The Reluctant Pitcher by Matt Christopher Page B

tagging up, giving the Canaries two runs for the inning.
    The score was 8–5 now. In two innings the Canaries had scored four runs.
    Wally took off his cap and mopped his forehead with his sleeve. It was a warm day. The sun was dipping slowly toward the hills
     in the west. Somewhere in the distance atractor could be heard plowing a field. From a smokestack beyond the stone quarry a mile away, a thin line of white smoke
     curled upward.
    A great day for a ball game, thought Wally — if I could have stayed in right field.
    He faced the next hitter, got the signal from Chris, stretched, and delivered one down the groove.
Crack!
A hard sizzling grounder down to third.
Get it, Rocky! Get it!
Wally pleaded silently.
    Rocky ran behind the ball, fielded it nicely, and pegged it to first. Three outs.
    The game was over. Wally walked off, taking in a deep breath and letting it out with relief. It was as if a weight had been
     removed from his shoulders.
    Coach Hutter’s slender, ruddy face was wreathed with a smile. He slapped Wally on the shoulder, then took his hand.
    “Nice going, Wally,” he said. “You’re a little uncomfortable out there, but you’ll come along fast. I know you will.”
    He looked long at Wally, his blue eyes just as mild and warm as could be.
    “Do it for me, son,” he said. “I’d be very happy if you would.”
    “Sure, Mr. Hutter,” Wally promised. “If you want me to.”
    Wally turned and saw Sawbones Davis waiting for him. He had been given that nickname because he wanted to be a veterinarian
     like his father someday. He always looked as if he needed a haircut. A tooth was missing in front, and he was sticking his
     tongue through it.
    They started walking away together and almost bumped into a man and a girl.
    “Oh, excuse me,” Wally said.
    The man was tall and gray-haired. Wrinkles webbed the corners of his brown eyes.
    “Hello, boys,” he said. “I’m Cab Lacey. This is my daughter, Helen. You had a rough two innings out there, Wally.”
    “Sure did,” answered Wally. “But I’m no pitcher. I don’t know why he stuck me in there.”
    “You like the outfield better?”
    “Yes. Right field especially.”
    Wally noticed Helen looking curiously at him and Sawbones. She was about his age. He remembered seeing Mr. Lacey at the first
     game, talking with Coach Hutter. But he hadn’t seen Helen before.
    “I agree with you, Wally,” said Cab Lacey. “You look fine in right field. You have a strong left arm and can make a pretty
     accurate throw to either home or third base, which is very important. Seems funny that the coach put you in to pitch. That
     Lewis boy, and Towns, look good to me.”
    Wally nodded. “I think so, too,” he said.
    “Well . . .” Cab Lacey smiled and waved to them as they started to walk out of the park. “See you at the next game.”
    “So long,” Wally and Sawbones said almost together.
    “He sounds as if he knows his baseball,” Sawbones observed. “Never saw his daughter before, though. You?”
    “Nope,” replied Wally. “I don’t think Sharon has seen her either, or she would have said something.”
    Sharon was his older sister. She was an eighth grader and knew just about every girl in town. It was certainly strange that
     she hadn’t met Mr. Lacey’s daughter.
    A smile curved Sawbones’s mouth. He pressed the tip of his tongue through the spot where the tooth was missing, then drew
     it away.
    “She was so quiet. Maybe she’s stuckon herself,” he said “Some girls are like that.”
    “Maybe she is,” said Wally. “She sure acted that way. And what I hate is anybody who’s stuck-up.”
    “You and me both,” said Sawbones.

3
    A fter the game between the Warriors and the Blue Raiders on Wednesday, the Pacers took over the field for practice. The Warriors
     had won the game, 5–2, their first win in three games. The Pacers had trounced them last week. In Wally’s opinion, the Warriors
     were hardly warriors at all.
    Coach