Baseball World Series

by Matt Christopher

  Mid-Atlantic did hold Midwest in the bottom of the fifth. Unfortunately, Midwest returned the favor, executing a crisp double play to end Mid-Atlantic’s chances of adding to their final run tally. Still, Mid-Atlantic took the field at the bottom of the sixth with a comfortable four-run lead.

  That lead shrank with one swing.

  Ping! With a runner on first and no outs, the same moonfaced batter who’d sneaked the ball down the line past Keith now launched a rocket to deep right field. Craig raced back, then slowed to a trot. Carter didn’t blame him. He didn’t stand a chance at making the catch; the ball cleared the fence with room to spare.

  Mid-Atlantic 5, Midwest 3.

  Carter watched, muscles tense, as pitcher Peter readied himself for the next batter. It was devastating to give up a home run so late in the game. He willed Peter to put it behind him.

  Peter did. He struck out the next batter in five pitches. When the one after that grounded out, Mid-Atlantic had their first victory!

  “Nice job, man!” Carter congratulated Peter as they trotted off the field after shaking hands with the Midwest players.

  “Cool as a cucumber, that’s what you were,” Ash agreed. Then he leaned in and whispered mischievously, “Now that’s what I call a triumph!”

  CHAPTER

  FIFTEEN

  Mom! Dad! Melanie! Over here!”

  Liam waved to his parents and sister as they made their way toward the big tent just inside The Grove. It was Saturday morning, and since West didn’t play again until Sunday, the hosts had arranged for the players to spend some time with their families.

  “Who’ve you got coming?” Liam asked Phillip as he waited for the security guard to let his family in.

  “Just my mom,” Phillip said. “Dad couldn’t get away this year.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. He’s watching at the Super Screen with all the other Ravenna fans. Last year, they packed the place every time we played.”

  Super Screen was the cinema complex near where the boys lived. The management had arranged for West’s games to be shown live in its biggest theater. Some of Liam’s teammates from the Pythons—Spencer Park, Jay Mendoza, Scott Hoffmann, and a few others—had watched the first game there. Spencer had sent him a photo of the fans celebrating West’s victory. Liam hoped they’d have more celebrations in the days ahead.

  Phillip spoke again. “I wish I could be in two places at the same time tomorrow—on the field and watching the broadcast. That way, I could hear what Nathan Daly says about me right when he says it. I mean, about us,” he corrected hastily. “What he says about us, not me.”

  Liam hid a smile at the slip. It was no secret that Phillip admired Nathan Daly; Liam had never seen him as excited as he’d been at the opening ceremonies. He could only guess how amazing it would be for Phillip to hear his idol comment on his pitching performance during a game.

  Liam was about to remind him that he could watch the replay of the game anytime, but he was stopped by the joyful cry of Mrs. DiMaggio.

  “Phillip! There you are! You don’t mind if I steal him, do you, Liam?”

  The McGraths came into the tent a moment later. Liam gave his mother and father warm hugs.

  “What am I, chopped liver?” Melanie griped, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder.

  Liam leaned close and sniffed. “Nooo,” he mused, “more like three-day-old tuna left out in the sun. In the Sahara.”

  “Very funny! Just for that…” She grabbed him in a headlock and rubbed her knuckles on his scalp as he tried to squirm away.

  “Now, now, Melanie,” Mrs. McGrath chided mildly. “Try not to damage your brother. He’s got a big game tomorrow.”

  “That’s right; he does.” Melanie released him, suddenly serious. “How’re you feeling about that, anyway?”

  He knew what she meant by that. At five o’clock the next day, West would face Mid-Atlantic.

  Liam shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

  “And will you be okay if Carter’s on the mound?”

  “If he is,” Liam said, “I’ll just pretend he’s any other pitcher.”

  “Really?” Melanie sounded skeptical. “Do you think Carter will look at you like any other batter?”

  “Why wouldn’t he?”

  The trouble was, Liam could think of a reason Carter might treat him differently: the strikeout last year. Carter knew how deeply it had affected Liam. He wouldn’t want it to happen again. And he certainly wouldn’t want to cause it to happen.

