“How do you know these guys?” Carter asked at one point. “I’m not sure who they are and I’ve lived here all my life!”
“It’s my job as catcher to know the opposition,” Ash replied. “I’ve been studying them all season. Remember my binder with the info on all the teams?”
When Ash mentioned it, Carter recalled seeing him with that binder. “Impressive,” he commented.
“I marked the guys I thought might show up here.” Ash puffed out his chest. “Got most of them right, too.”
“Was I on the list?” Carter asked, only half-joking.
“Since last January!” Ash said.
It was only the first practice, but with the tournament looming, Coach Harrison and his assistants, Coach Walker and Coach Filbert, got right down to business. First they warmed the players up with some stretches and then jogged with them around the field.
“Glad to see that no one’s huffing and puffing,” Coach Harrison said. “Except maybe Coach Walker!” he added with a smile.
Next they told the boys to pair off for a throwing drill. Carter and Ash went together. Carter stood about twelve yards away and in the ready position for an over-the-belt catch—hands chest high, thumbs close together, glove open and waiting. Ash threw to him fifteen times, with Carter resetting in the ready position after he threw the ball back. Then they switched roles and Ash caught.
“Now before we change to a below-the-belt catch,” Coach Harrison said, “Carter’s line move down one place so you’re with a new partner.” When the shift was complete, he set the drill in motion. “Remember, now the little fingers are close, glove pocket is toward the ground, and bend your knees, not your backs!”
The catching drills were followed by practice fielding ground balls. The assistant coaches knelt and bounced grounders to the boys while Mr. Harrison called out corrections.
“Pivot with that throw, Ron!”
“Keith, get your caboose down or the ball will roll through your legs instead of into your glove.”
“Heads up, eyes on the ball, all of you!”
It was a fast-paced drill that had them moving through the lines quickly and efficiently. After ground balls, they took turns running and catching fly balls thrown high into the air by the coaches. Carter was perspiring freely when Coach Harrison instructed them to put their gloves in the dugout and line up at home plate for a base-running drill.
“Man, this is awesome!” Ash said enthusiastically as he tossed his glove onto the bench.
Carter laughed. “You’re in a good mood today.”
“Who wouldn’t be? It’s only day one, we’ve never played together before, and we’re all moving together like clockwork.”
Carter nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we are looking pretty good.”
“Good?” Ash echoed in mock astonishment. “Dude, if this isn’t a World Series–winning team, I don’t know what is.”
For the base-running exercise, players swung an imaginary bat and then legged it to first. The coaches called out different run patterns, telling them to run through the base, swing wide, or curl around toward second.
“We’ll finish up our fieldwork with some position-specific drills,” Mr. Harrison informed them when all the players had gone through the line three times. “Carter, Allen, Luke, and Peter, you’ll be doing some pitching in just a bit. For now, pair off and throw lightly to one another while your catchers get in some blocking practice.”
Carter stopped by the water jug before retrieving his glove. As he drank, he watched Ash drop to his knees and stop the incoming hoppers over and over. Ash recovered each ball a split second later, tossed it back to Coach Filbert, and then just as quickly returned to his ready position.
He’s just as good as Liam, he suddenly thought. He didn’t start out that way at the beginning of the season. But he is now. He wondered then if Liam had improved, too—although whether his cousin would be playing catcher on his All-Star team was still unknown.
“Everything all right?”
Carter jumped. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t heard Coach Harrison approach. “Yes, sir,” he replied as the coach filled his cup. “I was just thinking about Liam.”
The coach took a long drink and wiped his mouth. “I was pleased to hear he made the All-Stars out there in sunny California,” he said. “Although when I heard who his teammate was, I admit I was a little taken aback. Think he’ll be okay with that DiMaggio boy?”
Carter crumpled his cup and threw it into the trash. “I’ll have to get back to you on that one, Coach. He hasn’t had his first practice yet.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” the coach said. “Give him my best.”
“I will.” And I hope you’re right about him being fine, he added silently, because the last thing he needs is another curveball.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
Melanie,” Liam cried, “I don’t want you filming this practice! Mom!”
Mrs. McGrath hurried into the living room. “What now?”
“She says she has to video everything about my All-Star team if she’s going to get a good grade on her summer project,” Liam said angrily. “But I don’t want her there today.”
“Mom,” Melanie said, pitching her voice in a reasonable tone, “I have to have hours of footage to create fifteen minutes of really good stuff.” Her eyes slid to her brother. “And today promises to have some really good stuff.”
When Liam had found out he’d made the All-Star team, he’d been over the moon. But as the first practice drew near, the reality of his situation began to sink in. He was on a team with Phillip DiMaggio. Did he really want his and Phillip’s first practice, their first meeting as teammates, to be captured on film?
No, he did not.
“Melanie,” their mother said warningly. “Put yourself in Liam’s place for a moment.”
“Hey, this whole thing was his idea,” she reminded them.
“I never told you to make it your summer project,” Liam retorted. “That was your idea.”
