You're Out!, page 1
For Byron, who is more fun than a Whipper Whirl
—K.S.
For Shel
—E.B.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Scaletta, Kurtis.
You’re out! / by Kurtis Scaletta ; illustrated by Ethen Beavers.
pages cm. — (A Topps league story ; book 5)
Summary: “Umpire Solomon Johnson throws out the Pine City Porcupines manager, ‘Grumps’ Humboldt, for arguing a call. Batboy Chad tries to make peace by giving Solomon a rarely issued ‘umpire card,’ but the ump blows his top. He thinks Chad is making fun of his weight. It’s going to be a long nine innings.”— Provided by publisher.
ISBN 978-1-4197-0659-2 (alk. paper)
[1. Baseball—Fiction. 2. Baseball umpires—Fiction. 3. Batboys—Fiction.
4. Baseball cards—Fiction.] I. Beavers, Ethen, illustrator. II. Title. III.
Title: You are out!
PZ7.S27912Yo 2013
[Fic]—dc23
2012044081
Copyright © 2013 The Topps Company, Inc.
All rights reserved. Topps and Topps League Story are trademarks of
The Topps Company, Inc.
Book design by Chad W. Beckerman
Published in 2013 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. Amulet Books and Amulet Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
About the Author
About the Artist
hree hundred and fifty-six days out of the year, there’s no place I’d rather be than at a baseball game. That’s why I’m really lucky to work as a batboy for a minor league team. It was my second season with the Pine City Porcupines, and it’s the best job a kid can have.
The other nine days a year there is one place, and only one place, that I would rather be: the state fair.
A baseball game can go back and forth, up and down. The state fair has the Whipper Whirl, a ride that whips you one way and whirls you the other, at five hundred miles an hour.
Baseball has corn dogs and waffle fries and cotton candy and soda pop. The state fair has all of that plus cheeseburger wontons, deep-fried pickles on a stick, bacon-butterscotch mini-doughnuts, and a thousand other things you didn’t know even existed until you saw them at the fair.
Baseball has the crowd singing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” in the middle of the seventh inning. The state fair has a parade every morning, right after the gates open, with a marching band and a long line of convertibles, old trucks, and horse and buggies.
Don’t get me wrong. Baseball is still my favorite thing in the world, almost all of the time. But baseball goes for the entire summer. The state fair only lasts nine days.
And this year, I was going to miss all nine of them. We were spending a few days at Grandma’s, and when we got back, I had to work for the Porcupines.
On the first day of the state fair, I was on an airplane to Arizona with my mom and dad. We were flying to Tucson to visit my grandmother.
“Why don’t we go see Grandma at Christmas?” I asked.
“Because she’ll be coming to visit in December,” said Dad. “She wants a white Christmas, and it rarely snows in Tucson.”
“So why did she move there if she wanted snow?”
“Because she was sick of cold weather,” Dad explained.
“Hmm.” It sounded to me like Grandma wanted to have it both ways.
“Aren’t you excited about seeing your grandmother?” Mom asked.
“Sure, but we’re missing the state fair,” I said.
“You’ll still have fun,” said Dad. “Grandma’s having a party!”
She did have a party. Grandma’s friends were nice, but they were old. They talked about gardens and golf and grandchildren. It was so hot outside that we stayed cooped up inside with the air-conditioning on full blast. I got cold and had to put on a sweater. I hadn’t packed a sweater, so I had to wear one of Grandma’s sweaters. It was pink and said “Life Begins at Sixty.” Instead of normal party games, Grandma and her friends tried to teach me whist. The cake had carrots in it. I wish I were kidding!
Grandma’s next-door neighbor was named Hal. He was even older than Grandma.
“So, I hear you collect baseball cards,” Hal said.
“Yeah! I have thousands of cards,” I told him. I didn’t tell him the cards were magic. The Pine City Porcupines think they are, anyway. Players have done amazing things when they have the right card from my collection. Our jinxed shortstop turned a triple play all by himself. The slowest player on the team stole second base. I think the cards just remind them that in baseball anything is possible.
“As it happens, I have a card in need of a collection,” Hal said. He took one out of his breast pocket and handed it to me.
It was a card for an umpire named Eric Gregg. It was signed and everything.
“Thanks,” I said. “I know I don’t have this one. How did you get it?” It was a weird card to have if you only had one baseball card.
“I coached Eric as a kid back in Philly,” Hal replied. “He sure loved to play, and he ended up being an umpire. Anyway, he visited me once and gave me this card.”
“Wow. Why don’t you want to keep it?”
“I want to give it to someone who will take good care of it,” said Hal. “When your grandmother told me about your collection, I knew you should have it.”
It was a neat card.
If umpires could have cards, maybe one day a batboy could have one.
The first thing I did when I got back home was go to Dylan’s house. He’s the other batboy for the Pines, and he took care of our dog while we were gone.
