Perfect Game

by Matt Christopher

  Carter polished off a plate of pancakes and then got up to refill his juice from the big dispenser at the side of the room.

  “My older sister throws a mean knuckleball.”

  Carter spun around to find himself face-to-face with Jonathan Boyd.

  “That’s how I knew how to hit yours,” the Pine Ridge player continued. “She threw it to me in the backyard all regular season. I never thought I’d have to face one. Turns out I was wrong.”

  “Yeah,” was all Carter could think to reply. “Guess so.”

  Jonathan cocked his head to one side. “No hard feelings, though, right? I mean, we’re all doing what we can do to win.”

  Carter looked away. “The thing is, you never thought you’d face someone who could throw a knuckleball. I never thought I’d face someone who could hit it. At least, not as hard as you did.”

  “I’m pretty proud of those homers.” Jonathan’s tone was matter-of-fact, not smug. Then his expression dimmed. “I wish I could have hit one yesterday, too. We needed it.”

  Pine Ridge had lost its second game, falling to Burton 13–6.

  “You’re not out of it yet,” Carter reminded him. “If you beat Spotsville, you’ll be two-and-one for the tournament.”

  “True, and if you guys beat Burton, you’ll have the same record. Good luck with that, though. Those guys can hit. Anyway, see you around.”

  Carter was about to return to his table when he spotted something under Jonathan’s arm. “Hey, is that a pin-trading bag?”

  Jonathan held open the bag. “Sure is. I go to the Little League Baseball World Series every year to trade. Well, and watch baseball, of course. Do you collect, too?”

  “You bet! Wanna meet up after breakfast and do some trading? If no one’s using the Ping-Pong table in our rec room, we could meet there.”

  Jonathan agreed enthusiastically and the two parted.

  Back at the Ravenna table, Carter was greeted with stares of amazement. “Were you actually talking with that jerk?” Ash demanded to know.

  “Yes, and he’s not a jerk. He’s just a kid, like us.” Carter filled him and the others in on their conversation.

  “I knew there had to be an explanation for why he could hit your knuckleball!” Charlie S. crowed. “I mean, that pitch is Forest Park’s winning ticket, our ace in the hole, our bird in the hand, our… our… well, you get the point. It’s why we’ve gotten as far as we have in the postseason. Unless you face Boyd again, it should be smooth sailing for us from here on out.”

  Carter gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. “Yeah, right.”

  But to his astonishment and dismay, none of the other players disputed what Charlie S. had said. Carter was so taken aback, he didn’t know what to say. So, in the end, he said nothing.

  Coach Harrison arrived at their table a few moments later. “So,” he said, taking a seat between Charlie S. and Allen Avery, “what’s the topic of conversation this morning?”

  Charlie S. explained what happened. “I was just telling Carter how important his knuckleball is to us winning games,” he added.

  “Really.” Coach Harrison took a long sip of coffee. He didn’t say anything else until the players were done with their meals. “Okay, boys, enjoy some relaxation time this morning. Then let’s plan to meet in the dorm lobby before the one o’clock game. Oh, and don’t worry about clearing your dishes this morning. Just give them to Carter. He’ll take them to the conveyor belt.”

  With that, he handed Carter a plate sticky with syrup.

  The boys looked at one another and then at the belt chugging into the kitchen’s back room.

  “I can help him if—” Allen started to say.

  “No, no,” the coach interrupted jovially. “He’s capable.”

  Luke Armstrong shrugged, stood up, and put his plate, silverware, and plastic tumbler on top of the empty plate Carter was already holding. As other boys followed suit, the stack of dirty dishes grew until it teetered alarmingly.

  “Uh, coach?” Peter Molina said, hesitating with his plate. “I don’t think Carter should have to handle it all by himself.”

  Suddenly, Coach Harrison stood up and exclaimed, “He shouldn’t have to handle your plates—and he shouldn’t have to shoulder your expectations, either.”

  He shook his head. “His knuckleball can be a devastating pitch. But expecting that pitch to be the driving force that gets Forest Park through the postseason? That’s as unreasonable as thinking he can get your dishes to the conveyor belt without dropping them.”