Unlike most schools that issued summer reading lists to students, Melanie’s school asked them to return in the fall with a completed art project. They could paint a picture, compose a song, write a one-act play, choreograph a dance, film an animated short—anything so long as it was original and had administrative approval.
Melanie had decided to make a documentary featuring Liam’s Little League All-Star team. “I can do profiles of the players, their families, the coaches, the umpires, throw in a little baseball history, and of course get footage of the games. And think of the drama if your team goes all the way to the World Series!”
“We could splat in Districts, you know,” Liam had told her. “That’d make for a really short film.”
Melanie waved away his concerns. “I have faith in you, little brother. You’ll make it at least to Sectionals.”
Liam had been secretly flattered that she wanted to make his team the star of her project. He’d been happy for her that Little League had given its approval and that all his new teammates—even Phillip—and their parents had signed the necessary permission forms. But he hadn’t counted on her being there for his first encounter with Phillip—or on her persistence.
“Please, Liam,” she pleaded. “You won’t even know I’m there. You can see everything I record. If you don’t want me to use something, I won’t. You get final say. Please?”
Liam threw up his hands. “Okay, fine! I give up. But if I see one thing in your movie that I said couldn’t be there—”
She put her hand to her heart. “You won’t. I promise. I’ll go get my equipment.”
After she left, Mrs. McGrath said, “Speaking of equipment, do we need to load yours into the trunk?”
Liam hesitated. Dr. Driscoll, the All-Star coach, hadn’t told him if he was playing catcher or not. “I guess we should,” he decided. “Better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it.”
“Now who sounds like a
fortune cookie?” Melanie said, coming down the stairs with her camera bag.
Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at the field. Melanie told Liam to wait in the car while she set up.
“Great idea. Film me getting out of the car. That should keep the audience spellbound,” he said sarcastically as he slid from the seat and slammed the door.
Mrs. McGrath laughed. “Text or call when you’re ready to be picked up,” she reminded them after Liam had pulled his stuff from the trunk.
Liam nodded and then began to lug his gear bag toward the field. Melanie, camera held high, walked backward, recording his every step.
“Liam McGrath is about to have his first practice with his new Southern California All-Star teammates. One teammate is his friend Rodney Driscoll, who beat him out for the top spot on the home run leaderboard in the regular season.” She lowered her voice dramatically. “Another is his rival, Phillip DiMaggio, who threw the pitch that led to Liam’s infamous strikeout in the U.S. Championship in last year’s World Series tournament. Former rivals now thrown together—can they overcome their differences and work together? Stay tuned!”
She moved the camera aside and grinned. “What do you think of it so far?”
“I think you’re in my way.” He nudged her—and then froze.
Standing in front of the dugout, feet planted on the ground and fists on hips, was Phillip DiMaggio. Behind Phillip were several other teammates. They’d been chatting and laughing, but when they saw Liam and Phillip staring at each other, they fell silent.
“Here we go,” Liam heard Melanie whisper as she began filming again.
Liam hesitated, but only for a second. Then he let go of his equipment sack and started forward. He knew whatever happened in the next minute would affect not just him and Phillip but the whole team. A million ways to handle the situation raced across his brain. Only one stopped and stayed.
“Hey, DiMaggio,” he said when he was a few feet away. “I’ve got something to say to you.”
Phillip’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Yeah? And what’s that?”
Liam was now face-to-face with the pitcher. The tension was so real that he could almost see a crackle of electricity snap between them. Neither moved a muscle for a long moment.
“It’s something I should have said a long time ago,” Liam said. Then he stuck out his hand. “Congratulations on winning the World Series.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
Go, Forest Park! Go!”
Rachel’s cry rang out loud and clear across the baseball field. Carter grinned at Ash. “Weird hearing her yell from the bleachers instead of the dugout, isn’t it?”
Ash made a face. “I don’t mind the change!”
“Come on,” Carter chided. “She was a really good player and teammate, and you know it.”
“Yeah, okay,” Ash grumbled. “She is a great fan,” he added when Rachel gave another shout-out to their squad.
The Forest Park All-Star team was about to play its first District game. The opponent was Lakeville. It was a five-day, double-elimination tournament involving five teams. Once a team lost twice, it was out of the competition.
Carter and his teammates had no intention of losing even one.
The game kicked off with the singing of the national anthem. Then Forest Park took to the field for the first inning. Carter was on the mound. Ash was behind the plate. Their new teammates fanned out to their positions. The ball rocketed around the horn, and then it was time to start.
“Play ball!”
Carter accepted the ball from the umpire and stared down at the first batter. Ash flashed the signal for a fastball. Carter nodded, then wound up, reared back, lunged forward, and threw.
Swish!
Thud!
“Strike one!”
That was a call Carter heard many times in the three innings he pitched. When he was replaced at the top of the fourth by Forest Park’s closer, Peter Molina, the score was Forest Park 6, Lakeville 3. Each team added a run to the scoreboard, but for Lakeville, it wasn’t enough. Carter and his All-Star teammates won, 7–4.
They won the next game, too, but dropped their third to a very tough team from Wolfboro. Their fourth game was a rematch with Lakeville. Knowing the winner would advance to the final and the loser would be eliminated, both teams played their hardest.