“It was fun having Penny here,” he told me. “I’m going to miss her.” Penny nuzzled Dylan’s hand and licked his palm. She barely noticed I was there. Dylan loved animals, and they loved him.
“How was the fair?” I asked him. “Did you see all the animals?” I figured that would have been his favorite part. The fair has buildings full of cows, sheep, pigs, chickens, and rabbits. They even have ostriches and llamas.
“I sure did,” said Dylan. “The best part was this horse named Einstein II. He played tic-tac-toe, and bowled, and counted to ten. He must be the world’s smartest horse.”
“You’re not getting a horse!” Dylan’s mother hollered from inside the house.
“I know!” he called back. “I never said I wanted a horse,” Dylan said to me, “but I guess I’ve been talking a lot about Einstein II.”
“You still have three rabbits,” I reminded him.
“Rabbits don’t do tricks. At least, mine don’t.” Dylan shrugged. “Oh, well. See you at work.”
I walked Penny home through the park. She loves the park, because there’s so much to sniff and bark at.
I ran into two friends from school, Oscar and Ivan.
“How many times did you go on the Whipper Whirl?” Oscar asked Ivan.
“Ten times,” Ivan answered.
“Well, I went on it eleven times,” said Oscar.
“I meant, twelve times,” said Ivan. “Hey, Chad. How many times did you go on the Whipper Whirl?”
“None. I haven’t been to the fair this year.”
“Wow,” said Oscar. “You really need to go and ride the Whipper Whirl.”
“Oh, oh, oh! And you have to try the strawberry-rhubarb French toast sundae,” said Ivan.
“With marshmallows and chocolate chips,” added Oscar.
“And whipped cream,” said Ivan.
“And real maple syrup!” they shouted together.
“It’s the most amazing thing in the history of food,” said Ivan. “I ate two of them.”
“I had three,” said Oscar.
“That sounds really good,” I told them, “but there are Porcupine games every day until the fair is over. I have to work.” The fair was in a town that was ninety minutes away by car, so there wouldn’t be time to get there and back before Friday’s night game. Besides, I’d be way too tired to work.
“Too bad,” said Oscar. “I’m going back on Saturday. I’m going to ride on the Whipper Whirl fifteen times and eat four strawberry-rhubarb French toast sundaes.”
“I’m going to ride on the Whipper Whirl twenty times and eat five sundaes,” said Ivan.
“Have fun,” I told them, but I was jealous. I would have settled for one ride and one sundae.
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stopped by the Speed Pitch booth on my way into the ballpark.
“Hi, Chad,” said Kevin, the teenager who worked at the booth. He handed me a baseball. “Think you’ll hit thirty miles today?”
“I don’t know.” I chucked the ball as hard as I could. I saw the score and sighed. Twenty-four miles per hour. Not even close.
“That’s really good for a kid your age,” Kevin told me.
“Sure it is.” I knew that other kids my age can throw twice that fast.
“Hey, you’re throwing five or six miles faster than you were a few weeks ago,” he said. That was true.
“Nate Link showed me how to throw sidearm,” I told him. Nate Link was a relief pitcher for the Porcupines. For some reason, I found throwing sidearm easier. Even Nate was impressed. “Some guys are just sidewinders,” he told me.
“Try another one.” Kevin passed me the ball. I threw it as hard as I could. Twenty-four … again!
“You’re throwing straighter,” said Kevin. “I bet if you went to the fair, you could clean up at the Pitch-and-Win.”
“Not this year,” I told him.
I took another ball and pretended there were pins stacked up in a pyramid. I hurled the ball. In my mind, the pins flew everywhere and I won a big stuffed panda.
“Twenty-five!” said Kevin. He slapped my hand. “You’re almost there. Try one more?”
“Nah, I’d better go. See you tomorrow.”
I walked to the Pines’ locker room, still thinking about the state fair. Besides missing out on rides and food, I was missing out on winning stuff!
“What’s wrong, kid?” asked Mike Stammer, the shortstop. “Your face is longer than a Sammy Solaris home run.”
“Heck, it’s longer than Sammy’s belt,” added Wayne Zane, the catcher. He patted his stomach just in case we didn’t get the joke.
“It’s longer than the row of candles on Wayne’s last birthday cake,” Sammy fired back.
“So what’s got you down?” Teddy Larrabee asked me. “The Bear” was the first baseman. “I mean, besides their jokes?”
“Just that I won’t get to go to the state fair this year.”
“That’s no fair,” said Wayne. “Why, it’s no fair at all.”
I glared at him.
“Just sayin’,” said Wayne.
“What’s all this sitting around and yammering?” Grumps Humboldt bellowed. His real name was Harry, but everybody called him Grumps. He was the Porcupines’ manager.
“It’s time for batting practice,” said Grumps. “None of you is hitting good enough to skip batting practice.”
“Hey,” said Wayne. “We’ve been hitting pretty well.”
