Jinxed! Read online

  CAN A SHORTSTOP REALLY BE JINXED?

  It’s Chad’s first spring as batboy, and the Pine City Porcupines need a win—too bad they’re up against the league-leading Heron Lake Humdingers. Now Chad’s got a whole lineup of problems: his favorite player, shortstop Mike Stammer, thinks he’s jinxed; Dylan, the other batboy, doesn’t even like baseball; and there’s a goofy new porcupine mascot on the field. To make matters worse, Chad has to pinch-hit as batboy for the Humdingers. Good thing there’s something in the cards—his baseball cards, that is—that can help Chad sort it all out.

  For Byron, who proves I’m lucky.

  Special thanks to Sean, T.J., and

  Dylan of the Saint Paul Saints.

  —K.S.

  To Ethan & Abbie.

  —E.W.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cataloging-in-Publication data has been applied for and may be obtained from the Library of Congress.

  ISBN: 978-1-4197-0286-0 (hardcover)

  ISBN: 978-1-4197-0261-7 (paperback)

  Copyright © 2012 The Topps Company, Inc.

  All Rights Reserved. Topps and Topps League are trademarks of The Topps Company, Inc.

  Book design by Chad W. Beckerman

  Published in 2012 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. Amulet Books and Amulet Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.

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  was just a kid, but I already had my dream job. I was the batboy for the Pine City Porcupines. The Pines were the baseball team in my hometown. They played in the Prairie League.

  I wrote them a letter in the off-season, asking if I could be a batboy. I told them that I would love to do it, that I knew a lot about baseball, and that I would work really, really hard.

  Dad said I should also send them a résumé.

  “What’s a rez-u-may?” I asked him. That’s how he said it: “rez-u-may.”

  “It’s a list of all your past jobs and your accomplishments,” he said.

  “I’ve never had a job.”

  “Good point,” my dad said. “But you do have a lot of accomplishments.”

  So I got on the computer and typed up my accomplishments. It took me all day.

  “I’ve never seen ‘I have my own résumé’ on a person’s résumé before,” Dad said when I was done.

  “But I worked really hard on it.”

  “Good point. It looks great. Let’s mail it tomorrow.”

  • • •

  I waited two weeks, but nobody called.

  “It can take a long time,” said Dad. “Be patient.”

  I waited two more weeks, and still nobody called. I was beginning to give up hope.

  “The season hasn’t even started yet,” said Dad. He was right.

  Then I got the call! The Porcupines wanted me to come in for a job interview.

  I put on my best pants, my good shoes, a shirt with a collar, and a snap-on tie.

  “You look great,” said Dad. “Remember to speak clearly and make good eye contact.”

  “OK.”

  “Do you want a ride?”

  “No. I’ll feel more grown-up if I ride my bike.” We lived really close to the ballpark.

  • • •

  I talked to the clubhouse manager, whose name was Wally. He had a big white droopy mustache that covered his mouth. At least I could make good eye contact.

  “You have an impressive résumé,” Manager Wally said.

  “Thanks. I wrote it all by myself.”

  “Why do you want to be a batboy?” he asked.

  “I love baseball,” I told him. “You should see my room. I have posters and pennants on all the walls. I also have over five thousand baseball cards in binders. They fill a whole shelf.”

  “I love bacon, but I don’t want to work on a pig farm,” replied Wally.

  “Yeah, but being a batboy is fun,” I said.

  “Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t,” said Wally. “It’s always hard work. Have you ever done hard work?”

  I thought about the hardest work I’d done. I’d pulled weeds in the garden. I always did my homework on time. I walked our spaniel mix, Penny, and cleaned up after her.

  “All the time,” I said.

  “Final question,” said Wally. “Explain the infield fly rule.”

  I knew all about the infield fly rule. My uncle Rick told me about it. Uncle Rick has told me almost everything I know about baseball. I explained to Wally that the infield fly rule kept the infielder from cheating and turning an easy out into two easy outs.

  “I’ve always wanted somebody to explain that to me so I could understand it,” he said. “When can you start?”

  “When school gets out,” I told him. Dad had been very clear about that.

  “Great,” said Wally. “But no more ties. Don’t you know that there are no ties in baseball?”

  “No ties,” I repeated. I could totally keep that promise.

  hy don’t we talk about our plans for the summer?” said our teacher, Ms. Singer, on the last day of school.

  Here was my chance to tell everyone about my job. I hadn’t told anyone yet. I was scared the Porcupines would change their mind. I thought Wally might call and say, “Sorry, kid, we couldn’t wait for school to get out. We’re bringing in a kid who’s dropped out.”

  But now I knew my batboy job was for real. I would be starting the next day. There was no game, but Wally said I should show up and help unload the team bus.

  I decided to wait until everyone else had talked before I told the class my news. You should always save the best for last.

  “Who wants to be first?”

  “Me! Me!” cried Abby.

  “Yes, Abby?”

  “I have an acting role,” Abby said. “It’s going to keep me superbusy, but it’s an awesome opportunity.”

  “That’s great,” Ms. Singer said. “Can you tell us more about it?”

