Super-sized Slugger (10 page)

It was a hot, humid
Saturday afternoon and Cody and his parents were working in the backyard, planting a bunch of shrubs with funny names that his mom had recently bought at the local nursery.

It wasn't exactly Cody's favorite thing to do on the weekend. Earlier, he had tried to get his mom to go to the Verizon store to replace his cell phone, which had never turned up, despite Coach Mike's assurances. Instead both parents had appeared dressed in old work clothes and muddy boots, lugging a bunch of garden tools and motioning for Cody to follow them.

“I'm doomed,” Cody said under his breath as his dad filled him in on the job that needed to be done.

Planting the shrubs turned out to be hard work. They used a pick to soften the ground, but the pick head kept hitting big rocks, creating sparks, and sending an uncomfortable vibration through the handle and up the arms of whoever was using it.

After a half hour, Cody's shoulders ached, and his hands were becoming red and swollen. All three of them were sweating through their shirts.

“I thought they outlawed chain gangs,” Cody grumbled.

“No, they're still legal in Maryland,” his dad said with a straight face. “I checked the statutes. Keep working.”

When they finally took a water break and collapsed in a couple of lawn chairs under an oak tree, Cody said to his dad, “When are you going to investigate the big crime wave at my school?”

Steve Parker grinned and wiped his brow. “That's a matter for the county cops, not us humble city POH-leece.”

“It's still going on?” his mom asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Cody said. “Somebody stole a violin from the music room yesterday. And money from the student store. They took the whole lockbox. They even stole an Elmo.”

Now his dad looked stricken. “They stole the furry little guy from
Sesame Street
?!” he said. He turned to his wife. “Honey, call the FBI! It's the crime of the century! Someone stole Elmo!”

Cody knew his dad was messing with him. And that it could go on for a while.

“Oh, this is big news!” his dad continued, shaking his head. “Elmo abducted! I wonder if they'll have a story about it in
The
Baltimore Sun
?”

His mom joined in. “We can only hope Big Bird and Grover and Cookie Monster are safe!”

“Let me know when you're through,” Cody said, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, okay,” his dad said, throwing up his hands. “Just a little detective humor.”

“
Very
little,” Cody said. “For your information, an Elmo is this camera thing the teachers use in classrooms to project objects on a screen. It's supposed to be pretty expensive.”

“This is how old I am,” his mother said. “When I was in school, they used a
projector
to project objects on a screen.”

Cody let that one roll by without comment.

“Mrs. McManus, our assistant principal, also said a box of printer cartridges and Ethernet cords was stolen from the storage room,” he said.

“Wow,” his dad said. “They'll take anything that isn't nailed down.” He took a long gulp from his water bottle and wiped his mouth with the end of his sleeve. “What about security cameras?”

“They're all over the school,” Cody said. “But mainly in the hallways. The police have checked the tapes too. But apparently all they can see are shadows.”

“Interesting,” his dad said. “Whoever's involved here, they definitely know what they're doing.”

Cody nodded.

“And it's probably more than one person,” his dad continued. “All these different items that are missing…One thief couldn't get around the whole school and steal all that.”

Kate Parker looked worried. “I didn't know you were going to such a…rough school. When we moved in, the Realtor told me it was the best one in the area.”

Cody leaned forward in his lawn chair, opening and closing his sore hands. “York Middle's a good school,” he said. “It's just facing some challenges right now.”

“Yep,” his dad said. “It's hard for schools these days, with all the budget cuts and layoffs.…”

“But it's not like things haven't been stolen there before,” said Cody, unable to resist telling the juicy story he had heard from Mrs. McManus. “A couple of students were busted a few years ago for passing counterfeit money.”

“Counterfeit money?!” his dad said. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“Nope,” Cody said. “And get this: she said the kids made the money themselves.”

“Where'd they get the printing presses and the plates and that stuff?” his mom asked.

“Wow, you
are
old school,” Cody said, twisting away to avoid her playful slap. “No, the kids used a PC and a scanner and a printer. But I guess the quality wasn't too good, 'cause they got caught giving fake five-dollar bills to Mrs. Nieves in the cafeteria. And she's legally blind!”

