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room, out onto the concourse, and around to the Porcupines’ side of the ballpark. I found the gum removal kit first, then ran into the locker room and grabbed my binder.
    Wally caught me.
    â€œWhat are you doing here during the game?”
    I was breathing too hard to talk. I made like I was chewing gum, pretended to spit it out and stick it on my own cap, then showed him the spray bottle and scraper.
    â€œFine, fine. Get back there.”
    â€¢ • •
    I went to work cleaning Grankowski’s cap.
    I remembered my interview with Wally.
    Sometimes being a batboy is fun, he’d told me, and sometimes it isn’t. He could have added, sometimes it’s sticky and gross.
    â€œYou shouldn’t have to do that,” said Brian Somerset.
    â€œIt’s no big deal,” I said. “Hey, can you sign a card for me?” I pointed at the binder. “It’s on the fourth page.”
    â€œNo problem.” He found the card and slipped it out, signed it, and put it back. “Nice collection,” he said.
    â€œI have a lot more at home,” I bragged.
    I finished de-gumming the cap and gave it back to Grankowski.
    â€œYou’re a hero,” he said.
    The half-inning ended, and the Humdingers went back out to the field. I got my binder to see what Brian Somerset had written on the card.
    â€œFor a super batboy from a former batboy!” it said. It was now one of my favorite cards of all time. I decided to move it up front, but I wondered which card to move to make room. I looked carefully at the first page in my binder.
    Bill Buckner’s card was there. It was one of the cards Uncle Rick had given me. I could see on the card that Buckner’s fielding stats were fine. It wasn’t fair that he was known for one lousy play. Right next to Buckner’s card was a card for Rafael Furcal. The back of Furcal’s card said he once turned a triple play all by himself. That’s why Iput his card in my binder. There’s nothing as rare in baseball as an unassisted triple play. It’s only happened fifteen times in the major leagues so far.
    The funny thing was, Furcal had a lot of errors in his stats. He was a good fielder, but he also made a lot of mistakes. He was the opposite of Bill Buckner. Furcal would always be known for one great defensive play.
    Victor Snapp made an announcement: “Kids who want to run the bases after the game, sign up with our new junior mascot, Spike, on the concourse in section E!”
    The announcement sent hordes of young kids running to the stairs. It sounded like a herd of very small buffalo stampeding overhead.
    â€œBe right back,” I said to the Humdingers in the dugout. I slipped Furcal’s baseball card into my front pocket and set off to find Spike the Porcupine.
    â€¢ • •
    Little kids crowded around Spike. The junior mascot had a clipboard and wrote down names, but there were so many kids shouting at him that he couldn’t keep up. He held up a single finger to mean “one at a time.” A kid grabbed his hand and tried to bite it.
    I waded through the crowd. “Excuse me. Excuse me,” I said. “Official Porcupines business.” I pointed at my uniform to show them I was with the team.
    â€œYou’ve got food on your shirt!” one kid reminded me.
    â€œI know. Excuse me.”
    â€œPsst,”
I said to the junior mascot. “
Psst
, Abby.”
    She couldn’t hear me whisper over the mob.
    â€œHey, Abby!” I shouted.
    That got the little porcupine’s attention.
    â€œChad? I can’t talk when I’m in costume,” Abby said. “Wait a minute—how did you know it was me?”
    â€œLucky guess . . . and I remembered what you said about your job on the last day of school. Can you please do me a favor? Go to the Pines’ dugout and give this to Mike Stammer.” I gave Abby the Rafael Furcal baseball card.
    â€œMike