  “Speaking of which…!” Allen and Peter darted forward and grabbed plates from Carter just as the stack started to slide.

  “My point is,” the coach said, “you boys are a team. You contribute equally to victories and defeats alike. Do I make myself clear?” He looked at each of them in turn, meeting their eyes and nodding back when they nodded. “Okay. Good. Now off you go. My coffee is getting cold.”

  The players left, murmuring see you later and bye. Carter simply said, “Thanks.”

  Carter met up with Jonathan in the rec room an hour later. Players from other teams heard what they were doing and showed up with their collections, too. By lunchtime the Ping-Pong table was surrounded by boys wearing jerseys of all different colors. “It’s like a rainbow threw up down here,” one boy commented happily.

  The rest of Carter’s day was spent just as happily, except for one thing. Jonathan’s team lost. To his surprise, though, the Pine Ridge slugger didn’t seem too down.

  “We’re not out of it yet,” he reminded Carter. “If you guys lose big to Burton, we still have a shot at claiming second place in our pool because of the runs-allowed ratio.”

  Carter grinned. “Guess we’ll just have to win big instead, then.”

  Jonathan shook his head. “Good luck. Burton is one of the toughest teams I’ve ever faced. They can hit, and their guys are crazy fast on the base paths. But who knows? Maybe you guys will do what we couldn’t.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  After Tuesday’s interview, Liam and Phillip brainstormed ideas to change Phillip’s superstitious face-wipe gesture. But nothing they came up with seemed quite right to the pitcher.

  “Maybe it’s a mistake to try switching it now,” he said when he left a short while later.

  “Maybe,” Liam said. But he wasn’t convinced. Too many people knew about it—people they just might run into if they made it all the way down the road to Williamsport.

  Not if, Liam chastised himself. When.

  It was Melanie who ended up giving him a new idea. She’d been working on her video documentary when she suddenly gave a loud whoop that brought the family running.

  “What is it?” Mrs. McGrath cried.

  Melanie’s face was wreathed in smiles. “I had this concept for a sequence,” she explained. “I’ve been visualizing it for a few days. But we’ve been so busy going back and forth to the ball fields that I didn’t have time to put it together. Until now.”

  She pressed a key, and a video started playing. Liam and his parents crowded closer to watch.

  An image of a calendar showing the month of June appeared on the screen. The fifteenth was circled in red, with the days leading up to it x-ed out.

  “All-Star announcement day,” Liam murmured.

  Melanie nodded. “That’s the starting point of the story.”

  The calendar faded out, replaced by a distant shot of an empty baseball diamond. Liam recognized it as one his regular-season team, the Pythons, had often played on. The field was in perfect condition: the chalk lines bold and white, the sandy base paths free of scuffs, and the grass a brilliant green.

  “Nice,” Mrs. McGrath murmured. “How’d you get the shot?”

  “Climbed up the backstop and hung on for dear life,” Melanie answered.

  “Not so nice,” Mrs. McGrath said.

  The image slowly zoomed in on home plate. Two feet wearing baseball cleats appeared in the batter’s box. T
he tip of a bat tapped the plate.

  “Whose feet are those?” Mr. McGrath asked.

  “Spencer Park’s,” Melanie said. “He told me he’d be happy to help with the documentary any time.”

  Liam choked back a laugh. Spencer had been a pitcher on the Pythons; Liam had caught for him many times. He wasn’t surprised to hear Spencer had made such an offer. Liam had long suspected he had a crush on his sister.

  Words materialized on the plate: PART ONE: THE JOURNEY BEGINS.

  “That title is just a placeholder right now,” Melanie hastened to say. “I needed something there to see if this effect would work. Watch!”

  A hand holding an umpire’s plate brush appeared, hovered over the words for a second, and then started sweeping. The words were cleaned off just as dirt and sand would be in real life.

  “Hey, that looks pretty cool!” Liam said, impressed despite himself.

  “Thanks. Like I said, I pictured it in my head. Then I made it happen.”

