Steal That Base! by Kurtis Scaletta, Eric Wight Page A

talk because Wally tugged on my sleeve. “You got a phone call.”
    Wally was the clubhouse manager. He was my boss.
    â€œThanks. It’s probably my dad. I’ll have to go home.”
    â€œThat’s all right,” Wally said. “You should go home. We want you kids fresh for tomorrow.”
    I went back to the locker room to take the call. The phone was the old-fashioned kind, with the receiver wired to the base and the base stuck to the wall.
    â€œI’m waiting out in front,” said Dad. “Are you ready?”
    â€œI just have to change.”
    â€œHey, ask Dylan if he wants a ride too,” said Dad.
    â€œSure.”
    Dylan was the other batboy for the Porcupines. He was working in the Finches’ dugout for tonight’s game. We took turns helping the opposing team.
    â€œSee you in a sec,” I told Dad.
    I changed clothes, grabbed my baseball card binder, and went to the Finches’ dugout.
    Even though he’s a batboy, Dylan isn’t a big baseball fan. I showed him my baseball card collection sometimes—well,
part
of it: I had more than 5,000 cards! I told him about my favorite players. I explained plays during the game. Dylan didn’t know it, but he was my secret mission: By the end of the season, I was going to make him the greatest fan of the world’s greatest game!
    I found Dylan sitting on the edge of the bench in the visitors’ dugout.
    â€œHey.” I nudged his elbow.
    â€œShh.” Dylan pointed at something.
    I scanned the infield and didn’t see anything unusual.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œIt’s right there!” He pointed again, and I realized he was pointing at the fence that protected the dugout from foul balls. I set my baseball card binder down and knelt by the fence to get a better look.

    There was a little creepy-crawly thing sitting on the chain link.
    â€œIt’s just a bug,” I said.
    â€œIt’s not a bug. It’s a spider,” said Dylan.
    â€œSpiders are bugs.”
    â€œNot exactly. They’re arachnids. Bugs are insects. Hey, look. It’s spinning a web.”
    â€œGreat,” I said. “Wally said we should go home. My dad will give you a ride.”
    â€œThanks,” Dylan replied. “I want to stay and watch. I can call my parents later.”
    â€œI thought baseball bored you.”
    Dylan had admitted that when we first started working for the Porcupines.
    â€œI mean watch
that
,” he said. He nodded at the spider.
    â€œOf course.”
    I knew Dylan liked animals, but did a spider count as an animal?

ust after I got home I had one of the worst moments of my whole life. I’d forgotten my card binder! I’d left it in the Finches’ dugout when I was talking with Dylan about that stupid spider. It felt like I’d left my right arm somewhere.
    I called the Finches’ locker room. Dylan answered.
    â€œIt’s me. Is the game still going on?”
    â€œYeah. And Sparky is done with his web!”
    â€œSparky?”
    â€œSparky the Spider.”
    â€œYou named that thing?”
    â€œNo, I just call him Sparky.”
    â€œThat’s naming him!”
    â€œMaybe. By the way, you left your binder here.”
    â€œI know—that’s why I called. I wanted to make sure it was OK.”
    â€œIt’s fine. Do you want me to put it in your locker?”
    â€œKeep it overnight,” I said. “Take good care of it. But feel free to look through it. There’re some cool cards in there.”
    â€œSure,” Dylan promised. “Gotta go. I want to see if Sparky’s caught any bugs yet.”
    â€¢ • •
    I overslept the next morning. We batboys had to be at the ballpark two hours before the game started. I would have to hurry to get there on time.
    It was my own fault. I’d listened to the rest ofthe game on the radio before I went to sleep. The Porcupines finally won in the thirteenth inning.