It was five minutes before midnight and the bottom of the ninth inning, and I was about to break a promise.
I was a batboy for the Pine City Porcupines. When I took the job, I promised my parents I would try to be home by ten o'clock and would never work past midnight. "That's just too late for a boy your age," Dad had said.
But there had been a rain delay and the game started late. The Porcupines were tied with the Attica Finches, 3-3. If the Porcupines didn't score here, the game would go into extra innings.
I'd also made a life-long promise to my uncle Rick that I would never leave a baseball game before it was over. Uncle Rick took me to a game when I was six. The Porcupines fell behind by ten runs, and I wanted to go home. "If you leave early, you might miss a thrilling comeback," he'd told me. "You might miss a walk-off home run. Never leave before the last out, Chad."
"I won't," I told him, and I meant it. The Porcupines ended up losing that game, but they did get a grand slam in the eighth inning. We would have missed it if we hadn't stuck around.
Tonight there was no way to keep both promises unless the Pines scored really soon.
Victor Snapp's deep voice boomed over the speakers. "Now batting: the designated hitter, Sssssammy Sssssolarisss!" Victor Snapp had been the announcer for the Pine City Porcupines since before I was born. He was my idol. I wanted to be a baseball announcer when I grew up.
"Come on, Sammy!" I shouted. Sammy was the best hitter on the team.
He swung at the first pitch. The ball sailed into the outfield. The Finches' center fielder ran after it.
"It's a gapper!" said Victor Snapp. He said that whenever a ball got between two outfielders. My heart nearly leaped out of my chest.
The ball hit the fence and rolled back toward the outfielder. Sammy took a big turn at first base, then stopped.
I went to fetch the bat.
"Solaris stretched that double into a single!" I heard someone shout. It had to be Ernie Hecker. Ernie had the biggest mouth in Pine City, and he always shouted stuff at the players and umpires. This time he was right. Most baseball players would have reached second base easily on a hit like that.
Sammy took his lead off first. The pitcher didn't even look at him. There was no way Sammy would try to steal a base.
"Now batting: the first baseman, Teddddddddy Larrrrrabeeeee!" Victor Snapp announced.
Teddy hit the ball hard, and it sailed to the right field corner. The outfielder caught it. Sammy took a couple of steps toward second, then changed his mind and stayed at first.
The crowd groaned again. Most runners would have tagged up and advanced a base.
"Now batting: the right fielder, Danny O'Brien!" Victor announced.
Sammy must have heard the crowd boo, because he did something crazy. The pitcher threw an off-speed pitch to Danny, and Sammy took off. He kicked up a cloud of dust and started toward second.
Danny didn't swing. The catcher threw the ball to second. The second baseman took two steps off the base to catch it. He ran back to the base and tagged Sammy.
Sammy was out by a mile.
"I could have stolen that base from up here!" Ernie Hecker shouted.
"Sammy Solaris is caught stealing!" said Victor Snapp. "And so we head to the tenth inning."
Sammy returned to the dugout and slumped onto the bench.
"Good try, Sammy," I told him.
"Nice of you to say that," he said.
"I didn't signal for you to steal a base," said the Pines' manager. His name was Harry Humboldt, but everybody called him Grumps. "You'll know when I do, because it'll be never. That's when it'll happen. Never."
"Ah, come on. I just thought I'd get into scoring position," Sammy replied.
I missed the rest of their talk because Wally tugged on my sleeve. "You got a phone call."
Wally was the clubhouse manager. He was my boss.
"Thanks. It's probably my dad. I'll have to go home."
"That'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.
"I'm waiting out in front," said Dad. "Are you ready?"
"I just have to change."
"Hey, ask Dylan if he wants a ride too," said Dad.
"Sure."
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.
"See 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.
"Hey." I nudged his elbow.
"Shh." Dylan pointed at something.
I scanned the infield and didn't see anything unusual.
"What?"
"It'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.
"It's just a bug," I said.
"It's not a bug. It's a spider," said Dylan.
"Spiders are bugs."
"Not exactly. They're arachnids. Bugs are insects. Hey, look. It's spinning a web."
"Great," I said. "Wally said we should go home. My dad will give you a ride."
"Thanks," Dylan replied. "I want to stay and watch. I can call my parents later."
"I thought baseball bored you."
Dylan had admitted that when we first started working for the Porcupines.
"I mean watch that," he said. He nodded at the spider.
"Of course."
I knew Dylan liked animals, but did a spider count as an animal?