  Will it change how he pitches to me, though? Liam wondered uneasily. He didn’t think it would, but it bothered him that he didn’t know for sure.

  His father interrupted his thoughts. “So, Liam, we have permission to take you out to dinner tonight. I thought we’d go to that burger place we discovered last year. Sound good?”

  “Sounds great!” Liam replied. The restaurant wasn’t fancy, but the food had been fantastic. “Can Phillip and his mom come, too?”

  His mother looked flustered. “Oh, um, I don’t know, honey. It—it might be too late to get the okay for him to join us.”

  Liam was about to give up when Melanie jumped in. “Come on, Mom. It’ll be much more fun if Phillip is there.”

  Mrs. McGrath shot her a look but relented. “Well, I’ll see what I can do.”

  The DiMaggios accepted the invitation and, after approvals were obtained from the Little League personnel, promised to meet the McGraths at the restaurant.

  “This is going to be great!” Melanie said that evening in the car. Her eyes shone with excitement.

  Liam stared at her. “You don’t even like burgers.”

  “Oh, it’s not the food I’m looking forward to. It’s the company.”

  “Really? Since when do you like spending time with a couple of twelve-year-old boys?”

  Instead of answering, Melanie began telling him about their old house. “Everything’s so different on the inside: new carpet, new paint, my old room is an office, yours has one big bed instead of two twins. It… well, it doesn’t feel like our home anymore, you know?”

  Then she brightened. “But Forest Park itself looks exactly the same. And you wouldn’t believe how psyched everyone is about the team making it here again. There are posters in all the store windows and a huge banner stretched above Main Street. It was like going back in time to last year except…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Except this year, that’s not our team,” Liam finished for her.

  “Yeah.” She leaned closer. “Just between you and me, I—well, I really miss it here. Not that I don’t like California, but—”

  “This is home.”

  She nodded.

  They pulled into the burger joint’s parking lot. Inside, the hostess led them to a large table set for nine. Liam started to ask about the extra seats when someone called his name.

  He turned to see a small woman with brown hair and a warm smile hurrying toward him. “Aunt Cynthia?” he said, surprised. “And Uncle Peter, hey!” he added when he saw Carter’s father.

  “Carter’s here, too!” his aunt said as she folded him into her arms. “He stopped to use the restroom.”

  All at once, Liam understood why his mother had looked flustered when he’d asked to invite the DiMaggios. As far as he knew, Carter and Phillip still hadn’t come face-to-face. Now they would, and with many eyes watching.

  And a video camera recording the moment, too, if Melanie had her way. “Not a chance!” Liam cried when he saw his sister pulling a small piece of equipment from her bag. “Mom!”

  “Melanie,” Mrs. McGrath warned.

  “Oh, fine,” Melanie groused. “But it would have made a killer scene in my—” She broke off suddenly, her attention riveted by something near the door.

  Liam looked over. His heart skipped a beat.

  Phillip and his mother had just come in. At that same moment, Carter came out of the restroom. The two boys froze.

  Liam turned to his pa
rents. “Why didn’t you tell me Carter was—”

  Mrs. Jones touched Liam’s arm. “When I heard that Phillip was coming and that Ash couldn’t join us because he was going to the movies with his mother, I asked them not to. I had a feeling… Liam, look.” She nodded toward the door.

  Carter put out his hand. “I never congratulated you on last year’s World Series win,” Liam heard him say. “So… congratulations, Phillip.” And then he smiled an honest-to-goodness, from-the-heart smile.

  Liam held his breath—and let it out when Phillip smiled back and shook Carter’s hand. “Thanks. And congrats to you on your knuckleball. I’ve seen you throw it on TV.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Phillip caught Liam watching them and laughed. “I think your cousin is a little stunned that we’re being friendly.”

  Carter laughed, too. “You think?”

  As the boys made their way to the others, the door to the restaurant opened again. A tall man wearing a baseball cap walked in. When the man took off his cap, Liam gasped.

  “Guys!” he whispered urgently. “It’s Nathan Daly!”

