But as he neared the plate, he realized that this catcher was smarter than that. Instead of waiting down the line, he’d planted himself firmly over the plate, extending the ball, pinned into his mitt with his right hand. Without a body to knock down, Josh didn’t stand a chance of running him over before he’d been tagged out. He made that calculation in a split second, stopped, and raced back for third, thinking Benji might be able to get a hit after all.
Three-quarters of the way back, he sensed the catcher’s throw zip past his ear and saw the ball land in the third baseman’s glove. Josh reversed field again, sprinting for home. When something cracked into the back of his helmet, he grinned. The third baseman threw wild and the ball ricocheted off Josh’s helmet toward the mound. He dug in, churning forward, aware of the pitcher scooping up the ball and the catcher back in the perfect position at home.
Everyone shouted. Josh somehow sensed the catcher adjusting his glove for the throw. Josh stumbled and dove, headfirst. He heard the smack of the ball into the catcher’s mitt, but his fingers touched the bag just below it before the tag came.
“Safe!” the umpire yelled.
The Titans went wild.
After a lot of backslapping and cheering among his teammates, Josh lined up to shake hands with the Florida kids along with everyone else. Then the team circled up around his dad.
“Okay, nice win, you guys. Esch, way to get on base with that single. LeBlanc, way to close the deal,” his dad said, all business, looking down and flipping through the pages on his clipboard. “So, we advance, but we still have a long way to go—three more wins to make it to the championship—so let’s not celebrate too hard here. Tomorrow we’ll play the winner of the Nashville Roadsters and the Toronto Eagles in the second round.”
“Roadsters?” Benji said, raising one eyebrow. “What’s that? A car or a barnyard animal?”
Josh’s dad looked at Benji and said, “They’re twenty-three and one so far this season, so it doesn’t matter what they are, right?”
“Right, Coach,” Benji said, coming to attention and saluting.
When Josh’s dad cracked a smile, the rest of the team laughed.
“The Roadsters and the Eagles play in about an hour, one o’clock on field seven,” his dad said, “so you guys get a bite to eat and let’s meet over there to scout things out.”
The team put their hands in, did a chant, and broke up. Jaden waited beside the backstop with her pad and paper. Josh wandered over, expecting Jaden to praise their performance, kicking up dust with his cleat and studying the ground.
“Hey,” he said. “We’re going to scout the next team we play. You up for it?”
“Oh, hi, Josh,” Jaden said, looking up as if she hadn’t seen him. “Nice steal at home. Exciting finish.”
“You writing about that?” Josh asked, craning his neck to see her pad.
Jaden snapped the pad shut and forced a smile. “They’ll let me run a paragraph. Maybe two. It’s only the first round. Long way to go.”
“Yeah,” Josh said, nodding. “So. What about going with us to scout? I’ll buy you a hot dog or something.”
“No thanks,” Jaden said, picking up the backpack she’d set on the edge of the bleachers.
“A soda or something?” he asked.
“I gotta go over to field eleven,” she said, looking at her watch. “Get some follow-up stuff for my story on Mickey.”
“Junior or senior?” Josh asked.
Jaden stared at him with those green cat eyes, and the yellow flecks seemed to swirl, almost hypnotizing him. “Does it matter, Josh?”
Anger erupted inside Josh like lava busting out the side of a volcano.
“No,” he said, “it doesn’t. You want to know why?”
“Tell me,” Jaden said, sounding bored.
“Because who cares about some Hollywood actor who used to play baseball? Who cares about his stuck-up kid?” Josh asked, raising his voice.
Jaden raised her chin. “He is not stuck up. He’s very nice, and he helped save your butt yesterday, you and that goofy friend of yours. You guys could hardly thank him.”
“Last thing I knew, Benji was your friend too, but obviously old friends don’t matter to you when some movie actor and his kid show up,” Josh said.
“Someone calling for a heavy hitter?” Benji said, popping out from around the corner of the dugout. “I heard my name.”