  “Sorry,” said Abby. “I can’t.”

  “Are you in a play here in Pine City?” asked Emily. “Can we come see you?”

  “I can’t tell,” said Abby.

  “Give us a hint,” said Ivan.

  “Well, it’s a very challenging role,” said Abby. “It involves both improvisation and pantomime.”

  “Huh?”

  “Those are acting terms,” Abby explained.

  I didn’t know what her acting role was, but my news was probably better.

  One by one, the other kids in the class talked about their summer plans. Oscar’s family was going to South Dakota to see Mount Rushmore. Michelle was taking ballet lessons. Scott was rereading his favorite fantasy series. Crystal was playing softball in the park league. (That was cool, because softball was practically the same thing as baseball.) Maria was going camping. Rachel was expecting a baby brother. (OK, that was hard to top. But I still thought I had the coolest plans.) Jayden didn’t have any plans except bike riding and swimming.

  “There�
��s nothing wrong with that,” said Ms. Singer. “It’s better than watching TV and playing video games.”

  “That’s what I’m doing!” said Ivan. The whole class laughed.

  The other kids took their turns until Dylan and I were the only two left.

  I didn’t know Dylan that well. He sat with other kids at lunch. He didn’t raise his hand a lot, but when the teacher called on him, he usually knew the answer. He was good in gym class but not a show-off.

  He didn’t raise his hand now. Maybe he had some awesome news he was saving for last, too. Whatever it was, it wasn’t as awesome as my news.

  Ms. Singer looked back and forth at him and me, waiting for one of us to talk.

  I really wanted to go last. I crossed my arms and looked at Dylan. “Your turn,” I mouthed.

  He gave in.

  “I’m going to be a batboy for the Pine City Porcupines,” he said. “I start tomorrow night.”

  Every kid’s mouth dropped open, but nobody’s mouth dropped more open than mine.

  Everyone started asking a million questions.

  “Are you going to hang out with the players?” asked Oscar.

  Dylan was cool about the whole thing. “Of course.”

  “Will you go on road trips?” asked Crystal.

  “Nah. I just work the home games.”

  “What will you do?” asked Ivan.

  “All kinds of stuff,” said Dylan.

  “What’s the big surprise?” Jayden asked.

  “Huh?”

  “I heard about it in a radio commercial. Saturday’s game . . .”

  “. . . is Kids Get In Free Day!” Ivan blurted out.

  “Yeah,” said Jayden. “And the radio said to come for the big surprise.”

  “I don’t know about any surprise,” said Dylan.

  “Do you get to wear a uniform?” Oscar asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Wow,” said Oscar.

  “Do you get paid?” Maria asked.

  “Of course.”

  “How much?”

  “N.O.Y.B.,” said Dylan.

  “I’m a batboy too!” I shouted.

  Everybody looked at me.

  “Well, I am,” I said. “For the Porcupines.”

  “Sure you are,” said Oscar.

  “Everybody’s a batboy!” said Ivan.

  “I am, and I can prove it!” I said. “Just come to Kids Get In Free Day. You’ll see.”

  “I was already going,” said Ivan.

  “Me too,” said Crystal.

  “Everybody’s going,” said Oscar. “Are you going?”

  “I’m a batboy! I have to be there!”

  “Chad, don’t raise your voice,” said Ms. Singer.

  “Sorry.”

  The bell rang, and school was over. Not just for the day but for the whole year.

  ylan and I showed up at Pine City Park the next evening to unload the bus, just like Wally asked. It was beginning to get dark. The bus wasn’t there yet, so we waited. Dylan was quiet.

  “This’ll be a fun summer, huh?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Dylan answered—but not like he meant it.

  “The Pines lost three games in Centralville and two out of three in Farmington,” I said. “They’re in last place by nine games.”

  “Oh, well.” Dylan shrugged.

  “I wonder what the surprise is on Saturday?” I said.

  “Something to do with baseball, I bet,” Dylan said.

  “Hey, do you collect baseball cards?” I asked.

  “Nope.”

  I wanted to tell Dylan about my collection, but decided not to. I stopped trying to talk to him. He didn’t want to talk to me anyway.

  The bus finally rolled in. There was so much mud spattered on it that you could barely see the porcupine logo on the side.

  The first player off the bus had a mustache like an old-timey movie star. He was new to the team, but I recognized him. It was the Pines’ new pitcher, Lance Pantaño.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said, with a little bow. Then he leaned over and whispered, “Be careful. There’s a giant rat on the bus.”

  “A rat?” I took a step back.

  “Just be careful,” Pantaño said. With that, he turned and walked across the parking lot toward the players’ entrance.

  I looked back at the bus and saw Sammy Solaris coming down the steps. Sammy was usually the designated hitter. He could really smack the ball, but he was too slow to play in the field.

  “Have you seen the rat?” he asked in a low voice.

  “No,” said Dylan.

  “Keep your eyes open,” said Sammy. He poked his thumb at the bus. “Huge . . . rat . . . in there . . .”

  “Really?” said Dylan.

