Baseball World Series

by Matt Christopher

  Except Ash wasn’t out, because the ball had fallen out of the second baseman’s glove!

  The umpire flung his arms out to either side. “Safe!”

  The dugout erupted into ecstatic cheers. What might have been an inning-ending hit had instead yielded two runs and landed Craig in scoring position for a possible third!

  But those two runs were all Pennsylvania added to its side of the board that inning. Carter, up after Ash, hit a bouncer right to the first baseman. The DC player barely had to move to touch the bag for the last out. Disappointed, Carter returned to the dugout.

  Ash followed him in a second later and started to put on his catcher’s gear.

  “Great hit, man,” Carter congratulated his friend.

  To his surprise, Ash made a sour face. “I got lucky.”

  “Who cares?” Charlie M. said as he passed them on his way onto the field. “We got some runs and that’s what counts! Sometimes half this game is luck!”

  Ash and Carter hurried out of the dugout. “What counts for me,” Ash said to Carter, “is earning a run because I did something right, not because they did something wrong. DC is a good team. The only way we’re going to win today is if we’re better.”

  “And the only way we’re going to win the World Series,” Carter added, “is if we play well as a team.”

  He and Ash stared at each other. Ash smiled. “I think we do.”

  Carter hesitated and then returned the smile. “You know what? I think we do, too.”

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  Look!” a Northwest player shouted. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Liam and several other boys craned their necks to see through the bus’s front windshield. It was nighttime, and there hadn’t been much to see for several miles. But the bus driver had just announced that they were approaching the Little League complex and now—

  “That’s Lamade!” Liam cried, pointing at a ball field illuminated by banks of brilliant white lights.

  The players burst into applause and excited chatter. The Howard J. Lamade Stadium was the most famous Little League Baseball diamond in the world. Right next to it was Volunteer Stadium, a smaller but no less impressive venue.

  “I can’t believe we’re here,” Cole said, his eyes round and his voice awed. Several boys near him murmured their agreement.

  A few minutes later, the bus pulled into a parking area and coasted to a stop. The double doors opened with a sigh. An older man wearing glasses and a badge identifying him as one of the Little League hosts climbed aboard and called out, “Anyone here play baseball?”

  Liam and the rest of the boys laughed.

  “Well then,” the man cried, his face crinkling with good humor, “you’ve come to the right place! Grab your stuff and come on out!”

  While the players gathered their belongings, Liam hurried to the front of the bus. “Excuse me, sir,” he asked the man. “But do you know who won the Mid-Atlantic championship? We were watching the game, but something happened to the connection and we missed the last inning.”

  “Our local boys from Pennsylvania, four to nothing.”

  Liam’s face split into a huge grin. “A shutout! Way to go, Carter!”

  The man gave him a curious look. “You know Carter Jones?”

  “He’s my cousin,” Liam said proudly.

  The man blinked and then smiled. “By gosh, you are the same Liam McGrath, aren’t you? I didn’t recognize you underneath all that hair! Bet you didn’t recognize me, either.” He took off his glasses, pulled a baseball cap out of his back pocket, and stuck it on his head. “How about now?”

  Liam’s eyes widened. “Mr. Matthews!”

  Christopher Matthews had been one of Mid-Atlantic’s team hosts during the World Series the year before. Each team was assigned two such volunteers, who spent the entire tournament with the players and coaching staff. The men and women—or “uncles” and “aunts” as they were sometimes called—shepherded the players around the facility, scheduled practice times, got them up for meals, and performed countless other tasks that ensured the team was well taken care of.

  Liam and Carter had liked both of Mid-Atlantic’s hosts—had liked all the Little League volunteers and staff, in fact—but they agreed that Mr. Matthews was their favorite. He was friendly and funny, and he had read more baseball books than any other person they’d ever met. He was kindhearted, too: When he saw Liam after the game-ending strikeout, he hadn’t said a word. He’d simply wrapped him in a quick, tight hug.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you right away,” Liam apologized. “But I never saw you without your cap before. And since when do you wear glasses?”

