The Spy on Third Base Read Free Page B

a
freak
!”
    He hadn’t realized that he was talking outloud until he said “freak!” He turned around to see if anyone had heard him, but he was alone.
    “Oh, boy, T.V. thought. I’ve gone bananas!
    His stomach began to feel woozy and he went inside. He lay down on the living room sofa and soon fell asleep. He dreamed that
     some stranger whose face he couldn’t see was chasing him. He screamed and screamed.
    Somebody shook him awake. He opened his eyes and stared into his mother’s worried face.
    “T.V.! You were having a bad dream!” she whispered. “How do you feel, dear?”
    “My stomach …” he started to say, then wished he hadn’t. He knew what she would say now.
    “I’m going to have your father take you to Doctor Erickson.”
    Just what he had figured.
     

    Within an hour, T.V. was on the doctor’s cushioned table, shaking like a nervous puppy. What if the doctor found something
     wrong with him? What if he really
was
different from everyone else?

8

    The doctor set aside his stethoscope and smiled. “Worried about something, Theodore?” he asked. “Like not getting hits in
     your baseball games, maybe?”
    T.V. shrugged. “No.”
    Dr. Erickson put his hands on T.V.’s knees and looked him straight in the eyes. “Get any ribbing from people — from the fans
     — about that reporter’s little joke? You know, about those ‘powers’ you have?”
    T. V. stared at him in surprise. I guess everyone in town — maybe in the whole state — has read that column! he thought.
    “I think that’s your problem, T.V.,” the doctor said. “You’re worried too much about what people are saying. And all that
     worrying is making your stomach hurt. It happens to a lot of us.” He smiled again and patted T.V. gently on the shoulder.
     “You’re perfectly fine. Put your shirt on.”
    T.V. left the doctor’s office feeling like a million bucks. He was normal!
    In the car going back home, Mr. Adams said, “Look, T.V., if baseball is bothering you this much, maybe you ought to give it
     up and try something else. Like horseshoes, maybe.”
    T.V. grinned. “I’ll think about it,” he said.
    He liked pitching horseshoes. But he wouldn’t trade baseball for anything. He still loved it, no matter what.
    They were driving by the public swimmingpool when T.V. spotted his friend Chuck Philips.
    “Dad!” he cried. “Will you let me off here?”
    His father slowed the car down. “Then Doctor Erickson was right? You were just worried about that article?”
    T.V. nodded. “That and the phone calls.”
    “From whom?”
    T.V. shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess that proves I’m not psychic, huh?” he said with a smile.
    Mr. Adams laughed as he pulled the car over. Then he put his arm around T.V.’s shoulders and got serious. “Don’t worry about
     them. Anybody trying to scare you with phone calls hasn’t got the guts to meet you face to face. Think about that.”
    T.V. looked at him. His father’s words tumbled around in his mind until they settled down and made sense.
    “Thanks, Dad,” he said. “See you later!”
    T.V. hopped out of the car, ran across the walk to the pool, and tapped Chuck on the shoulder.
    Chuck spun around. “Oh, hi,” he greeted T.V. “I thought you were sick.”
    “I was … in the head, mostly,” said T.V. “Who’s our next game with?”
    Chuck thought a moment. “The Bearcats,” he said.
    “They got a good team?”
    “Let’s see,” said Chuck, squinching his eyebrows. “I think they’ve split so far. Won one and lost one.”
    “When do we play them?”
    “Next Tuesday.” Chuck looked steadily at T.V. “Think you’ll be well enough to play by then?”
    T.V. grinned. “I
know
I will,” he said.
    The evening before the game against the Bearcats, T.V. got a phone call.
    “Adams, don’t do any spying in tomorrow’s game, or you’ll be sorry. And you know it!” a male’s voice said before hanging up.
    It was the same voice as before.
    T.V.