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dad and I just moved here from St. Louis.”
    She pinches up her face. “Penelope Prim.”
    â€œNice to meet you.”
    I look at the dog. “You can come if you want.”
    The dog leans forward, but doesn’t come.
    Walt walks around from the backyard. “I still can’t get the Realtor.”
    I point to the open door.
    â€œHow do you do these things, Jer?”
    I show him the straightened paper clip.
    He carries his suitcase inside. “I’m grateful you use your gifts for good.”

Chapter
6

    HARGIE CANTWELL HAS a sting in his slider. It whizzes and dunks past the batter for the Temple High School Tigers, who stands there, clueless.
    â€œStrike three!” the umpire calls.
    The crowd in the Hornets’ stadium goes crazy and makes a loud buzzing sound. People wearing Hornets hats shake their heads to make the stingers bounce.
    Hargie’s struck out the last two batters with only seven pitches. That’s impressive. It’s the sixth inning.
    â€œHe’s a big kid,” Walt says, “but he’s going to blow out his arm at those speeds.”
    Walt pitched in college, but his arm didn’t hold up.
    Wham!
Another strike.
    Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
    We stand up, we sit down.
    Let’s go, Hornets!
    clap clap
    clap clap clap
    Turns out Hargie Cantwell can hit, too. He sits on a three-one fastball and whacks it into the stands for a two-run homer.
    â€œThat kid is something,” Walt says.
    I grin at Walt. It is so amazing to be here.
    Behind us, two men talk about the Hornets catcher being suspended because he insulted the Spanish teacher. I don’t know if the insult was in Spanish or English, but the principal sent him home for a week, and that meant he couldn’t play on opening day.
    One man says, “You know what that principal told Coach Perkins?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThat woman said baseball wasn’t as important as respectful behavior. Can you imagine that?”
    â€œThey’ll remember it when her contract’s up for renewal.”
    Walt and I look at each other.
    I see Franny in the crowd, cheering, twirling a GO HORNETS towel.
    I wish I could play. I used to play when I was little. Third base. Shortstop.
    I’m still hoping medical science is going to figure me out.
    Aunt Charity wanted me to write a three-paragraph essay about that. I didn’t need three paragraphs to talk about it. I only had one thing to say:
    I deal with it.
    The End
    In the margin, she wrote:
Jeremiah, you do indeed deal with it. I give you an A+ for courage and an Incomplete on content, which, believe me, is generous.
    I rewrote it in three paragraphs, but I basically said the same thing.
    â—†Â â—†Â â—†
    The Hornets have a huge lead: 11–2. In the final inning Hargie throws his glove down and starts screaming when a kid from the Tigers drives in a run. Hargie is stomping and fuming on the mound like he’s lost the game. The catcher runs up and tries to calm him down; the coach runs up, puts his arm around Hargie,and talks to him for a while. He throws some out-of-control pitches, but then he settles down and finishes the inning. The Hornets win 11–3.
    After the game, I try to find Franny, but she’s disappeared into the crowd. Walt and I stand in line and finally get into Junk Ball Pizza—this is only okay pizza, but it seems to be the place to go after the game. A few of the Hornets come in and people applaud them like superstars. There’s a special booth with a sign: ALWAYS RESERVED FOR COACH PERKINS . No one is sitting there.
    We head home. We pull up our driveway and walk inside the house to the kitchen. Walt leans against the refrigerator. He does this when his back hurts. He straightens himself against the door.
    A loud motorcycle goes down the street; we hear what sounds like our neighbor Mrs. Prim shout, “Hargie Cantwell, if you don’t slow down on that blasted