  Liam looked thoughtful. “Huh. Pictured it in your head…”

  Melanie waved a hand in front of his face. “Hello? You in there?”

  “I am! I think I just got an idea of my own!” Without explaining, Liam rushed to his room, called Phillip, and asked if he could come by.

  “Sure, but why?”

  “I have something for us to test. See you in ten!”

  His mother had to do an errand, so she dropped him off at Phillip’s house. As Liam rang the DiMaggios’ doorbell, he realized he’d driven by and ridden his bike past Phillip’s house before but never actually been inside.

  This should be interesting, he thought as he waited for Phillip to answer the door.

  What was interesting was that Phillip didn’t answer the door. Owen Berg did. For a moment, Liam thought he had the wrong place.

  But then Phillip appeared behind Owen.

  “Hey, Liam. Come on in. Owen and I were just playing video games.” Phillip turned away, clearly expecting the others to follow. Liam tried to but couldn’t because Owen stood firmly planted in the doorway, staring at him. Liam waited for him to move so he could enter. After a long moment Owen finally stepped aside just enough for Liam to squeeze past.

  “So what’s this all about?” Phillip asked.

  Liam darted a glance at Owen. He thought his idea had merit but was pretty sure Owen would think it was stupid. But since he couldn’t just leave without telling Phillip about it, he forged ahead.

  “What if, instead of actually doing your face-wipe ritual, you just imagine you’re doing it? I mean, really imagine every little detail so that it felt real.”

  As if on cue, Owen gave a snort, flopped down in an easy chair, and picked up his video game controller. “Oh, brother,” he drawled. “That’s your plan?”

  “No, hang on, IceBerg,” Phillip said. “I remember reading about something like that in one of my sports magazines.” He moved to a shelf stacked with old issues and started sorting through them. “It’s called visualization or mental guidance. Lots of athletes do it. Sprinters and swimmers see themselves winning a race, for example. Basketball players ‘see’ their shots, that kind of thing. Yeah, here it is.”

  He pulled out an issue featuring the last Winter Olympics and winged it to Owen. Owen glanced at the cover, shrugged, and kept playing his game.

  “If you want any advice on how to do it,” Liam said, warming to his subject, “Coach Driscoll is your man. He knows a lot about mind-over-matter stuff. He taught us that relaxation breathing technique. I bet he knows about this, too.”

  “I’ll talk to him later,” Phillip said. “But right now I want to head out back and see if it works.”

  “Let’s go!”

  Owen dragged himself up from his chair, muttering. “This I gotta see.”

  Phillip had a pitch back set up in his yard. He found a ball and got into position. Then he hesitated and looked at Liam uncertainly. “What do I do now?”

  “Try closing your eyes and picturing what you usually do,” Liam suggested.

  “Or forget about trying to change what you do,” Owen countered, “because changing it now is going to mess you up.”

  “Maybe not,” Liam said, doing his best to keep his voice even.

  “Probably so,” Owen said. He gave Liam a long look. “And when it does, it’ll be your fault.”

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  No way! Carter couldn’t believe his eyes when Liam texted him what Owen had said. It was late Tuesday night. Ash was already asleep in the other bed, so the boys were texting instead of talking or video-chatting. What did u say?

  Nothing, Liam informed him. P told O to back off.

  Carter experienced a rush of gratitude mixed with jealousy when he read that. He was glad to know that Phillip had stood up for his cousin. But at the same moment, he flashed back to the video clip of Phillip and Liam bumping fists three times. If it had been anyone else but Phillip…

  He shook his head to clear it. Good, he typed, then added, G2G. Big game 2morrow.

  BOL, Liam responded, meaning Best of luck.

  U2, Carter replied. Then he turned off his phone. He didn’t close his eyes, though. He was afraid he might start picturing Phillip and Liam hanging out together, playing ball, sharing laughs and private jokes… and becoming best friends while he stood on the outside looking in.

  “So how’s the great Liam McGrath?”

  Carter was startled by the sound of Ash’s voice coming out of the darkness. “Sorry, did my texting wake you up?”

