Baseball Great Read Online Free Page A

them into every hole the infield had.
    The next pitch came in with heat, right down the pipe, Esch trying to burn one past. Josh jumped all over it, driving it over the left-field fence. Coach Miller let a low whistle escape his puckered lips. Josh glanced at him and tried not to smile.
    â€œLet’s see you put it past him again,” Coach Miller said to Esch.
    The pitcher threw three more fastballs in a row, and Josh put every one of them over the fence.
    â€œI don’t suppose you can bunt,” Coach Miller said, almost under his breath.
    Josh dribbled the next two pitches down the third-base line, stepping expertly in front of the pitch, his hands gingerly holding the bat as if it were a big potato chip.
    Up in the bleachers, Jaden was on her feet, clapping politely at the show. Josh and Coach Miller grinned at each other.
    That’s when Josh’s dad stepped out from behind the dugout. He wore a short leather coat. His hands werejammed into the pockets, and his face was darkened by unshaven stubble. He gave Josh a look that meant business and said, “Nice hitting, Son, but get your glove and come with me.”
    â€œDad?” Josh asked. “Why?”
    â€œI said, get your glove,” his father growled through clenched teeth. “When I say do something, you don’t ask why.”
    Josh dropped the bat and scooped up his glove, his eyes on the ground as he shuffled toward the dugout.
    â€œMr. LeBlanc,” Coach Miller said, his voice sounding high and weak, almost apologetic, “Josh can’t just leave. This first week of practice is to see who makes the team.”
    â€œWell, that’s nice,” Josh’s father said, turning his redrimmed eyes on Coach Miller, “but Josh doesn’t need to make your team. He’s not playing.”

CHAPTER NINE
    JOSH FELT LIKE A dog bone.
    His dad was a pit bull, and he chewed and chewed.
    Josh just sat there in the passenger seat, listening, knowing that he shouldn’t have questioned his father, especially in front of another adult and especially when his father’s pursuit of a lifelong dream had come to a grinding halt.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Josh said for the fourth time. “I’m sorry.”
    His father stared at the road, teeth clenched, hands white-knuckled on the wheel, driving steadily toward a place he hadn’t yet revealed. It took a few minutes, but finally his thick eyebrows relaxed, his teeth disappeared behind his lips, and he took a deep breath that sounded like the filling of a big propane tank.
    His father let the breath go and said, “Okay.”
    Now Josh waited, knowing not to ask. They got onto the highway and headed east, through the city and away from Onondaga Lake.
    â€œYou got talent, Josh,” his father said. “Not just banging the ball around for some chump school team, real talent. When I was your age, no one did squat for me. My old man was a drunk. The only thing he cared about baseball was that they’d bring a beer and some peanuts to you right in your seat. No one trained me. No one told me anything.”
    Josh’s father nodded, and he looked over at Josh as if Josh should know exactly where this was all leading.
    â€œYou know what I mean?” his father asked.
    â€œKind of,” Josh said, not wanting to sound completely stupid but having no idea.
    â€œYeah,” his father said, returning his attention to the road and getting off the highway and onto a boulevard lined with offices, shopping centers, and chain restaurants. “Look at that.”
    Up the boulevard and off to the right, back near the highway, stood an enormous white bubble that looked like a snow-covered hill.
    â€œUsed to be an indoor tennis place,” his father said, pulling in and taking the long driveway that cut between a Sam’s Club and Raymour’s Furniture. “They went belly-up three years ago. That’s when Rocky Valentinetook over. You heard