Hit It All The Way To Toledo!

By Lorie Brallier

Eleven-year-old JJ loves baseball, but ever since his dad died, he feels like he's fallen under an evil curse. As hard as he tries, his game is off, and then his mom takes him away from all his friends and moves him to a little town in Ohio where baseball is king. After striking out for the hundredth time, he's backed up against the playground fence and told by Calvin-the-Creep, and the rest of the Hotshots, that they'd rather have a dead frog on their team instead of him, and then things get worse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Aug 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798765243176

Lorie Brallier

Lorie Brallier is the author of eight fast paced action adventure novels for Kids and Young Adults. Hit It All The Way To Toledo won the most promising manuscript at the SCBWI-LA writers day conference, and also won first place at the Central Coast Writer's day conference, winning the Lillian Dean award.

Book preview

Copyright © 2023 Lorie Brallier.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by

any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system

without the written permission of the author except in the case of

brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Balboa Press

A Division of Hay House

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.balboapress.com

844-682-1282

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or

links contained in this book may have changed since publication and

may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those

of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher,

and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN: 979-8-7652-4316-9 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-7652-4318-3 (hc)

ISBN: 979-8-7652-4317-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023911488

Balboa Press rev. date: 07/31/2023

Hit It All The Way To Toledo, is dedicated to all children who have lost a parent and now struggle to regain their balance

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book couldn’t have been written without the advice and welcome help of the following people:

Steve Mustain, whose knowledge and expertise about the sport of baseball guided me from start to finish.

Emily Allis, who created the perfect book cover.

For my long-standing critique group who guided me along the way, and didn’t hesitate to point out my writing nits and flaws.

But a special thanks goes to my children, Shelly who not only edited my work, but gave her time to read and critique my stories along with Sue, and to my son David and his wife Robyn, who backed my work.

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

One

27316.png

Lou Gehrig of the New York Yankees

"The ballplayer who loses his head, who can’t keep

his cool is worse than no ballplayer at all."

I stood at home plate, held the bat high and tried to look ready. I was anything but. Today was only my third game with the Hotshots and my mouth had gone dry. Worse, my legs started to tremble. Great, now everyone would know I was scared. I hate being the new kid.

The ball whizzed by. I swung like I was blindfolded, like a guy whose brain had disconnected from his body.

Steerike one! yelled the ump.

Cheers exploded from the Firecracker fans, and my gut clenched. If I didn’t get a hit for the Hotshots, my teammates would be mad enough to stuff this bat down my throat. Heck, I’d be lucky if they didn’t kick me out of the sixth grade, and no one, not even my new best friend, Red, would ever sit with me at lunch again.

A spot between my shoulder blades tingled, and when I turned, I saw Red standing by the dugout, heard him yell, Come on JJ, you can do it!

I gripped the bat so tight my knuckles ached.

The pitcher fired the ball and I swung with everything I had.

Steerike two!

Firecrackers–Firecrackers–bam–bam–bam! roared the Firecracker fans. The noise almost drowned out the groans from the Hotshots. Almost.

I inhaled the scent of newly cut grass and glanced at the dugout again. Calvin the Creep, the Hotshots’ catcher and my archenemy, hung on the fence glaring me into a hit. Slugger sat with his head in his hands, praying, I guess. Slugger was the Hotshots’ star player and the coolest kid in my new school. Everyone liked him, even girls.

I sighed and wiped the sweat off my forehead. While I waited for the next pitch, my gaze drifted to the stands. I stared at the empty seat where Dad should have been. Sure, I knew he wouldn’t be there. Not for this game, not for any game, not anymore. I let the bat down to touch the plate like he’d taught me. One for a single, two for a double, three for a triple, four, well, I could forget that. I hadn’t hit a homer since Dad died.

I risked a peek at Coach. His lumpy face scowled at me. He counted on me to at least get a base hit. But as the pitcher wound up, I saw myself striking out and froze.

The ball shot past, outside and low. Smack, it hit the catcher’s mitt.

Ball one!

Sweet. I’d gotten lucky. My eyes cut to the pitcher. I tapped the plate with my bat, then lifted it up, gave it four pumps and settled into my stance.

Hey batta–batta–batta! yelled the kids on the Firecracker team. Swing batta–batta–batta! I tried to block them out.

Never let ‘em see they’re getting to you, son. That’s what Dad always said. Gotta stay cool. The noise got to me anyway. Oh so what, it would rattle anyone.

The ball came flying. This time I swung so hard it felt like my arms would fly off.

Steerike three! the Ump yelled, Yer-out!

The Firecracker fans stood and roared. They yelled their stupid cheer over and over again. I wanted to cover my ears, wanted to dig a hole in the dirt and bury myself. Then the fans, the players, and even the coach, flung their baseball caps into the air.

The game had ended. I stood frozen at home plate clutching the bat as if my life depended on it. Maybe it did. My teammates looked mad enough to chew it to smithereens and spit the splinters in my face.

As the Hotshots and the Firecrackers lined up to shake hands, Calvin-the-Creep shoved me in line with the other guys. In a real low whisper so Coach wouldn’t hear, he said, You’re jinxin’ the team. Why don’t you give it up and quit?

I ignored him and shook hands with every single kid from the Firecracker’s team. The whole time, I felt Calvin’s glare burning a hole into the back of my skull. I swallowed my guilt and stumbled toward the dugout, head hanging low and feet dragging.

Our first loss was my fault. I knew Calvin blamed me, knew that in some way or another he’d make me pay. The guy hated my guts. Just last week he tripped me in the dugout, and my face hit the bench. I got a split lip and Coach yelled at him, told him he’d better watch it or he’d be kicked off the team. Boy, would that make me happy.