  “Since my wife caught me squinting at my book one time too many.” Mr. Matthews put his glasses back on and waggled his eyebrows. “Make me look smart, though, don’t they? Anyway,” he continued, “looks like you’re stuck with me again this year, since I’m one of the West hosts.” He chuckled. “When I saw your name on my list, I thought, ‘Naw, can’t be the same kid.’ But here you are! I’m sure there’s a story behind you ending up in sunny California, which I want to hear later. But for now, tell me, how are you?”

  “I’m really good, Mr. Matthews,” Liam assured him. “Really.”

  “Excellent. Still…” Mr. Matthews studied Liam for a moment, then shook his head. “I can’t imagine you and Carter playing on different teams. You were practically inseparable last year. What’ll it be like for you this time around, I wonder.”

  “Different,” Liam replied.

  “Indeed.” Mr. Matthews rubbed his hands together briskly. “Ready to see your dorm?”

  “Can’t wait!”

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  Fffffff. Fffffff. Fffffff.”

  Coach Harrison was blowing up a huge inflatable globe. He pushed the plug in place, balanced the ball on his fingertips, and held it aloft for his players to see.

  “We are on our way to the World Series,” he said solemnly to the boys gathered next to the chartered bus that would take them from Bristol to South Williamsport. He silenced their cheers with a lift of his other hand. “On the ride to Pennsylvania, I want you all to think about where the other teams come from.”

  He spun the globe and pointed to a spot in the Southern Hemisphere. “Australia.” He moved his finger up, across the equator. “Chinese Taipei.” His finger shifted farther north. “Japan.” He rotated the globe a half turn and tapped a spot in the Northern Hemisphere. “The Netherlands.” A quarter turn more and his finger touched three spots near the equator and one far above it. “Venezuela, Curacao, Mexico, and Canada.

  “Plus,” he added, tracing a zigzag across the United States, “there are the seven other teams from the U.S.: Massachusetts, Florida, Michigan, South Dakota, Colorado, Wyoming, and Southern California. And then there’s us.”

  He touched the state of Pennsylvania. “Forest Park is right about here. And South Williamsport is here.” His finger didn’t move.

  “So here’s what I want you to think about. Our families and fans can jump in their cars in the morning, drive to see us play, and then return to their homes at night. You can see them in person practically every day, even if it’s just a wave and a shout.” He twisted the globe back and forth. “How many fans from these other countries do you think will be here? Heck, how many from the U.S. are likely to make the trip?” He tossed the globe to Coach Filbert, who popped the plug and let out the air.

  “My point is this,” Coach Harrison continued. “Many of these players will be far away from their countries, their parents, everything that’s familiar to them, for the first time in their lives. You won’t be. You’re not the hosts of the tournament, but you’re the closest thing to a home team it has. So I ask you to reach out to players from other regions, other countries. Talk to them, trade pins with them, play video games with them.”

  Keith raised his hand. “But, Coach, what if they don’t speak English?”


  Coach Harrison smiled. “You all know the same language: baseball! Right?”

  “Right!” the players shouted.

  “Good. Now hop on the bus. We’ve got a tournament to get to!”

  After the excitement of winning the Mid-Atlantic region, Carter was hoping for a quiet ride to South Williamsport. His hopes faded when Ash plopped into the seat next to him holding a three-ring binder.

  Ash’s favorite hobby was collecting facts and figures about different Little League teams. He read game results and recaps online, recorded pitching and batting stats, noted fielding errors and great plays, and listed team records.

  Carter once had a page in that binder. Before they’d met, Ash had followed Carter’s progress through the previous year’s tournaments up through the U.S. Championship. He’d shown Carter his page, using it as proof that Carter wasn’t a good pitcher—he was a great one. That binder was gone, however, the pages ruined when Ash dropped it in a puddle. Now it seemed Ash had started a new one. Carter groaned when he saw it.

  “It’s not what you think,” Ash said. “I thought you might like to see pictures of my dad.”

