Return of the Home Run Kid by Matt Christopher Read Free Book Online Page A

loudly, “I can’t believe what you’re doing out there, Sylvester. It’s like you’re a different person, not the Sylvester Coddmyer the Third I’ve know all these years!”
    For a second, he panicked. Had someone seen him bobble the ball during that final catch?
    The voice, now recognizable as Snooky’s, went on, though, with no reference to that questionable moment.
    “You were great last year, of course. And you’re playing great now. But what happened in between? I mean you were just plain lousy a week ago.”
    Snooky had managed to squeeze in on the bench beside Sylvester again. And there he was, asking those same, tired questions.
    “I don’t know, okay?” replied Sylvester. “Look, maybe I’m just on another streak. What’s your problem with that? Can’t a guy get lucky more than once?”
    “Yeah, but … this is different, Sylvester. I can tell it isn’t just luck.” Snooky persisted, squinting over his thick glasses to examine his neighbor on the bench. “You’ve changed somehow. You have a different attitude. Yep, trouble. I can see trouble, Syl.”
    Sylvester leaned forward and stared Snooky hard in the eyes. “Snooky, will you just shut up? Mind your own business, will you? Get off my back and take your stupid stars with you. I’m fed up with you, get it? I’m fed right up to here,” Sylvester said, placing his hand under his chin.
    Snooky stared back, as if he were trying to read something in Sylvester’s eyes. Then, without another word, he hitched up his sagging jeans and left the dugout to return to the stands.
    That creep, Sylvester thought. Is he going to be on my case for the rest of my life?
    He tried to thrust the little inquisitive pest out of his mind as much as possible. He leaned forward and concentrated on watching the game.
    As Ted fouled off another pitch, he saw the umpire’s fingers come up to reveal the count. Two balls, two strikes.
    Then, a surprise — Bongo missed the plate with his next two pitches, and Ted walked.
    Looking as if he hadn’t a care in the world, Trent then stepped to the plate. He hadn’t done that well in this game — a single and an easy grounder for an out — but he was always a threat to the opposition. And despite his nasty attitude toward him, Sylvester admired his batting ability.
    “You’re up next, Sylvester,” Billy Haywood reminded him.
    Sylvester started at the sound of his name. He blamed his forgetfulness on Snooky Malone’s blathering. Somewhat flustered, he stepped out of the dugout, put on his helmet, picked out his favorite bat, and walked to the on-deck circle.
    Trent waited until the count went to two balls and two strikes before he cracked a sizzling grounder between third and short for a hit. The crowd cheered as Ted advanced to second base and Trent toed the bag at first. Sylvester stepped up to the plate and narrowed his eyes at Bongo.
    “Okay, Sylvester! Hit it out of the park!”
    The shout broke Sylvester’s concentration. It came from that pesky, but still faithful, fan, none other than Snooky Malone, who was standing up on his seat and waving his hands in the air. Others chimed in, too, and Sylvester realized he was starting to get nervous as he stood in the batter’s box.
    “Strike!” called the ump as Bongo breezed in the first pitch.
    “Str …” the umpire started to say as the next pitch rolled in down the middle. But Sylvester swung at it, made the connection, and sent the ball zooming out to deep left. It curved and just missed the foul line by about a foot.
    “Foul ball!” yelled the ump.
    “Make the next one count, Sylvester!” cried Snooky, jumping up and down on his seat.
    Sylvester obliged. He lambasted the ball to almost the same spot where he’d hit the previous pitch — except that this time it was an easy three feet to the right of the foul line pole.
    Every Redbirds fan was up and cheering, giving Sylvester an ovation that could be heard in every corner of town. He spied his parents