  “Hey, Sammy! Chad the batboy,” I jumped in. “I’m a big fan.”

  “You’re a big fan, and he’s a big player. All those corn dogs, eh, Sammy?” said the next guy off the bus. It was Wayne Zane, the catcher. Zane’s face was as wrinkled as an old mitt. He had been with the Porcupines for as long as I could remember.

  “You’re the corny one,” said Sammy. It was true. Wayne Zane was always joking around.

  “I’m just sayin’,” said Wayne. “But seriously, kids—watch out for that rat.”

  Both players set off for the locker room.

  Wally came out to the parking lot. He opened the side door of the bus and pulled out a cart.

  “You kids haul in the equipment,” he said. “No dillydallying.”

  Dylan pulled out a canvas bag of bats, set it on the cart, and reached in for another.

  “What’s dillydallying?” I asked Dylan.

  “I think it’s like lollygagging,” he replied.

  “Oh.”

  Dillydallying? Lollygagging? Must mean talking instead of working. I knew baseball had a lot of funny words. I wondered if these were two of them.

  I started pulling out equipment, but I kept my eyes on the bus door.

  One by one, the rest of the team hopped off and headed for the locker room. There was Ryan Kimball, the tall, tattooed closer.

  “Have you seen the rat?” he asked us.

  “No,” said Dylan.

  “Keep your eyes open,” Kimball said. “And watch your toes.”

  “EEEK, EEEK, EEEK!”

  “EEK! EEK!”

  Outfielders Danny O’Brien and Brian Daniels scurried past us making rat sounds. They looked so much alike, you never knew who was playing right field and who was playing left.

  “Pssst.” George “President” Lincoln, the really serious-looking second baseman, tipped his head back toward the bus and tapped his nose once. He gave us a solemn look as he walked past.

  “I’m not scared of rats,” said Dylan.

  “Me, neither,” I agreed.

  “I’ve seen them at the pet store,” he said. “They’re cute.”

  “Yeah.”

  Of course, a wild rat would be scarier than a pet-store rat. I wasn’t about to run off, though. There was one player I was still watching for: a big blond guy with a smile like you’d see in a toothpaste commercial. I wanted to meet him.

  Another guy came off the bus. Here was a Pine I didn’t know. He yawned, blinked, then looked at us.

  His nose was all black.

  There were whiskers on his face.

  His baseball cap had big round ears attached to it. They looked like they’d been cut out of a brown paper bag and stuck on with duct tape.

  “Hi, there. I’m Tommy Harris.” He offered his hand. “I just got called up from rookie league.”

  I stared at him.

  Dylan blinked.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Harris.

  “Um . . .” said Dylan.

  “You’ve got rat stuff on your face,” I told him.

  “And ears,” Dylan added.

  Harris turned around and looked at himself in the bus’s side mirror. “Oh, man. That’s what I get for falling asleep on the bus.” He found a handkerch
ief in his pocket and wiped at the eye black on his nose and face. “It’s tough being the new guy.”

  “I guess that’s the rat,” said Dylan. “The ones at the pet store are cuter.”

  “Is there anybody else on the bus?” I asked Tommy.

  “I don’t think so,” he answered. “Why?”

  “I want to meet Mike Stammer. I have his baseball card, and I want to ask him to sign it.”

  “You must’ve missed him,” said Tommy. “He’ll be in the locker room, though.” He headed that way, still rubbing at the whiskers.

  “Minor leaguers have baseball cards?” asked Dylan.

  “Most don’t,” I said as I struggled with the last overstuffed bag and put it on the pile. Dylan started pushing the cart. The load wobbled, and I put a hand on it to steady it. “Mike Stammer was in the big leagues for a while.”

  • • •

  We rolled the cart into the equipment room and started to unload it. Dylan worked twice as fast as me. I hoped he didn’t think I was dillydallying. I was just slow.

  “That’s everything,” I said.

  “Yep,” said Dylan. He waved and left. I was sure he was still mad at me.

  I popped into the locker room one more time.

  “Is Mike Stammer around?” I asked Wayne Zane.

  “He dropped off his stuff and went for a walk,” said Wayne. “He said he wanted to be alone.”

  That was too bad, I thought. But Mike would be here tomorrow. I hoped so, anyway. In minor league baseball, a player can get called up at any time. He can also get cut at any time.

  “If you stick around, he’ll probably be back,” said Wayne.

  I looked at the clock. Mom and Dad had told me to get home as soon as I could.

  “I’d better not,” I said. I thought of something I’d meant to ask earlier. “Hey, do you know what the surprise is at Saturday’s game?”

  “Nah, nobody tells us anything.” Wayne swung his locker door closed. “I just hope it’s not a surprise retirement party for me.”

  “No way,” I told him.

  “Just sayin’,” Wayne said.

  I got my bike and started for home. I had not gone far when I slammed on the brakes. Something was pawing at the ground in the shadows by the right field wall. What was that? My heart raced. I turned my handlebars so my bike light pointed that way. I hoped it was only a big dog and not a coyote or bear or something.