  “I wasn’t asleep.” Ash rolled onto his side so he was facing Carter’s bed. Carter could just make out the shine of his eyes in the dimly moonlit room.

  “Oh,” Carter said. “Well, to answer your question, Liam’s been having a little trouble with one of the guys who used to be—”

  “Yeah, you know what? I’m not really interested.” Ash blew out a long breath. “To be honest, I think I could live pretty happily never hearing another word about Liam.”

  Carter had long suspected Ash was jealous of his relationship with his cousin. He’d kept it more or less to himself, however. Carter figured he didn’t want to talk about it, so he never brought it up, either. But now it was out there, hanging in the air between them and impossible to ignore.

  Still, Carter stayed silent. Not because he wanted to, but because he couldn’t think of what to say to ease Ash’s jealousy. And then it struck him.

  “I feel the same way about Phillip DiMaggio,” he said.

  “Then why did you tell Liam about his changeup thing?” Ash demanded. “You had the perfect instrument of revenge right in your hands and you chose to—”

  “Because it was the right thing to do,” Carter interrupted quietly.

  After a moment Ash said, “Yeah, I know. And I know it’s stupid for me to be so bothered about you and Liam.” He pushed himself up to a sitting position and leaned his head back against the wall, eyes on the dark ceiling overhead. “Maybe I’d feel better if I knew the answer to one question.”

  Carter struggled up to a sitting position, too, but he swung his legs over the side of the bed so he was facing Ash. “I think I know the question,” he said.

  Ash rolled his head so he was looking at Carter. “You do?”

  Carter nodded. “I’ve been asking myself the same one. You want to know what’s going to happen if Forest Park faces Ravenna at the Little League Baseball World Series. What I’ll do if I have to play against Liam.”

  Now Ash twisted around, feet on the floor, so he was facing Carter. He put his elbows on his knees and leaned in close. Even in the near-complete dark, his gaze was intense. “That’s exactly what I want to know.”

  Carter looked away, unable to meet that gaze any longer. “I wish I could tell you,” he replied. “But the truth is, I don’t know myself. I guess I’m just hoping that I’m never in a position where I have to find out.”

  “That would mean either Forest Park doesn’t make it all
the way, or Ravenna doesn’t.”

  “I know,” Carter said miserably. “The trouble is, as much as I’m dying to get another shot at the Little League Baseball World Series title, I want Liam to get that shot, too. You weren’t there last year. You didn’t see that strikeout. I wish I could wipe it from my brain.”

  Ash studied him for a long moment. Then he tucked his legs back under his covers and lay down. “The thing is, Carter, if Forest Park does face Ravenna”—he turned and looked at Carter again—“you may be the one striking him out this year. The sooner you get used to that idea, the better it will be for you and for the team.”

  Carter put his head in his hands and dug his fingers into his hair. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

  It took him a long time to get to sleep that night.

  CHAPTER

  FIFTEEN

  Undefeated. That’s a nice word, isn’t it?” Coach Driscoll said to his team. The boys were waiting for the signal to take the field for the game against Zaragoza. “I don’t know about you all, but I wouldn’t mind ending pool play that way.”

  The Ravenna players shouted their agreement. A victory that afternoon would earn them a record of 4–0. Zaragoza, with a final record of 2–2, would be eliminated from the tournament. Fair Valley, Wheaton, and Desert Rock had already suffered two losses each and were out.

  If Zaragoza won, however, it would be tied with Ravenna at 3–1, forcing the two teams to play a tiebreaker the next day. The winner of that game would move on to play against the top team from Southern California North in the Southern California Championship.

  With so much on the line, Liam had expected Phillip to start the game at pitcher—with Liam as his catcher, of course. And Phillip was the team’s best pitcher, so starting him made sense.

  But when Coach Driscoll tapped Mason Sykes to start, a small part of Liam was relieved.

  Yesterday, Phillip hadn’t seemed very comfortable throwing a changeup without his face-wipe gesture. Liam didn’t give up on the visualization idea, though. Together, they went to the Driscolls’ to talk to the coach.