  Carter blinked. Until recently, he hadn’t known anything about Ash’s father—hadn’t asked, to be honest, too afraid his questions might stir up some troubling emotions. As far as he knew, Mr. LaBrie wasn’t in the family picture. He’d figured Ash’s father had died or divorced Ash’s mother, or maybe just left. The truth was, Mr. LaBrie was in the military and stationed away from home for months at a time. When Carter found out, he felt silly for having avoided the topic for so long.

  Now he leaned forward eagerly. “Let’s see.”

  Ash opened the binder. Beneath a plastic sleeve was a photo of a man who looked a lot like Ash. His blond hair was cut much shorter than Ash’s, but it was the exact same shade. He had the same intense gaze as Ash, too. That gaze used to make Carter squirm when he was pitching and Ash was catching. But now he found it helped him focus.

  The photo on the next page showed a younger Ash and his father on a beach, kneeling beside a series of channels dug in the sand. Ash and Andrew and their massive sand construction! the photo’s caption read.

  “That was taken a few years ago, when we lived near the beach in North Carolina,” Ash said. “We spent all morning digging it, and then we ate lunch and watched as the tide came in and covered it.”

  “It’s awesome,” Carter said. He sneaked a look at Ash. “You miss him?”

  Ash kept his eyes on the book. “Yeah. We thought he might be home by now, but…” He shrugged and turned to the next page.

  They looked through the rest of the photos, and Ash explained where and when the pictures had been taken. Carter was amazed at how many different places his friend had lived. Only the last photos showed familiar locations and people. Shots taken during the Hawks’ season filled several pages.

  Carter laughed out loud when he saw one Hawk photo. He and Ash were sitting in a dugout with their arms around each other’s shoulders. Their smiles were forced, as if the photographer had posed them and made them say “cheese.”

  What made the photo funny was the girl behind them. She had jumped into the shot just as the picture was taken. Her long brown ponytail was in midswing. Her arms were raised high in the air, her Hawks jersey bunched up at her waist. Her eyes were crossed, and she had a huge, mischievous grin on her face.

  Ash was cracking up at the photo, too. “Rachel,” he said.

  Rachel Warburton had been the lone girl on the Hawks roster. A good player with a great arm and an equally great sense of humor, she’d helped Carter stay loose during tense games with her lame jokes and silly antics. Still did, thanks to an illustrated book of jokes she’d made for him to take to tournaments. He carried it with him in his gear bag and peeked at the pages when he needed a good laugh.

  “She’ll be at the World Series, too, you know,” Carter reminded him.

  “For the Challenger Game. Yeah, I know,” Ash said.

  The Little League Challenger Division fielded teams of developmentally and physically challenged players. All Challenger players were paired with “buddies,” boys and girls who helped them during games. Rachel was one of them. Her team was one of two chosen to play the annual exhibition game during the World Series.

  “Think we’ll see her?” Carter asked.

  Ash snorted. “She’s so loud, we’re sure to hear her at least!”

  Laughing again, they turned the page to find only blank sleeves.

  “What goes in here?” Carter asked.

  “Future photos, I guess,” Ash answered. He grinned. “Like us holding the World Series champions banner!”

  “Yeah!” Carter agreed enthusiastically. He flipped back through the binder, pausing now and then when a photo caught his eye. When he reached the first page, something dawned on him. Ash had moved around a lot. Did that mean he’d move again? And if so… when?

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  Liam dove underwater and swam toward the shallow end of the pool. His lungs were nearly bursting when he surfaced. He flipped onto his back, breathed deeply, and stared up into the late-afternoon sky.

  Monday had started bright and early with breakfast in the dining hall. The boys ate quickly, knowing that once they were done they’d get to visit the one place they’d all been longing to see: Howard J. Lamade Stadium. When they’d cleared their plates, Mr. Matthews led them out of The Grove. A few minutes later, they were all standing on a vast grassy slope overlooking the pristine baseball diamond.

  “That’s Lamade!” Christopher Frost said excitedly. “And we’re standing on the Hill, aren’t we?” He squatted down to pat the grass.

