Flowers Read Free Page A

winning. But I wonder how they would have reacted, how their parents would have reacted, if Jerry had struck out that last time today? I mean, nobody's exactly inviting him for sleep-overs as it is."
    "He's just quiet. A lone wolf. Nothing wrong with that," I said, a little unsure of myself.
    "Nothing wrong with vampires as long as they hit .921, is that what you mean?"
    "Hey, we're winning, and that's what counts."
    "I don't know," Dana said, shaking her pretty and sad head. "You're even starting to sound like Roscoe Turnbull."
    That killed my mood, all right. That killed my mood for a lot of things around the house for a while. Lying in bed that night with a frigid three feet between us, I stared out the window at the full moon. A shape fluttered across it, a small lonely speck lost in that great circle of white. It most likely wasn't Jerry, but I felt an ache in my heart for him all the same.
    At practice, I sometimes noticed the players whispering to each other while Jerry was at bat. I don't think for a minute that children are born evil. But they have parents who teach and guide them. Parents who were brought up on the same whispered myths.
    I tried to be friendly toward Jerry, and kept turning my head so I could catch the look from him that Dana had described. But all I saw were a pair of bright eyes that could pierce the back of a person's skull if they wanted. Truth be told, he did give me the creeps, a little. And I could always pretend my philosophy was to show no favoritism, despite Dana's urging me to reach out to him.
    Dana was a loyal assistant regardless of our difference of opinion. She helped co-pilot the Red Sox through the next eight victories. Jerry continued to tear up the league's pitching and played shortstop like a strip of flypaper, even though he was booed constantly. Elise pitched well and the rest of the kids were coming along, improving every game. I was almost sad when we got to the last game. I didn't want the season to end.
    Naturally, we had to play the Turnbull Construction Claw Hammers for the championship. They'd gone undefeated in their division again. Ted had a fastball that could shatter a brick. And Roscoe Turnbull started scouting his draft picks while they were still in kindergarten, so he had the market cornered on talent.
    I was so nervous I couldn't eat the day of the game. I got to the field early, while the caretaker was still trimming the outfield. Turnbull was there, too. He was in the home team's dugout shaving down a wooden bat. Wooden bats weren't even used in the majors anymore. Turnbull could afford lithium compound bats. That's when I first started getting suspicious.
    "I'm looking forward to the big game," Turnbull said, showing the gaps between his front teeth.
    "Me, too," I said, determined not to show that I cared. "And may the best team win."
    "What do you mean? The best team always wins."
    I didn't like the way he was running that wood shaver down the bat handle.
    "You getting all nostalgic?" I asked, tremblingly nonchalant. "Going back to wood?"
    "Good enough for my daddy. And my great-great-grandpaw on my mother's side. Maybe you heard of him. Ty Cobb."
    Tyrus Raymond Cobb. The Hall-of-Famer. The Georgia Peach. The greatest hitter in any league, ever. Or the dirtiest player ever to set foot on a diamond, depending on whom you asked.
    "Yeah, I've heard of him," I said. "That's quite a bloodline."
    "Well, we've always managed to win without no low-down, stinking vampires on our team."
    "Jerry Shepherd deserves to play as much as any other boy or girl."
    "It ain't right. Here this"—he made a spitting face—"creature has all these advantages like being able to change into an animal or throw the hocus-pocus on other players."
    "You know that's against the rules. We'd be disqualified if he tried something like that. There's no advantage."
    "It's only against the rules if you get caught." Turnbull held the tip of the bat up in the air. It was whittled to a fine,