State Showdown

by Matt Christopher

Three up, three down.

  A murmur of excitement rippled through the fans as Carter passed them on his way to the dugout. He suspected they were whispering about him, but he paid no attention. He was too busy thinking about the next batter he’d face: Ricky Muldoon.

  Carter had struck Ricky out in the previous Forest Park–Calder game. Later that same game, however, Ricky had homered off Peter Molina. And in Calder’s huge win over Groveland, the slugger had chalked up two more home runs and a stand-up double. Carter knew Ricky would pose a very dangerous threat.

  Coach Harrison apparently agreed. He pulled Carter and Ash aside in the dugout and said, “Okay, we all know Muldoon has the power to send a pitch he likes over the fence. So”—he gave a devilish grin—“let’s be sure he doesn’t see something he likes.”

  Carter’s eyes lit up. “You mean—the knuckleball?”

  The coach nodded.

  “Yes!” Carter high-fived Ash.

  “I can’t wait to see his face,” Ash said, rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain.

  He didn’t have to wait long, unfortunately, because Forest Park didn’t do much its turn at bat. Of the four batters who went to the plate, only one singled. The others made outs.

  Here we go. Carter tingled with anticipation as he watched Ricky assume his stance. He met the boy’s narrow-eyed stare with equal intensity.

  Ash flashed the signal for the knuckleball. Carter nodded, took a deep breath, and visualized the pitch in flight. Then he reared back and threw.

  The ball traveled to the plate exactly as he had imagined it, bobbling up and down as it sped in. Ricky swatted at it but missed by a mile. Carter almost laughed out loud at the bewilderment he saw on the batter’s face.

  Strike one was followed by strikes two and three. Ricky stomped back to the dugout, his expression stormy.

  The next Calder batter connected for a weak grounder that shortstop Allen Avery sent to Stephen Kline at first for another out. The sixth batter in Calder’s lineup ticked two fouls down the third-base line. Raj tried for both but couldn’t reach either in time.

  Carter threw the same pitch again, hoping that if the ball went to the same spot, Raj could get it. This time, though, the ball arced up and looked good to drop fair.

  “Mine!”

  Ash tossed off his helmet and, mitt held high and open, raced to get under it. But instead of landing in his glove, the ball struck the mitt’s fingertips and rolled off. Other players might have let it hit the ground. Not Ash. With catlike reflexes, he snatched the ball in his bare hand before it landed.

  “Yer out!” the umpire yelled with a fierce slash of his fist.

  The fans went crazy as Ash got to his feet, the ball still in his hand.

  “That was amazing!” Carter crowed in the dugout. He was so thrilled for Ash that for a moment he forgot what the catch meant for him. If the ball had landed fair and the runner had reached base, his no-hitter would have been through.

  He caught Ash’s eye and sent him a silent thank-you. Ash, beaming, nodded in reply.

  And Ash wasn’t through yet. Up first for Forest Park, he practically tore the cover off the baseball with an over-the fence home run!

  “Dude, you own this game!” Raj cried.

  Ash laughed and then pointed to Carter. “Now it’s your turn.”

  Carter chose a bat and approached the plate. He didn’t homer, but he did get a respectable single. Raj, up next, did his duty with a sacrifice bunt that landed Carter safely at second. If Raj was disappointed not to get on base himself, he didn’t show it. Instead, he gave an exaggerated shrug that seemed to say, “Eh, it’s all for a good cause.”

  “Come on, Allen, hit me home, hit me home!” Carter yelled as the Forest Park shortstop stepped into the box. But Allen grounded out.

  “Still alive out here, Charlie S.,” Carter informed the next batter through cupped hands. Charlie kept him that way with a single between first and second. But when Stephen popped out, Carter and Charlie were left on base. Forest Park 1, Calder 0.

  That was the score after Calder’s turn at bat, too. Once again, Carter picked the opponents apart and sent them back to the dugout in order. Three innings pitched. Nine batters retired. No hits.

  I’m halfway there, Carter thought. And this time, I want to finish what I started!

  But would Coach Harrison keep him in for the full six innings? He might, Carter realized with a start, if we stay on top.