“Stash it,” Jaden said to him.
“Stow it,” Josh said.
“Lovers’ quarrel, I guess,” Benji said, disappearing.
“Those guys sure didn’t do anything for me,” Josh said. “If anything, they did it for you so you would write good things about them. That’s all those two are worried about—flying people around to write good things. Don’t kid yourself. Those people don’t care about anything but themselves.”
“You should know about that,” Jaden said, turning to go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
JOSH AND BENJI HELPED Josh’s dad take the gear to the bus, then they headed to field seven. The winner of the game being played there would be their next opponent. With his mind on trying to get things back to normal with Jaden, Josh had a hard time focusing on the action in front of him. Halfway through the game, Benji nudged Josh in the ribs and he jumped, spilling his nachos all over his dad’s lap.
“Josh, what the heck?” his father said, wiping a smear of melted cheese from his knee.
“Sorry, Dad,” Josh said.
His father’s face softened and he pointed at the field. “How about this Chase Corcoran from Toronto? Kid can throw. He’s just closing out the last two innings, so we’ll see him in our game. I know I said I’d give you guys the rest of the day off, but I think I’d like to get some batting practice in later. You see that slider?”
“Slider?” Josh said, looking out at the lanky pitcher on the mound.
“You even watching?” his dad asked.
Josh felt his face heat up. “Sure.”
“Right,” his dad said.
“Well,” Josh said, scratching the back of his neck. “I know—like you said—that we’ve got three more games to win before the championship, but I just keep thinking about the Comets playing over there on field eleven.
“Would you mind if I went over there?”
His father looked at him with mild surprise and said, “You’re taking this rival thing serious, huh?”
“Kind of.”
Josh’s dad broke out in a grin and he nodded. “Yeah, I get it. You go ahead. I can handle the scouting here by myself.”
Josh left the bleachers just as Corcoran struck out his third batter in a row. Benji hustled along beside him and said, “I’m all for seeing the Comets, but we ought to make a pit stop.”
Benji pointed toward the concession stand, but Josh didn’t stop his quick march or say anything until he stood there at the corner of the bleachers at field eleven.
“What the heck?” Josh said, his head swiveling this way and that, all around. “I don’t even see her.”
“Her? Who?” Benji said, wrinkling his forehead. “Jaden?”
“Who do you think?” Josh said, still scanning.
“Dude, you are so in love,” Benji said. “I thought we were here to scout these Comet guys. Hey, would you look at all those cameras and reporters? We had Jaden taking some crummy notes, but for these guys it’s like they’re shooting a movie or something.”
“Right, all the reporters, but no Jaden,” Josh said. He sighed angrily, still searching the stands and anyone within eyesight of field eleven. “Something’s not right.”
“Right or not,” Benji said. “We should at least watch a little.”
“Okay,” Josh said, starting to climb the crowded bleacher steps even as he continued to search. “Let’s sit down.”
They sat and watched the game for half an inning before Benji nudged Josh again and said, “Hey! Look! There she is.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
JADEN SAT IN THE dugout between Mickey Mullen and Mickey Mullen Jr., wearing a bright red Comets cap and clutching her notepad. Her smile seemed to glow.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Josh said. “A Comets hat?”
“Women,” Benji said, shaking his head. “Can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em.”
Josh gave him a dirty look.
“Come on,” Benji said. “My dad says that all the time. I’m sorry. Let’s just go.”
“No, that’s fine,” Josh said. “Let’s scout these chumps.”
“Look, I know you don’t want to sit here looking at Jaden sandwiched between those two guys,” Benji said.
“I couldn’t care less,” Josh said. “Just be quiet and watch some baseball, Benji. Think about the game a little more, will you?”