  Carter’s jaw dropped. Phillip’s eyes widened. Mr. Daly saw them staring and waved. A moment later, he moved toward them.

  “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh,” Phillip said. He turned to Liam, obviously rattled. “What should I say?”

  Mr. Daly had reached them by then. He gave Liam a wink and said, “How about ‘hello, Nathan, happy to meet you’?”

  Phillip spun around. “HelloNathanhappytomeetyou,” he said in a rush.

  Nathan chuckled. It was a warm, rich sound. “You boys in the tournament?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m Liam McGrath. I play for West. This is my cousin Carter Jones. He plays for Mid-Atlantic.”

  “And I’m your number one fan!” Phillip blurted.

  Everyone burst out laughing. Phillip looked mortified.

  “He’s Phillip DiMaggio,” Liam said. “He pitches for West.”

  “DiMaggio, huh?” Nathan smiled. “There’s a name I won’t soon forget.”

  The remaining introductions were made, with the adults seeming just as thrilled to meet the baseball star as the boys, then Nathan excused himself. “Best of luck to you boys. And be sure to enjoy every minute of it!”

  Phillip stared after him, eyes shining. “Did you hear what he said? ‘A name I won’t soon forget.’ ”

  “We heard him… Number One Fan,” Carter teased.

  CHAPTER

  SIXTEEN

  Come on, man, get up!”

  Carter opened one eye. Ash poked him again and said, “It’s time for the most important meal of the day.”

  Raj sat up in the bunk bed closest to Carter. He had a terrific case of bed head and a hopeful expression. “Pizza?”

  “Not pizza—breakfast,” Ash said, rolling his eyes. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

  Raj yawned. “Well, since it’s Sunday, and at my house Sunday breakfast is usually leftover pizza, I just figured.” He yawned again and hopped down from the top bunk. “But I guess pancakes, sausage, eggs, and juice will have to do!”

  Carter laughed as Raj trundled off to the bathroom. Ash didn’t. He tightened his lips and shook his head. “I don’t see how you guys can be so relaxed this morning, not with our biggest challenge yet waiting for us.”

  Carter’s laughter died. With sleep still fogging his brain a little, he’d momentarily forgotten that Mid-Atlantic was scheduled to play West that afternoon. Reality came crashing down around him, and he flopped over in bed and closed his eyes.

  For the first time in their lives, he and Liam would be facing each other as pitcher and batter. They had avoided talking about it last night at dinner.

  When they got back to The Grove, however, Liam had taken Carter aside. “I’m going to be playing my best tomorrow. If I think for one second you’re taking it easy on me…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. Carter knew Liam would never forgive him if his cousin thought he hadn’t played his best, too.

  Now he tried to imagine what it would be like pitching to Liam, but he couldn’t. Instead, he dwelled on the fact that only one of them would join his teammates on the field for a joyful celebration at the end. The other would return to the dorms knowing his team was one loss away from elimination.

  He opened his eyes and stared at the slats of the bunk above. Liam is my best friend. I want him to succeed.

  He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and stood. But I want to win, too.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer cried over the loudspeaker, “welcome to the fifteenth game of the World Series! Today the West Regional champions from Ravenna, California”—he paused to allow the crowd’s applause to die down—“will face the Mid-Atlantic Regional champions from Forest Park, Pennsylvania.”

  The last words were nearly drowned out by the raucous roars from the fans packing the bleachers and the Hill, confirming that the bulk of the spectators were there to support Mid-Atlantic.

  “Whoa,” Craig said, “I think there are even more people cheering for us this year than last.”

  “Let’s make it even louder!” Raj cried. He cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, “Woo-hooo! Mid-Atlantic! Yeah!”

  West was the home team. Carter glanced over at the first-base dugout and caught a glimpse of Liam suiting up in his catcher’s gear. They had exchanged quick smiles and waves coming on and off the field during warm-ups. Seeing Liam prepare to catch for someone other than himself made Carter’s spirits sag just a little. He quickly shook himself out of it.

  Got to stay focused!

