The Home Run Kid Races On Read Online Free PDF Page B

it’ll
     go for a base hit—if it’s done right, of course.”
    He drew a batter’s box in the dirt by home plate and stepped inside with his feet near the top of the rectangle. “Assume your
     normal stance, but stand closer to the pitcher. When he commits to his pitch, square off, slide your hands apart, and because
     you’re a righty, point the barrel at first. Aim to knock the ball down the third baseline. After the hit, run like a demon
     is chasing you.”
    With that, Mr. Teacy handed the bat back to Syl. Then he threw a ball to Mr. Baruth on the mound and called, “On my signal.”
    Mr. Baruth waved to show he understood.
    Mr. Teacy backed away from the plate. “You ready?”
    “Wait!” Syl’s mind was whirling with all the information Mr. Teacy had thrown at him. “I’m not sure I remember —”
    “The only way you’re going to get this is to do it!” Mr. Teacy shouted. “So get into your batting stance!”
    Syl snapped his mouth shut, stepped to the front of the batter’s box, and hefted Mr. Teacy’s bat over his right shoulder.
     His heart hammered so hard in his chest he thought it would burst.
    “Pitch!” Mr. Teacy suddenly yelled.
    Mr. Baruth coiled into his windup and threw. Syl turned forward, slid his hands down the bat, and held the barrel out toward
     the incoming ball.
    Clunk!
    “Ow!” Instead of the ball hitting the wood, it hit Syl’s thumb!

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    S yl dropped the bat and danced around, shaking his injured hand and grimacing in pain.
    Mr. Teacy snatched the bat from the ground. “Don’t you even know how to hold the bat during a bunt? Your fingers and thumb
     pinch the barrel top and bottom, they don’t wrap around it!”
    He shoved the bat back into Syl’s hands. “But I guess you won’t forget that again, will you? Now get back into the batter’s
     box and try again.”
    Syl felt like a fool. Of course Coach Corbin had taught him the proper grip for a bunt; he’d just forgotten. But he doubted
     Mr. Teacy would believe him. The man clearly didn’t think the coach knew anything!
    “You all right, Syl?” Mr. Baruth called from the mound.
    “He’s fine.” Mr. Teacy threw the ball back to the pitcher. “Get in your stance,” he growled at Syl.
    Syl did, although a big part of him wanted to hop on his bike and pedal away. Then he glanced at Mr. Baruth, who gave him
     a thumbs-up and a smile. He smiled back and shouldered the bat.
    Mr. Teacy leaned forward, hands on his knees. “Pitch!”
    In came the ball. This time when Syl stepped around, his hands were in the proper bunting grip.
Thock!
He hit the ball with the bat this time—and cringed the moment he did. Instead of sending the ball bounding through the grass,
     he’d popped it into the air, just like he had in practice the day before.
    Mr. Teacy darted forward and caught it. Glaring at Syl, he opened his mouth to speak.
    But this time, it was Syl who cut him off. “I know!” he shouted. “I hit the ball with the top part of the barrel, not the
     bottom! That’s why it went up instead of down! I’m sorry, okay?”
    Syl was certain Mr. Teacy would tear into him for his outburst. Instead, Mr. Teacy gave a slow smile. “So, there’s a fire
     in that belly of yours after all! Good. Just be sure to direct that energy at the other team. Ready to go again?”
    Sylvester felt his anger fizzle until all that remained was determination. He lifted the bat over his shoulder, bent into
     his stance, and aimed a steely-eyed stare at Mr. Baruth. “I’m ready,” he said.
    And to his amazement, he
was
ready. Mr. Baruth hurled pitch after pitch. Syl hit several drag bunts in a row with success. When he did mishit one, he
     corrected his mistakes and hit the next few right. After half an hour, he was breathing hard—and Mr. Teacy was nodding with
     great satisfaction.
    “Not bad, Coddmyer,” he said. “Go get a drink and then come back so we can move on to the next lesson.”
    “Next lesson?” Syl looked at him with