Center Field by Robert Lipsyte Read Free Book Online Page A

all over center field, moving at the ping of the ball against Coach Cody’s silver bat. Oscar was quick enough to back up Eric in left and Ryan in right, and he charged in so fast on balls that scooted through the hole that he often had the chance to throw out the runner atfirst. His arm was a live whip. Oscar was always in the right spot.
    Mike wondered if he had attended one of those baseball academies in the Dominican Republic he had read about in Sports Illustrated . They were operated by major league clubs. They were set up like real schools except kids didn’t study much besides baseball.
    After a while Coach Cody waved Oscar in and sent Mike out to center. As they passed near second base, Oscar gave Mike a wink. Hector Ortiz saw the wink and said something in Spanish. Hector and Oscar laughed.
    Mike pushed down his anger and focused on Cody at home plate. “Sharp now. One out, runner at third.” He signaled Oscar to run at third.
    One out, thought Mike, sacrifice fly, tag-up situation. Depending on the batter and the score, he might play deep or shallow. Just be ready. Easy drill. Done this a hundred times.
    Soft fly to center. Ryan and Eric ran over to back him up. Mike moved in, set himself, felt the ball settle into his glove. Oscar was running. Andy had moved over from first to set up a line from center to home, to guide the throw. He’d cut it off if Oscar went back to third, otherwise get out of the way.
    Should be an easy out.
    Hector ran to his right to cover second in case Mike dropped the ball. That was right. But Hector was yelling at Andy, what the hell was he saying? For an instant Mike lost concentration. He paused in his throw as Andy got out of the way. The catcher was crouched at the plate, waiting. Mike pegged home.
    Oscar was sliding under the tag. He bounced up, dusting off his pants and laughing. Hector was laughing, too.
    Had he distracted Mike to make him look bad? Come on, that’s really paranoid. You let yourself get distracted. But Andy was yelling at Hector and Cody was shouting, “Stay alert, Mike.” Just what he needed to hear. Now say it in Spanish for the illegal.
    It didn’t get better. Oscar ran out to replace Eric in left and beat Mike to a soft fly in short left center. Could have been either fielder’s ball, but the center fielder, the stronger fielder, usually takes those. Then Coach Cody waved Mike to left and Oscar back to center. Give me a chance to get settled into my position. It is my position, right?
    â€œMen on first and third, no outs, we’re leading by one run in the seventh.” Coach lofted a high fly deep into left center. There was plenty of time for Mike to get under it and set himself for the throw to nail the runner at the plate and prevent a tie game.
    It was the left-fielder’s ball, Mike thought, my ball, as hetook a few steps toward center. But if Eric was in left and I was in center, I’d probably poach, take it because I was a better fielder with a better arm. Billy Budd would have taken it if his best friend Dwayne Higgins was in left. Mike sensed Oscar moving toward him, but that was okay, he was supposed to back up the left fielder.
    Just to be sure, Mike called, “I got it.”
    Oscar yelled, “I got it.”
    â€œMine,” yelled Mike.
    Oscar ran into him. They both went down. The ball dropped and they both bounced up, cursing and swinging at each other. Todd and DeVon Morris, the third baseman, were there before they could dig in their spikes and connect with real punches. They snarled but they separated.
    Coach Cody was laughing. “Got to work on that.”
    Work on what, Mike thought. Me in left? The thought of it made his stomach hurt. He hated left field, right field, too, the cramped space, the foul line, all those tricky angles, none of the wide-open purity of center.
    They ended practice with wind sprints. Mike made sure he beat Oscar, but he wasn’t sure Oscar was