  If Forest Park won today, the team wouldn’t play again until the State tournament. That was five days away. Even if Carter threw the eighty-five pitches allowed in a single game by Little League, he could still pitch that first game, for he would have had the required four days’ rest.

  He shook his head. Slow down, Jones, you’re getting way ahead of yourself, thinking about States already! Who do you think you are—Liam?

  CHAPTER

  FIFTEEN

  Pow!

  Oh, no.

  Liam’s heart leaped into his throat. After blasting three pitches wide of the first-base line, Ed laced Phillip’s fourth pitch into deep right field. Rodney tore after it but couldn’t reach the ball before it hit the ground.

  Meanwhile, the runners were in motion. Ed pounded down the base path to first. The runner on first raced to second. Both touched the bags and kept going.

  Liam was on his feet now, every muscle taut and ready. He had one eye on the runners, the other on his teammates. One part of his brain noted that Phillip had run behind the plate to back him up. The rest were screaming for Rodney to nab the ball and get it to Matt, the cutoff man, faster, faster, before it was too late!

  Rodney picked up the ball. As he whirled and threw to Matt, the lead runner hit third and Ed touched second. Neither slowed his step.

  Whap! The ball socked into Matt’s glove. He spun around, ball in hand, and hesitated for a split second.

  “Here! Here!” Liam bellowed even as Coach Driscoll yelled for Matt to throw to home. The lead runner was bearing down like a runaway locomotive, but Liam was sure he could tag him out if only Matt would throw him the ball!

  And then the unthinkable happened: Matt threw, but his throw was wild!

  Liam knew he could never make the catch. If he tried, he’d be out of position for the tag. There was only one way Ravenna could stop Malden from scoring and that was if—

  “Liam!”

  Phillip had scooped up the ball. Liam twisted around to catch it. It struck his glove just as the runner hit the dirt for a feet-first slide. Liam whirled back, swept his glove down, and brushed the runner’s leg.

  But even as he made the tag, he knew he was too late. The runner had already crossed the plate.

  The umpire confirmed it. “Safe!” he called, fanning his arms out to either side.

  The Malden runner leaped to his feet and punched the air once before rushing back to the dugout. There, his overjoyed teammates flocked around him, slapping him on the back and socking him in the shoulder. The boy himself was grinning so widely Liam thought his cheeks must hurt.

  “We almost had him.”

  Liam started. He’d forgotten that Phillip was standing there. Before he could react, though, Phillip headed back to the mound.

  Malden now had a one-run lead, but that was all it got that inning. Ed was left stranded on base when Phillip mowed down Sam on three straight pitches.

  In the dugout, Coach Driscoll talked briefly to Matt before nodding him to the bench. Liam knew the coach was trying to cheer him up after the wild throw, but it didn’t work. Matt plopped down like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

  “Sorry, guys,” he mumbled. “That run was all my fault.”

  No one said a word. Then Phillip snorted and shook his head. “You know what, Matt?”

  Liam exchanged an uneasy glance with Rodney. Rodney cleared his throat. “Hey, Phillip, maybe you should—”

  “That run was someone’s fault,” Phillip continued as if Rodney hadn’t spoken. “But it w
asn’t yours. It was mine. That runner wouldn’t have been on base if I hadn’t walked him.”

  “Well, if we’re pointing fingers,” Rodney piped in, “we better stick one in my face, too. That batter clocked three powerful fouls to the right. I should have moved back in case he straightened one out.”

  “It was my job to warn you,” Liam objected.

  Matt lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “Thanks, guys, really, but—”

  “This is a team,” Phillip said firmly. “No one person wins or loses games.”

  Finally, Matt cracked a smile. “Yeah, okay. You’re right.”

  “ ’Course he is,” Rodney said. “Now leave the last inning behind you and get ready. You’re up third.”

  “And I’m up first.” Christopher Frost jumped up, stuck a helmet on his head, and trotted out to the plate. A pale boy with glasses and a perpetually sunburned nose, he had a habit of waggling his bony hips while waiting for the pitch. Unfortunately, the waggle didn’t translate into power. Christopher popped out to the catcher.

