“I thought it was going to be weird having a girl on the team,” second baseman Kevin Pinto confessed midweek. “But it isn’t.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s just great,” Ash muttered under his breath.
Carter saw Rachel’s eyes flick to Ash. If she had heard his comment, though, she didn’t let on. Carter wondered if it was because she didn’t want to make waves. If so, then he decided he wouldn’t, either—although he thought Ash was out of line.
Now Carter saw the catcher waving to him frantically.
“We need to go over the signals again,” Ash said, his voice urgent.
Carter’s stomach tightened. Ash had been pushing him all week long to focus more and try harder. He wanted to tell Ash to ease up. Instead, he ran through the signals.
“One finger means changeup. Two means two-seam fastball. Three means four-seam fastball. You’ll flash four signals in a row. The third one is the pitch I throw.”
“Okay, good,” Ash said. He reached behind him and pulled a thick blue binder out of his gear bag. He thumbed to a page marked Eagles. “I’ve seen some of these guys at the Diamond Champs batting cages. This guy Craig”—he tapped a name on a chart—“has been there a lot. So watch out for him. And this other guy—”
“Ash, don’t worry. I’ll be careful!”
The catcher held up a cautionary finger, his dark brown eyes boring into Carter’s. “Just. Be. Ready.”
Half an hour later, the game against the Eagles began. Carter soon discovered that Ash was right: The Eagles did have some powerful bats. In the first inning, they made those bats talk.
Ash was talking, too. “Come on, come on, come on. Here you go, Jones, here you go, here you go, here you go!”
Carter knew Ash thought a steady stream of chatter helped motivate pitchers. But it plucked at Carter’s nerves like fingers on guitar strings. His pitching suffered, and the Eagles racked up three runs in the first inning before the Hawks retired the side. In the dugout, the knot of anxiety in Carter’s stomach was tighter than ever.
Then Rachel sat down beside him. “Hey, Carter, did I ever tell you about my first at bat?”
“No,” he muttered.
“I couldn’t figure out why the baseball was getting bigger. And then it hit me.”
Carter waited for her to tell him what she’d figured out. Then, he got it.
“It hit you,” he repeated, a small smile curving on his lips. “Yet another lame joke.”
“Know why I don’t play softball?” She leaned in closer. “It’s an underhanded sport.”
Carter’s smile grew.
“Know how I ended up in my position on the Hawks defense?” she continued, her blue eyes snapping with glee. “I followed a piece of advice: If at first you don’t succeed”—she paused for comic effect—“try outfield!”
Carter started laughing—and all at once, the knot in his stomach loosened.
“Thanks, Rach,” he said. “I needed that.”
Rachel glanced at Ash. The catcher had just made the last out of the inning. A scowl etched his face as he pulled on his pads. When he saw them sitting together, his scowl deepened.
“Yeah, I know you did,” Rachel said. “Now grab your glove and hit the mound. And Jones? Relax out there. Baseball’s supposed to be fun.”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Liam paced back and forth in front of the bench, slapping his glove against his leg with each step. The game against the Sidewinders was about to begin, and he couldn’t sit still.
“Liam, will you stop?” Rodney admonished. “You’re using up all your energy in here.”
“Can I help it if I’m pumped?” Liam replied.
“Pumped enough to hit another homer today?” Spencer asked.
Since his four-bagger against the Vipers, Liam had hit one other homer, a walk-off in the Pythons’ first meeting with the Anacondas. Unlike his first home run, the second left him guilt-free.
It also inched him up a notch on the league’s home run leaderboard. The name just above his was Phillip DiMaggio. If he homered today, he and Phillip would be tied with three apiece. And if he jumped ahead of Phillip at some point? That would be sweet—and would, he was sure, earn him some All-Star votes.
“Gonna try for two,” he said in reply to Spencer’s question.
“That’d be great,” Sean said, “but for now—sit down! You’re wearing a groove in the dirt.”
