The Submarine Pitch Read Free

that?”
    Frankie’s jaw slacked. He turned away, his eyes blinking.
    “I’m sorry,” said Bernie, reaching out toward his brother. “You were sticking up for me and didn’t think what you weresaying, but Dave did ask us not to talk about the pitch.”
    He put his arm around Frankie’s shoulders and squeezed him gently as they walked to the house. As long as he could remember,
     Frankie had always looked up to him as an older, wiser brother. Quite often Frankie had gone to him for advice about something
     — such as fixing his bike chain when a link had broken — instead of going to Dad. He liked the feeling. Frankie was more than
     a brother. He was a pal.
    And now his brother and his best friend wanted him to learn this new “wonder” pitch. He felt a creepy sensation shooting through
     him as he remembered Dave’s pitches to him. Each one had hooked as it came over the plate.
    His didn’t. They were always straight as a string. But
maybe
in time the submarine pitch would work for him.

3
    O ne thirty-nine… one forty… one forty-one…
    Bernie heard a light knock on the door, then the door opening and finally closing.
    He kept on counting. “… one forty-two… one forty-three… one forty-four.”
    That was it. One hundred forty-four dollars. He folded up the bills and pushed them into the canvas bag Dad had picked up
     for him at the bank.
    “Wow! That’s quite a pile of dough, Bernie,” said Frankie. “Haven’t you saved up enough yet for that bike?”
    Bernie opened a drawer and dropped the bag of money into it. Then he turned around and faced Frankie, who had plunked himself
     down on his bed. The brothers shared the room. Each had his own desk and his own preferred team pennants and sports prints
     on the wall nearest his bed.
    “No,” Bernie answered, stretching out his bare legs and wiggling his toes. “I’ve got a lot more to earn yet.”
    Frankie whistled. “Man! I didn’t think mountain bikes cost that much!”
    “Well, they do,” said Bernie. “That means a lot of lawn mowing and small jobs I’ve got to scratch up. Maybe I won’t have time
     to go out for baseball after all.”
    Frankie’s head jerked up off the bed as if he’d been stung. He looked at Bernie with disbelieving eyes. “Won’t have time for
     baseball?”he echoed. “Don’t say that, Bernie! With that submarine pitch you might turn out to be the best pitcher in the league!”
    “That’s crazy, Frankie,” said Bernie. “You saw how many pitches I threw to Dave yesterday. Not one curved as much as a hair.
     I might as well keep throwing overhand and watch the pitches being knocked all over the lot.”
    “It will, though,” Frankie insisted. “You just keep throwing it. You’ll see.”
    Bernie shook his head. This kid was impossible.
Maybe what I need is some of his grit
, he thought.
    Then he thought about Dave and about Dave’s attitude when Vince and Mike had stopped by to watch them play catch.
    “Frankie, did you notice how Dave acted when Vince and Mick showed up?” he said. “Right away he wanted to quit. He didn’twant them to watch me throw that pitch. I think he
really
wants us to keep it a secret.”
    “Sure, he does,” replied Frankie seriously. A smile curved his lips. “You know what? Sometimes he acts as if he’s your brother,
     too.”
    Bernie nodded. “I know. That’s why I — I hate to disappoint him.”
    For a week Bernie worked on the submarine pitch, practicing it either at his own home or at Dave’s, and he had made solid
     improvement. There was a hook on the end of the pitch now. He had discovered how to accomplish it by twisting his wrist just
     slightly when releasing the ball.
    He never worked out long at a time, though. About fifteen minutes was the limit, because Dave wanted to stop to rest then.
     But after half an hour’s rest Dave would insistthat they continue. This they did two or three times a day.
    The only other time they paused for a rest was when a kid