  Phillip, up next, fared better. He watched one pitch sail by for a strike and a second for a ball, but he sent the third skipping through the gap between first and second for a single. Matt followed Phillip. The pep talk from his teammates must have done him good, for he hit the ball to shallow left field.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Liam and the others yelled. And then, “Yes!” because Phillip had reached third and Matt stood safe and sound at second.

  “My turn!” Rodney chose his favorite bat and took his place in the box. A confident hitter, he made the players on the bench laugh with his perfect imitation of Christopher’s hip waggle.

  “Aw, I don’t look like that,” Christopher protested with a good-natured grin. “Do I?”

  Rodney socked a single. Phillip and Matt were forced to stay where they were. Bases loaded, one out, and—

  “Liam, you’re up,” Dr. Driscoll called.

  Liam’s mouth suddenly turned dry. He’d been so busy watching the game he’d forgotten he followed Rodney in the batting order. Now he licked his lips and walked toward the batter’s box, twisting his gloved hands on the bat’s handle and swallowing hard.

  The crowd fell silent. The Malden pitcher leaned forward, ball behind his back, and stared down from the mound.

  No doubt the stare was meant to intimidate. But Liam thought he detected something hiding behind the steely gaze.

  He’s worried.

  That thought gave him a little jolt of confidence. When the first pitch came, he swung hard. Crack!

  It wasn’t the crushing homer he’d hoped for, but a line drive single that ripped past the pitcher into center field. The Ravenna runners flew around the bases, with Phillip crossing home plate to tie the score at two runs each.

  Ravenna’s fans went crazy, stomping, clapping, and cheering. Liam saw Melanie’s camera trained on him, and while he knew it wasn’t cool, he couldn’t help grinning and giving a thumbs-up.

  Malden changed pitchers after that. The reliever struck out Mason. James was up next.

  Come on, man, don’t leave us hanging out here, Liam thought as his skinny teammate stepped into the box.

  James popped a pitch into the space between the shortstop and the pitcher. It should have been an easy out. But the pitcher backpedaled just as the shortstop lunged forward. They collided with such force that both fell!

  “Run!” Ravenna’s first-base coach screamed.

  CHAPTER

  SIXTEEN

  I told you you owned this game!”

  Raj pounded Ash on the back. The catcher had just clocked an RBI double that scored Luke from third and gave Forest Park its second run. Unfortunately, Carter ended the inning by grounding out.

  He redeemed himself in the top of the fourth, however, by plucking a screaming line drive out of the air. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw the ball nestled securely in his glove. Had he missed, that blast would definitely have been a hit—and his no-hitter would have been done.

  Not that preserving the no-hitter was his main goal. His focus was, and would always be, on winning the game. Still, he couldn’t kid himself that posting six no-hit innings would make a victory much sweeter.

  It wasn’t until he was sitting in the dugout that something suddenly occurred to him. So far, each inning he’d pitched had been a three-up, three-down effort. He wasn’t closing in on a no-hitter; he was closing in on a perfect game!

  Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Just when he thought his mind might explode, he remembered Rachel’s book. He grabbed it out of his duffel bag the way a starving man would grab a piece of bread.

  The joke he read was as lame as ever—Q: Why was Cinderella so bad at baseball? A: Because she had a pumpkin for a coach!—but Carter laughed out loud at the illustration. It showed Rachel as the princess and Coach Harrison as a pumpkin with a baseball hat. Silly, but it helped loosen the tension that had gripped his innards.

  Raj started things off with a double. Allen followed with a single. Ron, now in for Charlie Santiago, singled as well to load the bases.

  Calder called time then to make a pitching change. Carter wasn’t surprised. The pitcher had given up ten hits so far, including two doubles and a home run with two runs earned. He walked slowly off the mound, his coach’s arm around his shoulder.

  The new pitcher was a southpaw. His fastball confounded Freddie and Keith. Both struck out. Back in the dugout, they sat next to each other, lending truth to the phrase “misery loves company.”

  Craig chose his bat. Earlier in the game, he’d been caught off base, turning what should have been a single out into a double play for Calder. Now he strode to the plate with fire in his eyes and ripped the first pitch between first and second. The runners tore up the base paths. Raj crossed home plate standing up.