Liam moved to the open spot next to Spencer and pointed a finger at the pitcher. “Speaking of grooves, we’re going to find ours out there today, right?”
“Find it? I didn’t realize it was lost!”
“Well, just in case…” Liam cupped his hands around his mouth. “Groove! Groove? Hey, anybody seen our groove?”
Cracking up, Spencer and the Driscolls began to imitate him. “Yoo-hoo, groove? We’re missing a groove here!”
The other Pythons looked at them as if they were crazy, which just made them laugh harder. Then the umpire called, “Play ball!” and they settled down to business.
The Pythons and Sidewinders hadn’t faced each other yet. But the night before, Liam had read through every one of the Sidewinders game recaps, noting the names of their strongest batters. He shared his information with Coach Driscoll and Spencer.
The coach nodded approvingly. “Been doing your homework, I see. Good. A catcher who knows his opponents is a big help.”
“Watch out for Kyle Flanders, their cleanup batter,” Liam reminded the pitcher as they jogged onto the field for the first inning, “and their center fielder, Matt Finch. He’s sixth in the lineup and hit a homer his last game. We don’t want him adding another this game.”
The first inning went by scoreless for both teams. Kyle started off the second. A muscular boy with a mean glint in his eye, he looked like a typical bully to Liam.
To Spencer, he must have looked even worse—the pitcher’s expression reminded Liam of a deer caught in car headlights.
Hold it together, Spence, Liam willed silently. He pounded his glove to get his attention. Spencer blinked and then nodded. Liam flashed the signal for a pitch low and outside. Spencer nodded again, wound up, and threw.
The pitch sailed high and inside. The Sidewinder jumped back with a yelp.
“Ball!” the umpire called.
“No kidding,” the Sidewinder muttered.
The next two pitches also flew wild. Liam called for time.
“Spencer, calm down. You’re letting him get to you.”
“I know,” the pitcher said miserably. “It’s just—I can feel him staring at me.”
Liam pointed to the center of his mitt. “Focus all your attention here, then. Okay?”
Spencer heaved a sigh. “I’ll try.”
Hoping to get Spencer to crack a smile, Liam quoted one of his and Carter’s favorite movie lines. “No, not try. ‘Do or do not. There is no try.’ ”
Instead of a smile, Spencer’s face wrinkled in confusion. “Huh?”
“Jedi Master Yoda?” When Spencer’s expression didn’t change, Liam shook his head and told the pitcher to forget it.
So much for that groove, he thought as he hustled back to the plate.
Spencer’s fourth pitch was more in control but, unfortunately, still outside the zone.
“Take your base,” the umpire instructed the batter.
The Sidewinder tossed the bat aside and jogged down the path, grinning.
Go ahead, Liam thought. Smile now. Because you won’t be smiling later. I guarantee it.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Wonder if Liam’s heard those lame-o jokes before? Carter thought as he hurried to the mound. As he jabbed his foot into the ground by the rubber, he made a mental note to repeat Rachel’s “groaners” the next time they talked. He knew his cousin would appreciate the humor. He did, too, if only because they made him feel looser than he had the first inning.
The Eagles had lit him up like a pinball machine then. After that su
ccess, the first batter came to the plate with a swagger and a smile.
Bet he thinks I’m going to dish up more meatballs, Carter thought. Well, I hope he likes ’em with extra mustard, ’cause that’s what I’m serving now!
Three screaming fastballs and a tricky changeup later, the Eagle slunk back to his bench with his wings clipped.
“Here we go!” Ash cried. He threw the ball to Leonard Frick at third, who sent it to Kevin at second. Kevin fired it to Miguel Martinez. Carter held out his glove. Miguel threw, and the ball hit the pocket with a satisfying thud.
The next Eagle was a familiar face. Craig Ruckel had been on the All-Star team with Carter and Liam the year before. He’d been an inconsistent batter then. But the practice in the Diamond Champs batting cages paid off, because he creamed Carter’s first pitch. It was a line drive that rocketed toward the gap between Kevin and Miguel.
