The Home Run Kid Races On Read Free Page B

Everything
     will be done in about fifteen minutes.”
    “I’ll set the table,” Syl said.
    He was putting the final fork in place when Mr. Coddmyer returned home. He took a deep whiff of the kitchen air and grinned.
     “I love that you cook such wonderful meals!”
    “And I love that you clean up when we’re done eating our wonderful meals,” Syl’s mother replied as she placed the dishes of
     food on the table.
    While they were eating, Mr. Coddmyer told them a funny story about a coworker whose young daughter had surprised him by packing
     a lunch in his briefcase. “All day, he smelled something weird in his cubicle,” Mr. Coddmyer said. “But it wasn’t until the
     afternoon that he opened his case and found the tuna sandwich she’d put in there! Pee-yew!”
    Sylvester cracked up, imagining how awful the smell must have been. Mrs. Coddmyer laughed, too. Then she mentioned a meeting
     she’d had with some neighbors to organize a neighborhood yard sale.
    “The money we raise will go toward a big block party this summer.” She turned to Syl. “I’d like your help sometime this week.
     There’s a lot of old junk in our attic and basement that we can donate, but we have to sort through it all first.”
    “I can help anytime except tomorrow afternoon,” Syl said. “I have baseball practice.”
    He hesitated then. He knew he should tell them about Mr. Teacy and ask for permission to work with him at the old field the
     next day. But he didn’t. They would have asked a lot of questions about who Mr. Teacy was and why they were playing at such
     an out-of-the-way place. He had no answers to those questions. So instead, he asked if he could get in some extra practice
     the following afternoon.
    “I want to work on my bunting,” he added.
    His parents agreed. “Just take your cell phone with you,” his mother said, “and call me when you leave the ball field so I
     know you’re on your way home.”
    So the next morning Syl left for school with his baseball gear—glove, cap, cleats, and uniform—strapped to his bike’s carryall.
     He made sure he had Mr. Teacy’s bat, too.
    Classes seemed to drag by at an impossibly slow pace that day. Even his favorite period, lunch, took forever to get through.
     But at last, the final bell sounded.
    He found an empty bathroom and changed into his purple and white Comets jersey and baseball pants. Then he hurried outside
     to the bike rack. He was just about to unlock his bike when he heard Snooky Malone call his name.
    “Oh, no,” he groaned.
    “Thought you could ditch me, huh?” Snooky crowed when he reached Syl’s side.
    “Snooky,” Syl said impatiently, “you can’t follow me around all the time!”
    “Why not?” Snooky protested.
    “Because it’s creepy, that’s why! Besides, I’m not going anywhere interesting today, just to baseball practice. And if I don’t
     leave now, I’m going to be late!” With that, he hopped on his bike and pedaled off, turning a deaf ear to Snooky’s shouts.
    Ten minutes later, he arrived at the town baseball field.
    “Yo, Syl! How’s it going, man?”
    Sylvester looked up to see Trent Sturgis approaching. Behind Trent was Jim Cowley. Duane arrived a moment later, as did Coach
     Corbin and several other players. Sylvester greeted them all, and then stuck his cap on his head and put on his glove. After
     a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed Mr. Teacy’s bat from his carrier.
    Coach Corbin lifted his eyebrows when he saw the bat. “Trading aluminum for wood?”
    “Only if it’s okay,” Syl said.
    The coach took the bat and examined it closely. “I’m sorry, Syl,” he said. “Your bat isn’t regulation size for our league.”
     He handed it back.
    Syl had forgotten about the league rules concerning bats. “I’ll leave it with my stuff on the bench,” he promised.
    When they ran out on the diamond, Coach Corbin ran his players through some warm-ups. Then he announced the first drill.
    “We’ll start with