His dad laughed and slapped his thigh. “Speaking of counterfeit, this is absolutely true,” he said. “Maybe eight or nine years ago, a woman was busted at a Walmart for trying to buy merchandise with a million-dollar bill. You can Google it.”

“A million-dollar bill?!”

“Which, as you know, the U.S. Treasury doesn't even make,” his dad continued. “That's why these morons always get caught. You watch. They'll catch whoever's doing the stealing at your school too.”

They sat for a few more moments, enjoying the cool shade and the slight breeze that had arisen.

“Okay, buddy,” his mom said at last, rising to her feet.

His dad followed suit, draining the last of his water bottle and tossing it on his chair. “Time to get back to work.”

Cody groaned and rubbed his sore shoulders. “I was afraid you'd say that.”

“Up and at 'em,” his dad said. “Oh, and Cody?”

“Yeah?”

“I sure hope they find Elmo. Keep us posted on the little guy, would you?”

“And let us know if anything happens to Bert and Ernie too,” his mom added.

With that, his parents dissolved in a fit of laughter before picking up their garden tools.

Cody shook his head and smiled. My folks sure have a strange sense of humor, he thought. Sort of like the coach's. Must be a disease all adults have.

Coach Ray Hammond
had no ego. Or so it seemed to the Orioles, and they liked that about him. Unlike some other coaches in the league, Coach didn't act like every game was the seventh game of the World Series and only his managerial genius was keeping his team from a certain loss and utter humiliation. In fact, whenever the parents of the Orioles congratulated him and told him what a great job he was doing, Coach would shake his head and point to the players and say, “Nah, it's not me. They deserve all the credit.”

Now, with the Orioles' record at 12–0 and his team one win away from competing for the championship, Coach told them his philosophy:
Please don't let me screw this
up.
With the Orioles playing so well, he was determined to keep them loose. Yes, he wanted them to focus on their next play-off game against the Twins and their great pitching. But more than anything, he wanted them to enjoy what they had accomplished to date. And he also wanted them to have fun.

So, when the Orioles gathered for practice on a humid Wednesday afternoon when there was no school—due to a teachers' conference—Coach greeted them with this announcement: “Men, I know this will break your hearts, but no drills today. Today we're playing an intra-squad game. You guys choose up sides. Make 'em fair. I'll pitch for both teams.”

As the Orioles cheered and began talking excitedly about who would be on each team, Coach held up his hand for quiet. “Oh, and one more thing,” he said, grinning. “Trash talk is not only encouraged, it's mandatory. Just keep it clean.”

What followed was seventy-five minutes of barely controlled chaos. Cody quickly decided it was probably the most fun he'd ever had playing baseball in his whole life. They played with six players on a side, positioned wherever they wanted to position themselves. Coach let the players run their own game. He wouldn't even call balls and strikes, or “safe” or “out” on the bases. The Orioles had to work it out for themselves.

“This is what baseball was like when I was growing up!” Coach shouted at one point.

“That was around when, the Civil War?” Willie yelled. Coach waggled a finger at him and flashed an okay-you-got-me smile.

“Point is,” he said, “it was before adults became over-involved and started screwing things up!”

The four-inning game between Willie's Wildmen and Jordy's Jammers was a hoot. Each time a player whiffed on one of Coach's slow, tantalizing curveballs or let a ground ball roll through his legs in the field, he was ragged unmercifully. Yet amid all the hooting and hollering, there were great plays: Connor going deep in the hole at short to backhand a grounder and nip Yancy at first; a diving catch of a sinking line drive by Dante; a soaring home run by Jordy high enough to draw rain.

But the highlight, everyone agreed, was the comical sight of Marty chugging around the bases on a disputed triple—it was later ruled a single and a two-base error by Gabe—before collapsing in an exhausted heap after what was possibly the ugliest slide in the history of organized baseball.

“There are glaciers that travel faster than that boy!” Willie said.

Marty, flopping and gasping in the dirt, responded with a single word: “Oxygen!”

Nobody knew who won the game or what the final score was. And nobody seemed to care, either. When it was over, Coach gathered his still-giddy players in front of the dugout and told them to settle down.