It was neck and neck until the top of the sixth, when Craig came up to bat. During the regular season, Carter had been impressed by how much Craig had improved at the plate, and Craig did not disappoint now. He waited for a pitch he liked—and then demolished it, smacking it deep into left field for the tournament’s only home run.
The next afternoon, the boys from Forest Park faced the Wolfboro team for the District Championship.
“Okay, boys, this is it,” Coach Harrison said. “Win this, and we’re on our way to Sectionals!”
“And from Sectionals to State,” Ash added excitedly, “to Regionals and then to the World Series!”
“Gotta focus on this one first,” Carter advised. “One step at a time, just like always.”
“The game’s about to start. Hands together, team,” Coach Walker said. “Now let’s hear it!”
“Forest Park, one-two-three! Forest Park, one-two-three!” the boys and coaches chanted.
Their fans joined in. Carter’s parents, Rachel, the Delaneys, and dozens more were all rooting for their favorite team.
Throughout the tournament, Carter’s coaches had carefully monitored the pitch counts of each hurler on the team. Luke had pitched the entire game against Lakeville the day before, so, per Little League rules, he was not allowed to pitch in the final. Carter had started the game against Wolfboro two days earlier, but Peter had pitched the bulk of it. Now Peter would start at shortstop and pitch only in the final innings against Wolfboro, and then only if Carter reached his allotted count and needed to come out.
Carter had no intention of being replaced. He intended to pitch the Forest Park All-Stars to victory. The night before, he and Ash studied the information Ash had compiled on Wolfboro, focusing specifically on the batters.
“He’s their biggest hitter,” Carter said, pointing to the name Joe Nickerson. “He likes fastballs.” He looked at Ash and raised his eyebrows. “Wonder if he likes knuckleballs, though.”
Before the game, they talked to Coach Harrison about using the pitch. He nodded approvingly. “You boys read my mind,” he said. “I was planning to send in that signal when he was at bat.”
Joe Nickerson was Wolfboro’s cleanup batter. But there was nothing to clean up in the first inning because Carter mowed down the first three hitters in order. Joe threatened at the start of the second with a soaring blast to right field. But Ash had warned his teammates to be ready—and they were. Instead of getting on base, Joe flied out.
When the Wolfboro heavy hitter got up the next time, there was fire in his eyes. Carter met fire with fire, however, and burned him on two pitches. Ash called for time and hurried to the mound.
“Get him out on the knuckleball?” he asked.
Carter glanced at the coach. “Only if he says to. But I think I can wipe him away with a changeup.”
Coach Harrison must have agreed, because that’s the signal he sent in. That’s the pitch Carter threw. And that’s the pitch Joe missed for strike three.
In the dugout, Mr. Harrison beckoned Carter and Ash over. “I suspect Nickerson will be gunning for you next time he’s up,” he said. “That’s when you’ll bring out your secret weapon. Okay?”
Carter’s adrenaline surged. “Yes, sir!”
The score was Forest Park 4, Wolfboro 3 in the bottom of the fifth inning when Joe came to the plate again. There was one out, runners on first and second, and an expectant smile on the batter’s lips.
Think you’re going to earn a ribbie? Guess again, Carter thought. He plucked the ball from his glove and hurled it back into the pocket. Over and over, harder and harder, until Joe stepped into the box.
Ash adjusted his crouch. He flashed the signal for a fastball low and outside. Carter threw, and Joe swung and clipped the ball foul for strike one. Twice more, Carter threw the same pitch and twice more Joe nicked it. After the third time, he stepped out of the box and looked at his coach.
When he stepped back in, he stood closer to the plate. Not by much, but enough so that if Carter threw low and outside again, he could hit the ball squarely.
Carter almost grinned when Ash flashed the signal. One-three-four-two. One was a changeup. Two was a two-seam fastball. Three was a four-seam fastball. And four was a knuckleball.
Get ready, Nickerson, he thought, because I’m about to knock your socks off!
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
And did you?” Liam asked between bites of his apple.
“See for yourself!” Carter held up a photo showing the Forest Park All-Stars. Across the top was a banner proclaiming them the District Champions.
“I don’t like to brag—”
“And yet you’re about to.”
“—but my knuckleball totally jammed him!” Carter finished proudly.
“I’m so psyched for you, man,” Liam said. He peered more closely at the photo. “Which one is Ashley?”
Carter pointed to a blond-haired boy sitting next to him in the photo. “And his name’s Ash.”
Liam grunted. “Wish it was me in that photo.”
Carter put the picture away. “Me too,” he murmured. “How’s it been with Phillip, anyway?”
Liam seesawed his hand in the air. After he had congratulated Phillip that first practice, the two had settled into an unspoken and uneasy truce for the good of the team. “All right, I guess. I haven’t been playing catcher, so I don’t work with him all the time.”
Carter nodded. “That was a great catch you made in the outfield last game. Maybe I should get someone to film my games so you can see the action over here, too.”
Liam made a face. “If I could find a big enough box, I’d ship Melanie to you overnight.”
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