Josh forced himself not to look at Jaden, a feat that became much easier when the inning closed out and Mickey Mullen Jr. took the mound against the Tallahassee Knights. Josh studied his rival, watching carefully the windup and delivery that was as unique to every pitcher as his signature. Mullen moved with long, sweeping motions, releasing the ball with a final snap of the wrist that took advantage of his long arms and maximized the velocity of the ball. The kid could throw, and not just fastballs. His only issue seemed to be accuracy, and the tall, skinny umpire took care of that. In fact, the umpire’s apparent strike zone was so high and so wide that Josh found himself studying the man’s pinched and narrow face as he lifted his mask to take a drink of water between innings.
The ump had a long nose, flattened to his face, and an unending scowl. When he walked, he swung one leg with a distinctive limp. Part of the scowl, Josh thought, might have been to deflect the constant complaints from the Tallahassee coach, who groaned loudly and shouted protests over the liberal strike zone.
The game moved into the top of the final inning with the score tied at two. Mickey Mullen Jr. hit a double, sending the runner on second home and giving the Comets the lead before the Tallahassee pitcher put down three batters in a row, closing out the side. With a 3–2 lead, Mickey Jr. took the mound again. The Mick emerged from the dugout and urged on the crowd, waving his arms with the drama of a symphony conductor. The crowd stood and cheered, wild for the movie star.
The Mick then made a gallant gesture with his arm toward the pitcher’s mound and bowed to his son. The crowd ate up the theatrics, and a storm of applause rained down on Mickey Jr. Even after the noise had settled to a steady cheer, excitement buzzed in the air, and Josh couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to have a dad that famous. He stole a glance at Jaden. She stood too, inside the dugout, clapping her hands with the rest of them.
“Half the time the guy can’t get it over the plate,” Josh said with disgust, leaning into Benji’s ear, “and they’re clapping like he’s Roger Clemens.”
Benji did his best to make farting noises by blowing on his arm, but it was no use. All eyes were on the Mick, his glowing eyes, his shining teeth, and his all-star son on the mound. The thrill must have gotten to Mickey Jr. because his first three pitches were so wild, the catcher had to come out of his stance to snag them. The ump correctly called all three balls. Finally Mickey Jr. put one down the middle, but it passed the batter at eye level.
“Strike!” the ump called, pumping his fist.
“What?” the Tallahassee coach screamed. “Are you crazy? That ball was almost over his head.”
The ump ignored the coach and crouched down behind the plate.
“You’ve got to be kidding me, Ump!” the Tallahassee coach screamed.
Josh studied Jaden. It looked like she was sitting a little more rigid than she had been a few minutes ago. The next pitch came waist high but outside, a close call.
“Strike!” the ump said.
The Tallahassee coach went berserk, running out onto the dirt. The umpire whipped off his mask and snarled at the coach.
“You get back in the dugout or you are out of here, Coach,” the ump said. “Set an example for the kids, would you?”
“You set an example,” the coach shouted. “I’ve never seen calls that bad.”
“One more word, Coach, and you’re done.”
The Tallahassee coach stamped back to his dugout and began shouting encouragement to his team, but even though his words were positive, his anger came through loud and clear. The next pitch was inside. The batter hesitated and Josh knew what went through his mind—if it was even close, he might as well swing. He swung and missed.
The crowd cheered as if they’d forgotten the pathetic calls and so it went, with the next batter striking out on an 0–2 count. The third man up was the top of the Tallahassee order. He surprised everyone by hunting for a high pitch and connecting, blasting a line drive over the first baseman’s head. The next batter came out swinging, too, jumping at an outside pitch and connecting enough so that he dribbled one down the third-base line.
With two runners on, the next batter went hunting as well. It was obvious that the irate Tallahassee coach had told his best batters to swing at anything they could. Meanwhile Mickey Jr. seemed to suddenly gain control. The first pitch came inside fast, then broke outside across the plate. The batter swung but missed. The next pitch was low, but he swung anyway, hitting it foul. For three more pitches in a row, the batter defended the plate, swinging at everything but delivering nothing except foul balls.
