My dad had over a thousand books, about everything from bread mold to black holes. I figured he had to have one about making coffee.
Dad saw me going through the shelves. "Looking for something to read?" He sounded hopeful.
"I need a book about coffee. I need to know how to make it."
"Your mother already made some. Anyway, you're too young to drink coffee."
"Drink it? Bleah!" Coffee was just a mud puddle in a cup. For some reason, adults hadn't figured that out. "I need to make coffee next week at work."
"Oh. Well, watch me make it tomorrow morning."
"We have the wrong kind of machine." Ours didn't shimmy or shake or make whistling noises. It just gurgled a bit and dripped glop into a glass pot.
"OK. Then read the instructions that came with the coffeemaker."
"I don't know if we still have them." The Pines' machine was so old, the original instructions probably came carved in stone.
"I'm sure you'll be fine." Dad left the room whistling. He probably didn't mean to sound like the coffee machine at work, but he did.
I looked at his books for a while. Dad is interested in everything. He has books about history, science, cooking, business, and entertainment. I saw a book about balloons and took it off the shelf. If he had a book about making balloon animals, I could have taught Abby a thing or two. But it wasn't about that kind of balloon. It was about the kind of balloon you ride in. That book was kind of interesting. It made me want to ride in a hot-air balloon.
· · ·
I was bored all week. I didn't have school, and I didn't have a job. I called some of my friends, but it seemed like everybody was either at camp or on vacation with their family.
I wasn't just bored. I missed the Porcupines. They'd gone on road trips before, but this one felt longer. It was because they were playing so well and were almost in first place. It made every game more important. I wished like anything I could be there. I missed listening to the guys crack jokes in the locker room. I missed shagging fly balls during batting practice. I missed high-fiving the players when they scored a run. I missed being part of the team.
I missed baseball so much that I volunteered to be a batboy for a T-ball tournament at the park. But they wouldn't take me. The woman in charge said I was too old to play and too young to volunteer.
"But I'm a professional!" I showed her my Porcupines badge.
"That's nice," she said. "But there are rules. Why don't you stay and cheer for the players? They can always use some encouragement."
So I watched part of the tournament. It just made me miss the Porcupines even more.
I also spent a lot of time playing with my baseball cards. I'm always trying to figure out the best way to sort them. Should I organize the binders by year or by team? And inside each binder, should I sort the players by card number, by name, by position, or by uniform number?
The toughest decision was figuring out which cards should go into my red binder. The red binder is my baseball card hall of fame. The cards in there are not always the rarest cards or the most famous players. They're simply my favorite cards.
Some of the Porcupines think those cards are magic. Earlier in the season, a Rafael Furcal card helped Mike Stammer, the shortstop, turn an unassisted triple play. Later, a Bengie Molina card helped Sammy Solaris, the designated hitter, steal the first base of his career. I didn't think those cards were magic, but I did think they helped remind players what they were capable of.
· · ·
Meanwhile, the Porcupines won five out of six games that week, with one day off. When they came home, they were tied for first place with the Rosedale Rogues. Usually at this time of year, the Porcupines were just trying not to wind up in last place. This season, it seemed like anything was possible.