Another time he snatched my Babe Ruth glove and threw it in a trash dumpster. Lucky for me the janitor found it and gave it back. Good thing too, ‘cause Dad bought me that glove. He’d showed me how to season it, how to rub the petroleum jelly in just right so the leather would stay soft and flexible. I ran my fingers over the glove and a sharp pang of missing wrapped around me, choking me until I almost couldn’t breathe.

Hey, JJ, wait up, Coach called. Want to talk to ya a sec.

I whirled around and faced him. He drew me aside and we walked out of earshot of the team. I bet he was sorry he hadn’t benched me.

Nice swing. Coach tried to smile, but his baggy brown eyes showed disappointment. He liked to win. I didn’t blame him; I liked to win, too.

So, kid, I’m thinking I’ll have Calvin or Slugger help you out. Give you a few pointers. What do you say?

No! My voice ripped the air like an explosion, and now Coach’s eyes widened. Oops. Quick like, I said, Thanks, Coach. But ah . . . ah, my grandpa, he’ll work with me.

Hmm. Your grandpa’s back in town?

Yeah, I lied, and stared down at the ground. Not too long ago Coach and Grandpa had both coached for Raine’s Youth Baseball, but Grandpa started taking trips and didn’t coach anymore. The two of them were friends, though, what Mom called card-playing buddies.

Okay then. Let me know if you change your mind. Coach slapped me on the back and trotted to the bleachers where the fans were filing out. Like always, the whole town had shown up. In Raine, everyone loved baseball.

I thought about what a failure I was, and my stomach churned. Not only had I let the Hotshots down, but Coach, too. But as far as Slugger and Calvin helping me—what a joke.

Coach didn’t have a clue. Maybe Calvin was right; maybe I should quit the team.

I sprinted across the field to where I’d chained my bike to the fence. Red stood there waiting for me.

Hey, Red.

Hey, JJ. Man, I can’t believe we lost.

I nodded and unlocked my bike.

Wanna come over to my house? We could play Fortnite. Red threw a baseball up in the air and tried to catch it behind his back.

Naw. I picked up the ball he’d missed and tossed it to him.

Aw, come on, JJ. I’ll go easy on you.

Go easy on me? I beat you the last three times we played.

I’m ready for you this time. Then Red’s eyes widened and his face started twitching. He looked ready to run.

When I spun around, I saw Calvin-the-Creep charging across the grass toward us. He had a crazy grin plastered on his ugly face, and his hands were clenched into fists. Yeah, he was out for blood.

Mine.

Two

27316.png

Jonny Bench of the Cincinnati Reds

"A slump is like a soft bed, easy to get into, but hard to get out of.

Persevere!"

C alvin-the-Creep stood in the hot afternoon sun glaring like he wanted to kill me. It kind of freaked me out.

In a hurry, butt-breath?

Come on, JJ, let’s get out of here. Red hopped on his bike fast—like he thought Calvin might attack. To be honest, I did too.

I swung my leg over the seat, and we pedaled away. As we took off, Calvin laughed and I pedaled even faster, but his words followed me.

You’re nothing but a loser! A jinx! Ya hear me, Jinkins? Impossible not to. His voice was as loud as the ump’s. I tried not to let his words hurt; but they did. I bit my lip to keep from yelling mean stuff back. I didn’t want any more trouble with Calvin than I already had. I mean he was bigger than a moose and twice as mean.

Wait for me! Red called, pumping like crazy. Don’t . . . listen . . . to . . . him. He puffed between each word. He’s . . . a jerk.

I slowed down. Red was on the chunky side and got tired way quicker than me. Oh, who was I kidding? Red was fat city. I didn’t care, though, cause me and Red, we’re tight, and Calvin hated his guts almost as much as he hated mine.

Why he hated Red was a mystery, but I definitely knew why he hated me. When I first moved to Raine, I made a giant mistake. I got in Calvin’s face at recess and told him to quit making fun of Red’s orange hair and matching freckles—or else.

At the time I didn’t know how mean Calvin was, and if a teacher hadn’t been close by, I would have been ground up road-kill for sure.

On the bright side, after that day something strange happened. A lot of kids started saying hi to me out in the playground and in the school corridors, but best of all, Red and me became friends. The weirdest thing that happened, though, was that a girl from my class named Shelby Storm acted like I was some kind of hero, big smiles and everything. Then she told me how brave I was to stick up for Red. After that, she and a bunch of her girlfriends followed Red and me around during recess, even hung out with us sometimes, and that was, well, cool.

A few days later, at lunch, Shelby and her friends sat with Red and me in the school cafeteria. That’s when she told me she couldn’t stand Calvin. He lives two doors down from me, and he’s always picking on my little brothers. That guy’s trouble with a capital T. He’s like a rabid skunk or something. Then she asked me to play tetherball. Bet I can beat you, she said with a big smile. I’m really good.

She was too—beat me most of the time after that. I didn’t care, though. What bothered me was Calvin. When he saw me and Shelby together, he’d squint up his tiny evil eyes and give me his I’m-gonna-stomp-you-flat look, then every chance he got he’d follow Shelby around the playground. No doubt about it. He liked her in some kind of twisted way.

I was gonna talk to Red about it on the way home from school today, but when we reached the corner of Fifth and Elm, I realized Red had lagged behind me again. So I stopped and waited for him. It seemed like a million cars whizzed by before he caught up. Sweat dripped down his face and he gasped for air like my pet goldfish, Hortense