Finally, a ball came down the middle with heat.
The batter swung and connected, sending a red-hot grounder past the edge of the mound. The shortstop made a great play by diving and just getting a glove on the ball to slow it down. The runners took off. The center fielder ran in on the wounded grounder. The runner from second rounded third, and the third-base coach waved him home.
The center fielder scooped up the ball, one-hopped, and made the throw to home. The runner slid, kicking up a cloud of dirt as the umpire crouched nearby with his eyes glued to the plate. The runner’s foot hit home plate just as the catcher stretched up and snagged the throw. The catcher brought his glove down and slapped the runner’s leg, nearly a second too late.
“Out!” the umpire shouted, throwing a thumb over his right shoulder.
“Out?” the losing coach shrieked amid the cheering crowd.
“Tagged him before the foot touched the plate, Coach,” the umpire shouted. “He’s out.”
“Out? He was safe!” the coach screamed, whipping off his hat and slapping it against his leg. “You’re blind! You’re a moron! You’re a crook!”
The coach threw his hat down and stomped on it. Then he balled his hands into fists and ran right at the umpire.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THE COACHES FROM BOTH teams swarmed home plate, grappling with the head-coach-gone-crazy and fending him off the umpire. Mickey Mullen stood outside the Comets dugout with his arms crossed and grinning, shaking his head in disappointment at the madness but staying well away from the action. He turned to the crowd and offered up a dramatic shrug as if to say that some people were simply crazy. The umpire didn’t back down. In fact, he went after the Tallahassee coach—who was being restrained—and nearly got a punch off before two of the Comets’ assistant coaches got hold of him and dragged him away.
“Holy moly,” Josh said.
“It’s like a Syracuse Express football practice,” Benji said, gawking. “Those guys are always going at it, only the coaches just let ’em fight ’cause they say they don’t get paid enough to get a black eye.”
“But did you see that call?” Josh said. “It was the worst call I’ve ever seen.”
“Not the worst,” Benji said. “Remember when we were in Philadelphia and that ump called it an out when the guy dropped the pop fly but scooped it up and put it in his glove but the ump couldn’t see that far? That had to be the worst.”
“Well, one of the worst then,” Josh said. “That was awful.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when your dad is in the movies,” Benji said. “That um
p is probably looking for tickets to the Oscars or something.”
“Well, he earned them, I’ll tell you,” Josh said, shaking his head and slipping into the press of people exiting the bleachers.
“You gonna try and talk to Jaden?” Benji asked.
“Forget Jaden,” Josh said, pulling out his phone. “I’m calling my dad.”
But when Josh called his dad’s cell phone, he learned that his dad had already left.
“Your mom asked me to get some grape juice at the store for your sister,” his dad said, “but I’ll come back and get you guys if you’re ready.”
“No,” Josh said. “That’s okay. You talked to the driver about us being banned from the shuttle bus?”
“She’s all set,” Josh’s dad said in a low rumble that meant business. “I had a talk with the camp manager. You guys can ride, but keep the comments to yourselves, right? Tell that to Benji, too.”
Josh smiled to himself. “I will. So, we’ll just catch the shuttle. Maybe we’ll even take it into town and see the Babe’s statue. Benji’s dying to get a shot with it, and I want to see Hammerin’ Hank’s. Then we can take the shuttle home later.”
“Don’t miss dinner,” his dad said. “I’m going to have batting practice right afterward. This Corcoran kid’s got me worried.”
“No problem, Dad.”
Josh hung up and he and Benji made their way to the entrance, where they found the powder blue Beaver Valley Campsite shuttle bus just getting ready to leave. The driver glared at them as they climbed the steps, but several parents and players from the Titans were already on the bus, heading for town, and the driver seemed to consider them with a glance before she said anything nasty.
“No trouble,” she said, growling under her breath with obvious hatred.
“We won’t,” Josh said.
Rivals (2010) Page 8