Baseball Great by Tim Green Page A

what he saw and what he heard. Josh held his breath.
    â€œSafe!”
    The dugout exploded, and the Titans swarmed Josh. Tucker beat them all and hugged Josh and lifted him up over his head, dancing around and screaming madly. The rest of the players reached up, their fingers stretched toward him. Josh touched their hands, slapping fives and grasping fingers, Tucker whirling him around all the while.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
    THE ALARM WENT OFF. Josh rolled out of bed and let the radio play while he dressed. They hadn’t returned from Long Island until after midnight, and Josh had to rub his eyes and search his memory to make sure the whole weekend hadn’t been some strange dream. Then he saw it.
    Standing tall on his dresser, the golden figure of a baseball player, his bat at the ready and nearly tickling the slanted ceiling, was perched atop a marble platform. That platform rested on four gold columns, stretching more than a foot to an even bigger marble base below. The nameplate read GARDEN CITY CHAMPIONS , and the whole trophy glowed like a beacon in the dim gray light of the tiny bedroom.
    Josh cradled the trophy in his arms and ran hisfingers up and down the smooth grooves in the long columns. He let the golden figure lie along the side of his cheek as he remembered the hits and the grabs and the throws and the cheers and the smiles and the claps on his back. He remembered the long ride home singing “One Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall” and the sight of his father’s silver Taurus darting in and out of traffic, sometimes alongside the bus, sometimes ahead or behind, but always there, the way a pilot fish will stay with a shark.
    Josh used the bathroom, flushing the toilet—which sent a shiver through the pipes, rattling them down into the walls of the kitchen below. He brushed his teeth, smelling his parents’ coffee and hearing the low murmur of their voices floating up the narrow stairs. After changing into jeans and the bright green T-shirt that came with the trophy, Josh skipped down the stairs and stopped just outside the kitchen at the sudden yells coming from within.
    â€œAnd I say you should have let the boy get his rest,” his father said. “That’s more important than school. I turned off his alarm for a reason.”
    â€œReally?” his mother said, her voice grating like nails on a chalkboard.
    â€œHe can be great , Laura,” his father said.
    â€œ You were great,” his mother said. “He needs school. He needs to go to college.”
    â€œYou’re going to bring me into this?” his father shouted, banging the kitchen table so that the silverware and the sugar bowl rattled. “Thanks, Laura. Thanks for the reminder that I didn’t make it. Thanks for the reminder that I’m a vitamin salesman. Have a nice day.”
    Josh heard the scrape of a chair, heavy steps, and then the kitchen door swinging open before it slammed shut, causing Josh’s little sister to wail like a car alarm. Josh covered his ears and walked through the doorway to see his mother scoop Laurel out of her high chair. His mother held her close and stroked the back of her head.
    â€œHurry up, Josh,” his mother said. “You’ll miss the bus. Look at the paper, though.”
    â€œOkay,” Josh said, taking a box of Cheerios from the cupboard and pouring some milk into a bowl.
    He sat down at the place where his father had been and the sports section lay.
    â€œHey, wow,” Josh said, stopping to swallow. “That’s me.”
    On the front page was a color picture of Josh in an openmouthed scream, being carried by his teammates after the big win over Hempstead. The headline read VALENTINE’S TITANS JUST THAT . The caption talked about Josh being only twelve and knocking in the winning run to upset the fifth-ranked U14 team in the country.
    â€œYour father took the picture and sent it in,” his mother said, jiggling