The Submarine Pitch by Matt Christopher Page A

Dave,” AnnMarie greeted him. “Heard you were in New York?”
    Dave Grant smiled. “I was. But that was just over Sunday to see the Mets game. Dad had to be back to work today.” He looked
     at the clipping in AnnMarie s hand. “Hey, that looks like something out of an old newspaper. Anything important?”
    “It’s a clipping I found in a drawer of a vanity I just bought,” AnnMarie explained. “I was about to call up the woman I bought
     it from and ask her if she wants it back. Maybe it dropped out of a scrapbook or something. Excuse me.”
    As she started out of the room Bernie saw Dave open his mouth as if he were going to call to her, but then he closed it and
     looked at Bernie. A sheepish grin came over his face.
    “Hey, man,” he said. “That was quite a game I saw. I hope you can come with us sometime.”
    Dave’s acting kind of peculiar. Does he have a secret with AnnMarie?
thought Bernie.
    “I might, sometime,” he answered, frowning. Ever since the major league baseball season had opened, Dave and his father had
     gone to New York City to see games. They had gone to Syracuse to see International League games, too. Apparently Mr. Grant
     enjoyed baseball as much as his son did, although he seldom talked about it in Bernie s presence.
    Bernie studied Dave’s face; his friend’swarm blue eyes looked restless. Something seemed to be bothering Dave, that was sure.
    Dave lived four blocks away and he was Bernie’s best friend. They were in the same grade at Lake Center School and shared
     similar interests: fossil collecting, weird comic books, and horror movies.
    “You in trouble?” Bernie asked. After being friends for two years, you can tell when something’s bothering a guy.
    Dave shook his head. “Trouble? No. Why?” His phony smile made Bernie even more suspicious.
    Bernie shrugged. “I don’t know. You kind of look as if something’s bothering you.”
    Dave forced a chuckle. Bernie was pretty sure now that he was right — something
was
bothering Dave. Well, maybe it was something personal. Something Dave didn’t want to tell him about.
    In a minute AnnMarie came back into the room, Frankie close behind her.
    “Know what?” she said casually. “Mrs. Hudson doesn’t know a thing about this clipping.”
    Bernie looked at her. If Mrs. Hudson didn’t know a thing about the clipping, how could it have gotten into the vanity?
    “Well,” AnnMarie said, “I won’t have to return it, so that saves a trip over to Douglas Street.”
    Hardly were the words out of her mouth when she turned toward Dave. Her blue eyes fastened on him.
    “Dave, you must know the Hudsons,” she said. “They’re your neighbors.”
    He blushed and then nodded. “Yeah, that’s right,” he said. “They live four doors from us.”
    Bernie suddenly got an idea about theclipping’s origin. He poked a finger gently into Dave’s ribs. “Buddy boy,” he said, “is there an itty-bitty chance that
you
know how that clipping got into Mrs. Hudson’s vanity?”
    The smile flickered on Dave’s face. “I guess it’s no use for me to keep my mouth shut any longer, is it?”
    Bernie shook his head. “No, it isn’t. I thought you were acting kind of funny. I read that clipping, Dave. A part of it, anyway.
     It won’t work. Frankie’s been trying to get me back into pitching, too. I won’t do it. I’m through.”
    “But you didn’t read the
whole
clipping, Bernie,” said Frankie from the doorway. “You didn’t come to the most important part.”
    Bernie looked at him. “Most important part? What was that?”
    “About the pitch,” replied Frankie, steppingforward as if he were glad for the chance to participate in the conversation. “There’s something about that submarine pitch
     that’s really weird.”
    “Oh?” Bernie’s eyebrows went up a notch. “What do you mean? How can a pitch be weird?”
    AnnMarie handed him back the clipping. “Here,” she said. “Maybe you’ll learn more about it