“Not well enough. And you’d better get ready for some crazy calls,” Grumps said. “Solomon Johnson is umpiring all weekend.”
“Uh-oh,” said Wayne.
“That’s right—Solly himself,” said Grumps. “The worst umpire in the Prairie League!” He headed out to the dugout.
“It’s going to be a long weekend,” said Wayne.
Sammy nodded.
“¿Por qué?” asked Diego Prado. He was a new player who mostly sat on the bench. He understood English but spoke in Spanish.
“Grumps will argue every call, that’s por qué,” said Wayne. “At least until he’s thrown out.”
Diego nodded.
“Solly has thrown him out of more ball games than any other umpire,” Sammy added.
Now, that was saying something. Grumps had been thrown out of a lot of ball games. Sometimes, when a manager argues too much or goes too far with an umpire, the umpire ejects him from the game. It means the manager has to leave the field and the dugout and can’t even talk to the players until the game is over.
Grumps was back in the doorway. He glared at everybody.
“Practice … now!” he shouted. The players grabbed their bats and gloves and hurried out.
It was my turn to help the visiting team. After running down fly balls during batting practice, I walked across the field to the other dugout. The Pines were playing the Centralville Cougars. The Cougars were scuffling, which is a baseball term for losing practically every game. This would be a good chance for the Porcupines to pick up a game or two on the Rosedale Rogues, who were leading the Prairie League, as always.
“Hey, Cougars!” a familiar voice shouted. “Why is your town called Centralville? Because it’s in the middle of nowhere?” It was Ernie Hecker.
Ernie had the biggest mouth in Pine City. He always sat behind the visiting team’s dugout and shouted at the players.
“I don’t know why he has to make fun of Centralville,” one of the Cougars said. He was really young. If he didn’t know about Ernie, he must have just been called up from the Rookie League.
“Don’t take it personally, Tim,” said the catcher.
Ernie shouted again: “Maybe it should be called Last-Place-Ville!”
“Now, that’s hitting below the belt,” said Tim.
“Oh, just ignore him,” said the catcher.
That was easier said than done. I knew that from experience.
Fortunately, the voice of Victor Snapp, the announcer, drowned out Ernie. Victor Snapp is my hero. I want to be a baseball announcer when I grow up. “Tomorrow is a big doubleheader,” Victor said. “Two games for the price of one, and two-for-one hot dogs all day long. Plus, special musical guests in between games! It’ll be a fine way to spend the day if you can’t go to the fair.”
Even my role model had to remind me I was missing the fair!
Ernie got going again once the game started. “I’ve seen a better swing made out of a rope and tire!” he yelled as the first Cougar batter grounded out.
“Thanks for cooling off the ball,” he yelled as the second batter went down on strikes.
Tim was the third one up in the inning.
“Ladies and gentlemen, there’s a lost toddler on the field!” Ernie yelled. “Are this little boy’s mommy and daddy here?”
Tim turned bright red. He went into his stance, but you could tell he was distracted by Ernie’s taunts.
Kip Kilgore threw the ball. Tim swung and connected, dropped the bat, and started running. The ball sailed down the left field line and landed very close to the foul line. The umpire signaled that it was a fair ball. Danny O’Brien, the Pines’ left fielder, ran after it as Tim rounded first and headed for second.
Grumps came storming out of the dugout.
“What game are you watching?” he shouted. “That ball was so foul it laid an egg!” He went on for several minutes, pushing closer and closer to the umpire.
Solomon Johnson was as tall and wide as the outfield wall. Grumps barely came up to his nose, even when standing on tiptoe. The umpire’s face was calm, even though Grumps was shouting.
“That umpire is hard to rattle,” said one of the Cougars.
“He sure is,” said another. “That’s why they call him ‘Solly the Snowman.’ Because he’s so cool.”
“Or maybe it’s because he’s so round,” said a fellow Cougar.
Grumps went on shouting. He jumped up and down. He threw his hat. He punched his fist into the air. Solomon Johnson didn’t even flinch.
“You tell him, Grumps!” Ernie shouted.
The Porcupines’ manager kicked some dirt and stamped his foot and then finally headed back toward the dugout. Before he reached the dugout, he turned back for one last jab: “Go back to umpire school!”
Solomon didn’t say a word. He just gestured with his thumb, making an out sign over his shoulder, which meant he was throwing Grumps out of the game.
Grumps was ejected before the Porcupines had even come up to bat! He stormed off the field, passed through the dugout, and headed toward the locker room.
he Porcupines lost the game, 3–2. They slid a game back in the standings. By the time I got to the locker room, the players had showered and dressed, but a few of them were still hanging around, talking about the game.
“We just couldn’t come up with the big hit we needed in the eighth,” said Tommy Harris, the third baseman, who’d grounded into a double play to end the inning.
“Or the big pitch we needed in the ninth,” said Nate Link, who’d given up the winning run.