Or would have, if a right-handed pitcher had been on the mound. But Carter was a lefty; he wore his glove on his right hand. With a quick sideways leap off the hill, he nabbed the ball out of the air for out number two. Craig, midway down the base path, slowed his step and then veered back to his bench, shaking his head all the way.
“One more, Hawks. One more!” Rachel cried from right field.
Carter cradled the ball, waiting for Ash’s signals. But when they came—two fingers, then one, then four, then one again—he blinked in confusion.
The third signal marked the pitch. But what Ash had shown didn’t make sense. One finger was a changeup. Two was a two-seam fastball. Three was a four-seam fastball. Was four… the knuckleball?
Carter immediately shook off Ash. He’d had one more pitching session with Mr. Delaney and Ash, but no way was his knuckleball ready. He hadn’t even shown it to Coach Harrison yet.
Something struck him then. Ash received the signals from Coach Harrison and then gave them to Carter. Coach Harrison wouldn’t have shown four fingers.
Is Ash trying to call the game himself? he wondered.
Ash shifted in his crouch and flashed another set of signals: Two, one, two, three, followed by a tap to his thigh. Two-seam to the inside. Carter nodded, wound up, and threw.
The ball flew close to the batter’s waist. He jumped back out of the way.
“Ball one!”
Carter would have liked a strike, but the pitch had had one thing in its favor. When the Eagle got back into his stance, he stood a few inches farther back from the plate. Not that his new position helped him. He struck out swinging.
“Woo-hoo!” Rachel cheered when she returned to the dugout. “Nice heat, Jones!”
“Thanks,” Carter said. “Hey, Ash, you look thirsty. Come get a drink with me.”
When they were alone by the water jug, Carter turned and said meaningfully, “Nice calls out there.”
Ash furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about?”
“Come on, Ash,” Carter chided. “You gave a four-finger signal. You wanted me to throw the knuckleball.”
Ash’s face darkened. “First of all, I don’t call the pitches. Coach Harrison does. Second, I didn’t show four fingers. And third,” he lowered his voice, “keep it down about that pitch, will you?”
“Why?” Carter waved an arm at his teammates. “They’re going to see it soon enough. What’s the big deal if they hear about it first?”
“Hear about what?” Rachel appeared next to Carter, empty water cup in hand. “What are you guys talking about?”
Ash gave him a warning look.
Carter ignored him. “Mr. Delaney is teaching me this new pitch.” He quickly told her about the knuckleball. “If I can get it to work, it could be really good.”
“It would have been devastating,” Ash said, “if you hadn’t opened your mouth.”
Carter turned to him. “What is the big deal?” he asked again, exasperated.
But it was Rachel who answered. “The more people who know you’re learning the pitch, the less effective it could be, because they’ll be on guard.”
“Exactly,” Ash said.
She nodded thoughtfully. “Listen, Carter, Ash. I promise I won’t say a word to anyone about this. The… you-know-what… will be our secret. Well, until it’s thrown during a game, anyway. After that, I’m guessing everyone will be talking about it. But until then, not a word. Okay?”
For the second time in less than a minute, Ash agreed with her. Carter decided that if sharing a secret was what it took to make them get along, he was all for it.
“Works for me,” he said.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
The Sidewinders cleanup batter didn’t stay on first base for long. His teammate clocked a hopping ground ball a few feet away from second. Sean darted sideways off the bag, made a clean pickup, and flipped the ball to Clint. Kyle was out. Clint immediately relayed the ball to Reggie. Reggie stretched, toe on first, and caught it a split second before the runner reached the base.
“Yes!” Coach Driscoll called. “Well done!”
The double play must have boosted Spencer’s confidence because he mowed down the center fielder to end the inning.
“Good effort,” the coach praised. “Now let’s get some runs on our side of the board!”
“I’m on it, Coach Dad,” Rodney said, earning laughs from his teammates. Then he earned applause with a powerful single to shallow left field.