  He saw Phillip, too, of course. He could tell from the pitcher’s posture that he was in game mode.

  Well, so am I, Carter thought.

  A few minutes later, the West players raced onto the field for the start of the game. The crowd cheered as they threw the ball around. Then the umpire called, “Play ball!”

  Freddie, Mid-Atlantic’s first batter, strode to the plate.

  “You got this, Freddie,” Charlie M. said encouragingly. “Start us off strong!”

  Freddie did—much to Carter’s surprise. Not because he didn’t think Freddie could hit. He just wasn’t sure how Freddie would handle Phillip’s pitches. But there he was on first, the proud owner of a single.

  Keith grounded out to short. Craig adjusted his helmet and said, “My turn to make something happen.” He squared his broad shoulders and moved to the batter’s box, looking for all the world like a bulldog ready to pick a fight. He swung hard, but he sent Phillip’s first two pitches foul.

  “Come on, Craig, you got him, you can do it!” his teammates yelled.

  Ping! The Mid-Atlantic players leaped to their feet at the sound of bat meeting ball. Craig tore down the base path as the ball flew into shallow right field behind the first baseman. Freddie took off for second.

  Rodney raced in from right field. He couldn’t get there in time to catch the ball, but he nabbed it after a few bounces and threw to first. Craig appeared to hit the bag a split second after the ball reached Mason’s glove. Sure enough, the umpire jerked her arm backward, confirming that Craig was out. Mason cocked his arm as if to throw to second, but Freddie was already there.

  The fans applauded Craig’s effort as he trotted back to the dugout. Carter thought he might be disappointed, but he was beaming. “I was nervous about facing that DiMaggio guy again. Last year, his pitches seemed a lot harder to hit.” Craig lowered his voice. “Plus, I kept thinking about Liam’s strikeout, you know?”

  Carter nodded.

  “So either I’m a lot better than Liam,” Craig continued, “or that guy’s not such a great pitcher after all, because those pitches looked like volleyballs coming at me.”

  Carter stared at Craig in disbelief.

  “Just you wait,” Craig said. “You’ll see what I mean when you get up.”

  The next batter was Ash. He usually hit fifth in the
order, but the coaches had moved him up because his batting had been so strong. He stepped into the box and lifted the bat over his shoulder, twirling it slightly while he awaited the pitch.

  On the bench, Charlie S. started clapping and chanting, “Ash. Ash. Ash.” The other boys picked up the rhythm. Even Coach Harrison and Coach Filbert joined in.

  Swish!

  Their chant faltered with Ash’s first strike, then resumed with greater intensity. “Ash! Ash! Ash!”

  Swish!

  Strike two. Ash stepped back, rolled his shoulders a few times, and got back into his stance.

  “Ash! Ash! Ash! A—”

  Swish!

  The chanting, and the inning, ended when Ash struck out.

  “That’s okay, boys,” Coach Harrison said encouragingly. “We’ve got at least five more chances to get on that board!”

  “Nice swings, man,” Carter told Ash just before he left the dugout.

  Ash let out a frustrated sigh. “Those pitches were meatballs. I should have gotten a hit. I fanned because Liam distracted me.”

  Carter stopped short. He wanted to ask Ash what he meant. But there wasn’t time.

  “Less chat, more action, Carter,” Coach Harrison called. “Get on out to the mound for your warm-up throws!”

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  Nicely done, boys,” Coach Driscoll praised the West players as they joined him in the dugout. “Now let’s see if we can get some runs on the board.” He rattled off the batting order. “Dom, Phillip, Matt! Then Rodney, Liam, and Mason.”

  “Rodney made a great stop, don’t you think?” Liam commented as he sat next to Phillip.

  Phillip nodded but didn’t say anything or even smile. Instead, he leaned forward and stared at Carter on the mound.

  “I never thanked him,” he said suddenly. “I should have said something last night, but I didn’t. I was too busy thinking about Nathan Daly.”

  Liam looked at him, puzzled.

  Phillip returned his look. “He didn’t have to say anything about this”—he wiped his cheek against his right shoulder—“but he did.”