The 823rd Hit Read Online Free Page A

box, not a binder. I flipped through it, looking for Cubs. I nearly missed Andy Pafko because on the card he was a Brooklyn Dodger. The front of the card called him Andy Pafko, and the back called him Andrew. I also noticed a big number one inside the baseball graphic on the back. That made it the first card in the series for that year.
    It was a cool card. I definitely didn’t want to trade it. I never traded my cards, anyway. I especially never traded the ones that used to belong to Grandpa or Uncle Rick. Sometimes I gave them away and sometimes I lent them to people, but that was different. I didn’t want to trade this one. It was fun to think about what I
could
trade it for, though. I could make Casey wear a Porcupines’ cap for a year. I could make him go to a game against the Rogues and cheer for the Pines. Maybe I could get him to wear a Pines’ cap for a day just to let him see the card.
    I cackled like an evil supervillain in a movie.

he Porcupines came home for the last weekend of the regular season. According to Dad, Friday counted as a school night, so I couldn’t work. I made up for it by getting to the ballpark early on Saturday. I even made coffee. The coffee machine used to scare me, but I got over that.
    Teddy Larrabee was the first player to show up. He helped himself to a cup of coffee.
    â€œDid you have a good birthday?” I asked him.
    â€œThe guys took me out for pizza,” he said.“But I’m still pretty bummed about losing that ball.”
    â€œYeah, that’s a drag.” I could have told him that I had found the guy who caught it, but what was the point? Uncle Marvin would never sell the ball.
    â€œMaybe you miscounted?” I suggested. “Maybe you counted one hit twice or forgot one? You can’t be sure that ball was exactly number eight hundred twenty-three, not if you started counting when you were in T-ball.”
    â€œYes, I can,” Teddy said. “Because I wrote ’em all down.” He pointed at his notebook. “I’ve been keeping track.”
    â€œReally? Even when you were a kid?”
    â€œYep.”
    He handed me the notebook. It was the spiral-bound kind, with the narrow line spacing that teachers seemed to like. On the first page the printing was big and loopy like a little kid’s writing.

    May 7. Today I got a hit!
    May 13. I got another hit!
    I flipped through the notebook pages. The handwriting gradually got smaller and neater as Teddy grew up. Every page was full of base hits. About halfway through he had started adding other info: the inning, the opposing team, the pitcher’s name, what the game situation was, and what happened next.
    July 17. 2B off Cole Robinson of Somerset. 3rd inning, one out, nobody on. Left on base.
    Even with more than 800 hits, Teddy hadn’t gotten through the first section of the notebook. I flipped to the last entry in the book. It was hit number 823.
    â€œYou haven’t gotten a hit since your birthday?” That was like six or seven straight games without a hit.
    â€œNope,” Teddy answered. “Ever since I lost that lucky baseball, I’ve been in the worst slump. I was hoping that you could look for that fan who caught it? He might be sitting in the same section today. Maybe I can cut a deal.”
    â€œActually, I already did find him,” I said, and I told him about Uncle Marvin. “He’s been waiting sixty years for that ball. He won’t trade it for anything.”
    â€œI respect that,” said Teddy. “I just hope I can break out of this slump without the ball.”
    â€œOf course you can,” I told him.
    â€œI sure hope so,” he said. “I have a lot of blank pages in that notebook. I plan on filling them all before I’m done.”
    â€¢ • •
    Teddy was zero for four that day. Grumps, the Pines’ manager, took him out for a pinch hitter in the seventh inning. The next day, Grumps put