  “Yes!”

  Carter, Ash, and the other boys on the bench leaped up, pounding their hands together as Raj jogged into the dugout. Freddie clapped the scrawny third baseman on the back so hard that Raj stumbled. But he never stopped smiling.

  Peter, in for Charlie Murray, was all smiles, too, after reaching first on a mishandled grounder. Allen dashed home on that same error to make the score Forest Park 4, Calder 0. Bases were still loaded with Ron at third, Craig at second, and Peter at first.

  Ash took a deep breath. “My turn. Wish me luck,” he said as he put on a batting helmet. “No, wait. Wish me skill!”

  “Skill!” the boys on the bench chorused together.

  “Bring ’em home, LaBrie!” Carter added as Ash stepped into the batter’s box.

  Ash hefted the bat over his shoulder, poised and ready. The first pitch came. Ash let it go by.

  “Ball!”

  Two more pitches, one a strike and the other a ball. Ash stepped out, tapped the bat against his cleats, glanced up at the pitcher, and then moved back into place again.

  Carter leaned forward. “Come on, Ash, you can do it,” he murmured.

  Another pitch. Another strike. The count was two-and-two. Then—pow! Ash swung with such power Carter was amazed the bat didn’t splinter. The ball vanished into the clear blue sky and fell just inside the fence, where it bounced away from the center fielder’s desperate grasp.

  “Holy moley!” Freddie cried.

  “Holy moley shlamoley!” Raj one-upped him.

  “It’s a triple!” they said together.

  Ron scored standing up. So did Craig. When Peter slid under the catcher’s tag, Forest Park’s score jumped to seven runs!

  Carter continued the rally with a single. Ash wisely stayed put at third. When Raj came up to bat, Carter realized that Forest Park had run through its entire batting order that inning. That was as far down the list as it got, however. Raj struck out.

  Ash had barely ducked beneath the overhang when his teammates swarmed him.

  “That was unbelievable!”

  “Incredible hit, man, incredible!”

  “You been
holding out on us? Since when do you crush the ball like that?”

  “Guys, guys,” Ash said, grinning. “I’ve got to put on my gear. Or did you forget we’ve got two innings to go? Carter, help me out here!”

  Carter handed him his helmet. As he did, Ash locked eyes with him. “I’ve had my highlight moment,” he said. “Now let’s get you yours.”

  He held up a fist. Carter raised his eyebrows. He made a fist, too, but instead of bumping Ash’s with his knuckles, he hammered it down, then up, then down again. “Let’s go.”

  Ricky Muldoon led off the top of the fifth. He’d been baffled by Carter’s knuckleball earlier, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a threat. Ash stood up and waved the outfield back.

  It was a good thing he did because Ricky belted Carter’s first pitch with all his strength!

  Carter spun around—and sagged with disappointment. The ball was soaring to the back fence, just to the left of the spot where Ash’s triple had flown minutes earlier. Center fielder Ron Davis was on the move, but Carter knew he’d never get under the ball in time.

  Oh, well, he thought. He started turning back. Then he heard the crowd collectively gasp. He whirled around just in time to see Peter Molina, racing across from left field, soar higher than seemed humanly possible and capture the ball!

  Hold on to it, hold on to it, hold on to it, Carter pleaded silently.

  Peter fell to the ground, and then rolled over, jumped up, and triumphantly showed everyone that the ball was still stuck in his glove.

  “Yer out!” the umpire cried.

  “No!”

  Enraged, Ricky kicked the dirt beside the plate with such force he left a gouge mark. The umpire barked out a caution, but Ricky seemed beyond caring. He stormed off the field and flung himself onto the bench. Calder’s assistant coach was beside him immediately. Ricky shook him off angrily but then put his face in his hands and let the man sit beside him.

  The inning ended mercifully soon after that, with a groundout and a strikeout. The Forest Park players moved quickly and quietly off the field, subdued by Ricky’s outburst. They found their voices in the dugout, however, and were generous with their praise for Peter’s outstanding catch.