Bases Loaded Read Online Free Page A

he could at the last pitch.
    â€œStrike three, batter’s out,” the ump shouted. Our fans cheered. Carlos’s dad yelled something in Spanish. I assumed he was cheering. Grandpa followed by screaming “Muy bien!” and then high-fived Carlos’s dad.
    â€œTime-out,” Graham said to the ump. He got up and headed toward the pitcher’s mound.
    â€œGraham, what are you doing? I’m throwing great,” I said.
    â€œI just wanted to ask if you’ve seen the girls.” He glanced over toward our fans on the small, wooden bleachers. “Kelly said she would be here.”
    â€œI haven’t seen them. But who cares? We’re having a great game,” I said.
    â€œI know, I just thought I would ask, since you can probably see better from up here on the pitcher’s mound,” Graham said. “Plus, it makes the batter think we’re doing something sneaky when I come out here.”
    â€œLet’s go,” yelled the ump.
    â€œOkay, okay,” Graham said, smiling. “Smile like we have something up our sleeves,” he whispered to me before he walked back to the plate.
    I tried to smile, but it was hard. For some reason, if I try to smile when I don’t feel like smiling, it always comes out weird. Graham got down behind the plate and gave me a sign for a curveball or something. I shook my head and waited for the fastball sign. Then something broke my concentration.
    â€œAre you all right, Raymond?” I heard my mom yell, standing up in the bleachers. “You look like you don’t feel well!” My dad pulled her down to her seat.
    Oh man, I thought. I knew my fake smile looked weird. I stopped smiling and gave a little thumbs-up to my mom. She smiled, and everything was back to normal.
    My first two pitches to the next batter were really bad, but he swung at both of them. His coach yelled at him to swing at only the good ones. Finally, I got one over the plate, and the batter watched it fly by without swinging.

    â€œStrike three!” the ump called, sending the kid to his dugout.
    The next guy hit a hard line drive right to our shortstop, who caught the ball for the last out.
    â€œYes!” I hissed under my breath. “Three up, three down. No problem.” Things were looking good.

4
    Coach Gramps
    â€œTHAT WAS GREAT work in the field, boys. Now we need some hits!” Coach Parker told us. Then he walked out of the dugout and stood in front of the bleachers. “Could I get a volunteer to help coach first base?” he asked the crowd. Zach’s dad usually helps coach, but with Zach out, he wasn’t there. All the parents looked around at each other, but no one raised a hand.
    â€œI’ll do it!” came a scratchy voice from the back of the stands. It sounded like Gramps. I stood up and looked back. Not only did it sound like Gramps, it was Gramps.
    â€œNice, your grandpa’s going to help. I love that old dude,” Graham said.
    â€œYeah, me too,” I agreed. “It’s just that you never know what he’s going to say or do.”
    â€œI know.” Graham grinned. “That’s why I like him.”
    Gramps looked excited to help. He had told me a zillion stories about when he played baseball back in the olden days.
    â€œHi, Gramps,” I said as he came around the fence.
    â€œThat’s ‘Coach’ to you, sonny,” he said, passing me. He grabbed a hat from the bench and adjusted it to fit his bald head.
    â€œHey, that’s my hat,” Kevin complained. He had just set his hat down to put on a batting helmet. Gramps didn’t answer and walked straight out to coach first base.
    The umpire got back into position behind the catcher.
    â€œBatter up.”
    Kevin walked up to the plate, took a few practice swings, and waited for the throw. He swung and hit the first pitch. The third baseman threw the ball. It was close.
    â€œOut!” came the official