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of the Royals.
    Their cleanup hitter was up. Already he had knocked out two doubles.
    Anxiously, Don Drake looked toward the dugout at Coach Day.
    “Pitch to him, Don,” said the coach.
    Chico backed up in left field. Louie Carlo stepped back, deeper in center. This batter was a long-ball hitter. If he met the
     ball squarely, it would go.
    Chico waited.

11
    C
rack!
    The sound of the bat connecting with the ball was like a shot. The white pill streaked out to deep left, curving toward the
     foul line.
    “It’s going over the fence!” someone in the bleachers yelled. “It’s a homer!”
    Chico raced back. Near the fence, he turned and looked over his shoulder. The ball was coming down a few feet inside fair
     territory. It was over his head.
    He leapt high.
Smack!
The ball struck the pocket of his glove and stayed there.
    Chico trotted in with the ball. His heart hammered with triumph. Ahead of him, his teammates were jumping with joy. Fans were
     cheering.
    “Beautiful catch, Chico! Nice leap!”
    “You saved the game for us, Chico!” Coach Day’s eyes and face were bright as Chico approached. “Best catch I’ve seen in months!”
    “Thank you, Coach,” Chico said. And then he stood there while every member of the team shook his hand. String was last in
     line. He gripped Chico’s hand lightly, then let go.
    Chico was sure that String shook his hand only because the others did.
    That night Buddy came to visit Chico. They went over the list of batting averages. String was leading with a whopping .397.
     Buddy’s average was .388, Chico’s .297.
    “String is a much better hitter than eitherof us,” said Chico. “I wish I could hit as well as he does.”
    “Who doesn’t?” said Buddy.
    Chico thought about it awhile. “I’ll try harder,” he said finally. “Maybe if I hit better, String won’t make fun of me so
     much. I know he doesn’t like me.”
    “Oh, sure he does,” said Buddy. “That’s just his way, Chico. He’s always ragging on people.”
    Chico shrugged. He remembered how lightly String had gripped his hand that afternoon. “Maybe,” he said.
    Nevertheless, he made up his mind to use a different bat. Maybe he couldn’t beat String’s average, but it wouldn’t hurt to
     try.
    On Monday the Royals played the Colts. When Chico batted, he gripped the long, yellow wood near the knob and swung at the
     pitches with all his might. The bat was aninch longer than the one he had used in previous games. It was the same size String and some of the bigger boys were using.
    But the bat didn’t help Chico. He struck out.
    The next time he was up, he hit a dribbling grounder to the pitcher. He made a shoestring catch of a fly ball, though, which
     kept the Colts from scoring two runs. The Royals squeezed through with a win, 8 to 7.
    Chico went without a hit.
    The next game was a rematch against the Lions. Chico used the same long bat. He was sure he’d clout the ball today. Just one
     pitch — the right one — was all it would take to blast it over the fence.
    But Chico didn’t clout the ball. He hardly touched it. He went down swinging twice.
    “C’mon, Chico!” yelled String. “Quit aiming for that fence! You’ll never hit it then!”
    Chico blushed.
    On top of his poor showing at the plate, he also missed a high fly in the field that accounted for one of the Lions’ runs.
     It was a bad day for Chico. Coach Day took him out in the fourth inning and put in Louie Carlo.
    “You’re trying too hard at the plate, Chico,” said the coach. “You’re too tense.”
    Chico, though, knew what his trouble was better than anyone.

12
    T he Lions blasted Frankie off the mound in the fifth inning. Don Drake held them to three hits, but the Lions were roaring.
     They took home the win, 9 to 3.
    Perhaps, thought Chico, he had better not use the long yellow bat anymore. He would use the one he always batted with. Even
     though he’d never socked a homer with it, he had been able to get hits.