees.
    There’s nothing like a double play to make yourself a friend or two. Maybe it won’t be so bad here. Not so bad at all.
    When it’s time to go home, we’re winning, 3-2. Scout tells me they play every Monday. I can hardly wait till next week. I don’t even care if my mom gets mad at me for coming home late. I don’t care about anything except playing ball again.

9. Nice Little Church Boy
    Same day—Monday, January 7, 1935
     
    Theresa is waiting outside the door when I get back to our new place. “Where have you been? We’re late!”
    “Late? Late for what?”
    Theresa sighs long and loud, like this isn’t even worth answering. “You have a note from your mom.” She hands it to me.
    It says, Dear Moose, I’ve gone to Bea Trixle’s to get a perm. Make sure to get