Liam was up next. When the pitch came, the ball looked as big as a volleyball to him. Pow! His teammates jumped to their feet, clapping madly.
“Yes!” he shouted. “Two on the board!”
And home run number three, he added silently. Take that, DiMaggio, and take notice, All-Star folks!
“Beautiful blast, man!” Sean enthused. “If we’d caught it on video, it’d be top of the sports highlight reel!”
Liam grinned. “Maybe I should get my sister here to record our games. Then we could watch my—I mean, our—highlights anytime we wanted.”
He’d said it as a joke. But it suddenly struck him that it wasn’t a bad idea. And if he posted the videos online, Carter could see his games firsthand.
Other people, too, he thought with growing excitement. Like the All-Star voters. Or scouts!
He let himself imagine it: A scout looking for fresh talent watching his highlight reel, then picking up the phone to ask who the wonder boy was…
Talk about a fantasy! But even as he shook his head at his crazy dream, he made a mental note to invite Melanie to the next game. If she wouldn’t come, then maybe her video camera would!
Those two runs were the only ones the Pythons got that inning. Neither team scored in the third.
“Only three innings away from our first shutout,” Liam noted to Spencer on the bench. “We’ll do our part to keep ’em scoreless. But you’re the key. The play starts with you. One easy pitch to the wrong batter”—he slapped his palms together and then flew one hand high into the air—“and it’s good-bye ball!”
Spencer squirmed. “No pressure, though,” he muttered.
Something in the pitcher’s voice set off warning bells in Liam’s head. “Hey, if you can’t handle it, tell the coach so he can replace you before it’s too late.”
“I can handle it,” Spencer said. But he didn’t sound sure—and the bells got louder.
“Seriously, man, I—I mean, we—can’t afford to give up a run. Our offense isn’t exactly racking ’em up, and I can only hit so many homers in one game, you know.”
He’d meant it as a joke, but the look on Spencer’s face told him it hadn’t sounded that way. When he saw that look reflected in the faces of other teammates, too, he reddened.
“Liam, you’re up,” the coach called.
Relieved, he jumped off the bench.
“Go get ’em,” Sean said. No one else added anything more. Liam felt about one inch tall.
Maybe I’ll get another homer, he thought hopefully.
He came close with a blast that soared toward the center-field f
ence. He was disappointed when it was caught for the inning’s last out—until he realized the Sidewinder made the catch because he’d backed up when Liam came to the plate.
They’re getting scared of my bat, he thought gleefully as he suited up in his gear. Wonder where they’ll stand next time I’m up—the grass behind the fence?
He was still thinking about his next at bat as he took his position behind the plate and settled into his crouch. That’s why he didn’t notice who the batter was until—crack!
Matt Finch smashed the ball to the exact same spot where Liam’s had flown. There was just one difference: Robert wasn’t far enough back to make the catch. Home run, Sidewinders.
Liam called for time.
“I warned you about him,” he rebuked Spencer. “So much for the shutout.” And so much for keeping Finch to a single homer on the leaderboard, he thought.
The Pythons pitcher stabbed his toe into the ground. “I’m sorry.”
Liam let out a frustrated sigh and turned away. “Yeah, well, so am I.”
“Did you warn the outfielders, too?”
Liam froze. “Did I—what?”
“Warn the outfielders,” Spencer repeated. “You know, tell them to back up when he was hitting.”
Liam’s heart sank. He hadn’t warned them.
The home run wasn’t Spencer’s fault. It was his.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Oh boy, better call nine-one-one,” Rachel cried, “because the Hawks offense is on fire!”
By the bottom of the third inning, Carter and his teammates had racked up fourteen runs to the Eagles’ three. Carter grabbed his glove, preparing to head to the field for the top of the fourth. But Mr. Harrison called him back.
“Outstanding job today,” he said, “but it’s time for you to have a rest and someone else to have a go.”
That someone else, it turned out, was Rachel. She’d come out of the game the previous inning and had been throwing to their teammate Seth Wynne during the Hawks’ turn at bat.
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