Screaming at the Ump Read Free Page A

working?” Dad asked.
    â€œThe other four are fine. And this one still works. You just have to hold it shut.”
    â€œYou never want to make it easy for someone to screw up,” Pop said.
    â€œWe have what,” Dad said, “eighty students? Four cameras’ll be enough. But let’s replace that one so we’re ready for next year.”
    â€œYou can probably get it fixed, right?” Zeke said.
    â€œIt’s usually as much to fix it as it is to replace it, and that’s a pretty old one,” Dad said.
    Wait, what? Did Dad say eighty?
That had to be wrong. There were always at least a hundred students for Academy.
    â€œI have this idea,” Zeke said before I could ask. I managed not to groan.
    Dad said, “Let me guess: You want to keep the camera.”
    â€œNo,” Zeke said. “I mean, that wasn’t my idea. But wow, yeah. Sick! I do.” He looked at me. “But wouldn’t you want it?” he asked.
    Sly walked in with two first-aid kits. “Where do I put these?” she asked me.
    â€œWhy’s the kid here?” Zeke asked.
    Pop fake-slapped Zeke’s head with his open hand. “Don’t be rude. This is Mrs. G.’s granddaughter, Sylvia.”
    â€œSly,” she said with a sigh.
    â€œSo I had this IDEA,” Zeke said again. “Have you ever thought of shooting before-and-after videos of each student?”
    â€œWe film them every day,” Pop said. “In the cages.”
    â€œNo,” Zeke said, “I mean if I get each student out on the field, doing calls behind the plate the first few days and then again at the end of the session. The cage tapes are so gradual, but if you showed a real before-and-after tape—”
    â€œExcuse me,” Sly said. “Where are the cages?”
    â€œThese are the cages, sweetheart,” Pop said, motioning to the whole building.
    â€œYou lock people in there or animals?”
    â€œNo,” I said. “No one gets locked in. They’re called batting cages.”
    â€œSo they practice batting hits in there?”
    â€œWhere’s Mrs. G.?” Pop said, his patience suddenly evaporated. “Let me take you back to the office.”
    â€œThanks for bringing out the first-aid kits,” Dad said. Then he turned to Zeke and said, “I like the idea, but you can’t do all that camera work. I’ll put some staff on it too. It’s a good idea. You can help out after school.”
    Even I had to admit it—it was good. The students all improved so much, and seeing it like that, on video, would be really sweet.
    Zeke was still beaming as we headed back outside. “About that camera,” he said. “Your dad should have offered it to you first. I mean, he’s YOUR dad.”
    â€œHe knows I wouldn’t use it,” I said. The thought of going out and filming stuff did seem pretty cool, but I knew I’d never really do it. There was this big box of stuff, unused stuff, in my room: lacrosse stick, bowling ball in a rolling case, microscope. I knew the camera would just get added to it.
    But I did have a quick and bad thought about how we might actually be helping Zeke achieve his stupid goal of getting something on TV by putting a camera in his hand. It was as though I could see this huge banner headline: BREAKING NEWS: GUESS WHO GAVE REALITY TV’S ZEKE THE FREAK THE CAMERA ?

Teammates
    Z EKE and I were sitting in the center of the gym, surrounded by a sea of registration papers. I looked a second time at the form in my hand. “I didn’t know there was a woman this year,” I said. “June Sponato.”
    â€œI love the lady umpires!”
    Zeke really did. Every few years, a woman signed up, but none of them had been very . . . girlie. Students all wore the same gray-pants-blue-shirt-and-hat uniform, and the women pretty much blended in. Zeke always held out hope that some contestant