  Mr. Matthews’s face crinkled into a smile. “This is, indeed, the famous Hillside Terrace. It’s empty now, but just you wait. First game, this entire area will be a sea of baseball fans sitting on blankets and beach chairs.”

  “And will kids really be sliding down the Hill on cardboard?” Christopher asked. “Like they’re sledding on snow?”

  Mr. Matthews laughed. “Sure will! That’s a big Little League tradition.”

  “I hope I get to try it,” Christopher said wistfully. “I’ve never gone sledding before.”

  “You haven’t?” Liam was shocked. Growing up in Pennsylvania, he had gone sledding practically every winter.

  Christopher shrugged. “Not a lot of snow in Southern California. I’ve only seen it on the mountains. Can’t really sled there, can you?”

  Liam had no answer for that. But once again, he was reminded of how different California and Pennsylvania were.

  After the boys took the grand tour of Lamade, they visited Volunteer Stadium. Later, they had taken batting practice, eaten lunch, and been fitted for their uniforms. Then they’d been allowed to enjoy the rec room. Liam had kept an eye out for Carter the whole day but didn’t see his cousin.

  Tuesday morning started with a light practice. After that, the boys were told they could take a swim.

  Liam dove under again and swam the rest of the way to the shallow end. He surfaced and held on to the side, his legs floating out behind him.

  Suddenly, a hand grasped his ankle and pulled.

  “Hey!” he cried, spinning around.

  The hand released him. A moment later, a boy broke through the surface waves, his green eyes shining with mirth. “Gotcha, doofus!”

  Liam’s jaw dropped. “Dork!” he cried. He hurled himself at Carter, swamping them both in the chest-high water. They splashed and roughhoused until the lifeguard asked them to tone it down a little.

  “When’d you get here?” Liam demanded to know as they floated next to each other.

  “Yesterday after lunch,” Carter said.

  “How was your drive down from Bristol?”

  “Long,” Carter answered. “How about your trip from California?”

  “Longer. So, any of the guys come to the pool with you?”

  Liam kept his voice casual, hoping Carter wouldn�
�t guess what he really wanted to know.

  Carter wasn’t fooled. “Don’t worry. Ash is inside, in the rec room. That’s where I’d be, too, except Coach Harrison heard your team was here at the pool. He gave me permission to come find you.”

  “He’s such a great guy,” Liam said, grinning partly because he was so happy to see Carter again and partly because he was relieved that he wouldn’t be seeing Ash just yet. He caught Carter glancing around then, and gave a sly grin. “You don’t have to worry, either. Phillip’s grabbing a nap in the chair over there. If you stay quiet, maybe you won’t wake him.”

  “I wasn’t worried.” But Carter’s sheepish smile let Liam know he was relieved not to be facing his rival, either.

  Liam floated on his back and stared at the blue sky. “Can you even believe we’re back here?”

  Carter slicked back the wet hair from his forehead. “I find it awesome and extremely weird at the same time.”

  “That is exactly what I think. And if my team ends up playing your team…” He left the sentence unfinished.

  Neither boy said anything for a moment. Then Liam challenged, “So, wanna race?”

  Carter slid him a sideways look. “Deep end and back, like last year?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’ll win again, like last year.”

  “Nope.”

  “I won every time, you know.”

  “That was then,” Liam retorted. “This is now.”

  They asked a big-boned blond boy paddling nearby to start them and to judge who touched the wall first upon their return. A few other boys moved away to give them room. “I’ll race winner!” one called.

  “I’ll take loser,” another said.

  “You are the loser,” the first joked.

  The boys all spoke with strong accents. “Where are you guys from?” Liam asked as he and Carter got into position.

  “Oz,” the starter said.

  “Down Under,” another added.

  Carter and Liam exchanged confused looks. The starter and his friends burst out laughing. “Those are nicknames for Australia, mate. My name’s Jon, Jon Burns. That’s Jim, and the other bloke is Nigel.”