… and run….” He looked across the field. “I wonder if he can hit,” he said.
“Want to bet?” Ryan laughed.
Jake definitely didn’t want to bet against Adam. “Yeah, you’re right. He’s a player. Wouldn’t it be cool if we got him for the team?”
“Yeah. With you at shortstop and a couple of new kids like Adam, we’ll be a lot better than last year,” Ryan said.
Jake smiled. He was twelve years old and this was his third year with the Red Sox. When he was ten, Jake had spent most of his time on the bench. At eleven, he startedevery game at second base. At the end of the season, the coaches had given Jake the trophy for Team’s Best Eleven-Year-Old. Jake put the trophy on his dresser where he could see it every day.
Now that he was twelve, Jake was looking forward to playing shortstop every inning. He’d be the leader of the Red Sox. This year was going to be his best year ever.
“Hey, here’s a couple of Red Sox,” a familiar voice said from behind the boys. “How are you guys doing?”
“Hey, Coach Sanders.”
The Red Sox coach pushed his hat back on his head as he surveyed the field. “You boys see anybody I should try to get for the team?”
“Yeah,” Jake and Ryan blurted out together. “Adam Hull.”
At the pitching area, Adam toed the rubber, went into his windup, and blistered a fastball across the center of the plate.
Coach Sanders looked down at his clipboard. “Oh yeah, I noticed him right away,” he said, reviewing his notes. “Real good infielder … can field anything … terrific arm.”
“He won his race, easy,” Ryan added.
“Maybe he could pitch or play center field,” Jake suggested. He wanted to keep shortstop for himself.
All three watched Adam whistle another pitch smack into the catcher’s mitt.
“He sure looks like a great all-around player. Maybe I can figure out a way to get him on the Red Sox.” Coach Sanders patted Jake on the shoulder and walked away. “See you boys next week at practice,” he said with a wave.
Out on the field, Adam fired one last pitch. Another strike. Jake and Ryan exchanged grins and a quick fist bump. “We could have a
really
good team this year,” Ryan said.
Jake agreed. Sitting in the soft grass and looking out over the field, he felt certain that this would be a great year, all right. This was going to be
his
year.
Chapter
2
J ake and Ryan dashed up the steps of the afternoon bus waiting at Whitman Middle School. They walked to the back amid the shouts of students and the rumble of the idling motor and grabbed their usual seats.
“I can’t believe it’s only Monday,” Ryan complained. “I don’t think I can make it through a whole week.”
“Tomorrow’s our first practice. That’ll be cool,” Jake reminded him.
“Yeah, for you,” Ryan said. “Coach Sanders will put you at shortstop. He’ll probably stick me in right field … or on the bench.”
Jake looked up and saw a tall boy in a battered Red Sox hat board the bus and slip into a seat near the front. “Hey, there’s that kid Adam,” he said to Ryan. Then he called out: “Go, Red Sox!”
A kid in the middle of the bus popped up from his seat and yelled, “Red Sox stink. Go, Yankees!” The bus erupted into boos and cheers.
“Go, Red Sox!”
“Yankees rock!”
“Yankees stink!”
The bus driver, Mrs. Dedeo, stood up. “Everybody quiet down and get into your seats. We’re about to go.”
“Hey, Adam! Adam Hull!” Jake shouted above the noise.
Adam turned around and Jake waved.
“Come on back here,” Jake called.
Adam started walking down the aisle, but not quick enough for Mrs. Dedeo. Looking into the big rearview mirror, she told him, “Get in your seat right now, young man. I’m not moving this bus until everyone is sitting down.”
Adam quickly slid into the last seat with Jake and Ryan. “Man, that lady is mean,” he said in a low voice.
“Don’t worry about her,” Jake said. “She’s always in a bad
“Want to bet?” Ryan laughed.
Jake definitely didn’t want to bet against Adam. “Yeah, you’re right. He’s a player. Wouldn’t it be cool if we got him for the team?”
“Yeah. With you at shortstop and a couple of new kids like Adam, we’ll be a lot better than last year,” Ryan said.
Jake smiled. He was twelve years old and this was his third year with the Red Sox. When he was ten, Jake had spent most of his time on the bench. At eleven, he startedevery game at second base. At the end of the season, the coaches had given Jake the trophy for Team’s Best Eleven-Year-Old. Jake put the trophy on his dresser where he could see it every day.
Now that he was twelve, Jake was looking forward to playing shortstop every inning. He’d be the leader of the Red Sox. This year was going to be his best year ever.
“Hey, here’s a couple of Red Sox,” a familiar voice said from behind the boys. “How are you guys doing?”
“Hey, Coach Sanders.”
The Red Sox coach pushed his hat back on his head as he surveyed the field. “You boys see anybody I should try to get for the team?”
“Yeah,” Jake and Ryan blurted out together. “Adam Hull.”
At the pitching area, Adam toed the rubber, went into his windup, and blistered a fastball across the center of the plate.
Coach Sanders looked down at his clipboard. “Oh yeah, I noticed him right away,” he said, reviewing his notes. “Real good infielder … can field anything … terrific arm.”
“He won his race, easy,” Ryan added.
“Maybe he could pitch or play center field,” Jake suggested. He wanted to keep shortstop for himself.
All three watched Adam whistle another pitch smack into the catcher’s mitt.
“He sure looks like a great all-around player. Maybe I can figure out a way to get him on the Red Sox.” Coach Sanders patted Jake on the shoulder and walked away. “See you boys next week at practice,” he said with a wave.
Out on the field, Adam fired one last pitch. Another strike. Jake and Ryan exchanged grins and a quick fist bump. “We could have a
really
good team this year,” Ryan said.
Jake agreed. Sitting in the soft grass and looking out over the field, he felt certain that this would be a great year, all right. This was going to be
his
year.
Chapter
2
J ake and Ryan dashed up the steps of the afternoon bus waiting at Whitman Middle School. They walked to the back amid the shouts of students and the rumble of the idling motor and grabbed their usual seats.
“I can’t believe it’s only Monday,” Ryan complained. “I don’t think I can make it through a whole week.”
“Tomorrow’s our first practice. That’ll be cool,” Jake reminded him.
“Yeah, for you,” Ryan said. “Coach Sanders will put you at shortstop. He’ll probably stick me in right field … or on the bench.”
Jake looked up and saw a tall boy in a battered Red Sox hat board the bus and slip into a seat near the front. “Hey, there’s that kid Adam,” he said to Ryan. Then he called out: “Go, Red Sox!”
A kid in the middle of the bus popped up from his seat and yelled, “Red Sox stink. Go, Yankees!” The bus erupted into boos and cheers.
“Go, Red Sox!”
“Yankees rock!”
“Yankees stink!”
The bus driver, Mrs. Dedeo, stood up. “Everybody quiet down and get into your seats. We’re about to go.”
“Hey, Adam! Adam Hull!” Jake shouted above the noise.
Adam turned around and Jake waved.
“Come on back here,” Jake called.
Adam started walking down the aisle, but not quick enough for Mrs. Dedeo. Looking into the big rearview mirror, she told him, “Get in your seat right now, young man. I’m not moving this bus until everyone is sitting down.”
Adam quickly slid into the last seat with Jake and Ryan. “Man, that lady is mean,” he said in a low voice.
“Don’t worry about her,” Jake said. “She’s always in a bad
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