“Uh-oh, fun's over,” Marty murmured. “Coach's got his game face on. We could be here a while.”

But Coach kept his remarks short and sweet.

“Now it's time to start thinking about the Twins,” he said. “They're a good team. Their pitching is excellent. It won't be an easy game. Be here early Friday so we get in some good batting practice and infield.”

As the Orioles gathered up their gear and Cody changed out of his spikes, a voice behind him said, “Perfect timing.”

It was Jessica. She was wearing her red-and-white softball uniform, with her bat slung over her shoulder and her glove dangling from the knob. Cody grinned and quickly glanced around for Dante. The sight of Cody and Jessica together would probably have the big dude vibrating like a gong. But Dante had already left.

Jessica plopped down on the bench beside Cody, took off her cap, and began fanning herself.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“We just finished practice on the other field,” Jessica said, breaking into a mischievous smile. “How did I do? Thought you'd never ask. Hit three homers in batting practice. Fielded my position flawlessly, as usual. And catcher, as you know, is only the most critical position in softball. So all in all, I'd say, pretty typical practice for blondie here.”

Cody rolled his eyes. One thing was for sure: Jessica was never at a loss for words when she was competing in sports. He could definitely see her becoming a lawyer someday. Possibly by the age of fourteen, if they'd let her take the bar exam.

“Anyway, you're coming with me, Wisconsin Boy,” she said now.

He looked up from tying his shoes. “But my mom is picking me—”

“All taken care of,” Jessica said. “I called earlier. Both your mom and my mom said we could walk home. Today I'm introducing you to another Maryland culinary tradition.”

She glanced up at the broiling sun and began fanning herself even more furiously. “Perfect day for it too,” she said, rising to her feet. “You're in for a real treat. Follow me.”

Cody slung his equipment bag over his shoulder, and they set off in the direction of town. As they walked, he told Jessica all about the raucous practice the Orioles had just had, and Jessica told him about one of her teammates, Amanda, who'd been hit in the face with a bad-hop ground ball in the middle of their practice.

“She started crying!” Jessica said, shaking her head. “And all the other girls are around her, going ‘Awww, poor Amanda, are you okay, babe?' Can you believe that?”

Cody started to answer. Then a tiny alarm bell went off in his head.
Better not say anything. Let's see where this is
going.

“It made me want to puke!” Jessica continued. “So I used that famous line from that old movie. You know the one: ‘There's no crying in baseball'? And now all the other girls are like, ‘Jessica, how can you say that? Don't you have any feelings? Can't you see she's upset?' Which made me want to puke even more.”

Cody thought, I feel sorry for any softball that hits Jessica in the face. She'd probably bite the ball in half and swallow it.

After about ten minutes, they turned a corner and Jessica said, “Ah, here we are.” It was a small wooden stand tucked back under a grove of trees, with picnic tables and patio umbrellas out front. A sign in front said:
OASIS SNOWBALLS
.

“The legendary Baltimore snowballs,” Cody said, grinning. “Shaved ice and flavored syrup, right? I've heard a lot about them.”

“Prepare to be wowed,” Jessica said, pulling a ten-dollar bill from her pocket. “Pick a flavor. My treat.”

The list of flavors was endless. Cody finally settled on black cherry. Jessica ordered something called Skylite, which turned out to be a neon-blue concoction she said tasted like raspberry—well, sort of. They sat in the shade, spooning the icy treats from plastic cups. Cody wondered if he had ever tasted anything so delicious in his life.

If you liked to eat, he thought, there were a lot worse places to live than Maryland.

When they were finished, they tossed their cups in the trash and said good-bye to the teenage girl behind the counter. It was then that something in the strip mall across the street caught Cody's eye. A battered green Jeep was pulled all the way around to the side of the parking lot, right up against the woods. The Jeep looked familiar. The rear hatch was open and a half-dozen young men were peering at whatever was inside. Occasionally, they glanced nervously over their shoulders.

The driver's door opened and a dark-haired boy of about eighteen got out. Then another dark-haired boy emerged from the passenger side.

“Hold on a minute,” Cody said quietly, his eyes never leaving the Jeep. “I need to check something out.”