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around when his folks were, like Mr. Baruth?
    Coach Corbin was calling for attention when Sylvester reached the diamond. Trent, Duane, and Kirk were sitting together. But
     when Duane looked at him with narrowed eyes, Sylvester swallowed hard and sat someplace else.
    Coach Corbin boomed, “We have our first game this Saturday. Some of you will be away, celebrating the Fourth, but we'll have
     enough players to make a team. Here's the roster.”
    He consulted his clipboard. “Burk Riley on the mound. Eddie Exton at catcher. First base, A. C. Compton. Bus, you're at second,with Trent at short. For third base, Duane. Leon, right field. Center field …”
    Sylvester wasn't sure, but he thought the coach hesitated for a moment before saying … Coddmyer. Kirk, left field. When the
     rest of you return after the Fourth, we'll shift things around.”
    He put his clipboard away and clapped his hands. “Take your positions. Everyone else, line up to bat. Your teammates need
     lots of fielding practice today.”
    Sylvester and the others hustled onto the field.
    “Here we go, Burk, send it right on past him!” Trent yelled. “Look alive, guys, ready for that ball!”
    “No batter, no batter, no batter, no batter!” Duane chanted.
    Syl thumped his fist into his glove but kept quiet.
    Rick Wilson was up first. He had a surprisingly strong swing for a pitcher. Even so, he missed the first two pitches.
    “Come on, we want some hits!” A. C. called from first base. “We need the —”
    Pow!
Rick clobbered the next pitch right at A. C. Then A. C. lifted his glove. The ball socked into it with a satisfying
pop
.
    “Next!” A. C. joked as he threw the ball back to Burk.
    Rod Piper approached the plate. Burk zipped in three pitches for two strikes and one foul. Rod connected for a blooper over
     the mound on the fourth pitch. The ball bounced toward shortstop. Trent charged forward, scooped it up, and tossed the ball
     to A. C. for the out.
    “Next!” A. C. repeated loudly. Everyone laughed.
    Their laughter died quickly when the nextbatter, a stocky boy named Stan Falls, blasted Burk's first pitch high in the air between left and center fields.
    Syl immediately started running for it. So did Kirk.
    “I've got it!” Kirk yelled as they neared the spot where the ball was dropping.
    Syl slowed to avoid a collision. Suddenly, his foot caught on something in the grass. He pitched forward, arms out to break
     his fall.
    “Oof!” He hit the turf at Kirk's feet. Kirk jumped to keep from stepping on him. Meanwhile, the ball fell out of the sky and
—plop! —
landed in Syl's outstretched glove.
    Syl got up amidst scattered laughter. “Well, that catch has to be one for the record books!” he said, turning with a grin
     toward Kirk.
    But Kirk wasn't grinning back. He was scowling. “Record books, huh? Is that all youthink about, getting into the record books? Yeah, I'll bet it is.” He spun away.
    Sylvester stood stock-still. Any doubt he had had that Kirk knew about his cheap shot and dirty plays was completely gone.
     And in its place was another emotion: dread.

14
    S ylvester felt sick. Kirk clearly thought he was a dishonest player, out for glory at any cost. And if he'd told Duane and
     Trent about his cheating, then they did, too.
    I wish something would happen to end practice right now
, he thought miserably.
    Even as that thought crossed his mind, dark storm clouds appeared overhead. Ten minutes later, the sky opened up and unleashed
     a torrent of rain. Most of the Hawks took cover in the dugout, but Syl dashed across the field toward home. Somehow, he didn't
     think he'd be welcome in the dugout.
    Syl slowed his pace when he spotted a bench. He sat down, took off his baseball cap, and leaned forward onto his elbows. Rain
     dripped through his hair and down his nose, but he was so deep in thought he barely noticed.
    If I could just go back in time, I'd never listen to that rotten Cheeko's advice. Maybe I wouldn't have