“Now? Really? I thought I was practicing for later. But now is great!” she said happily.
“Are you replacing me with Seth, Coach?” Ash asked.
“No, you’re still in for now,” Mr. Harrison replied. “So head to the field and warm her up, please.”
“Fine.”
Carter had hoped that their agreement about the knuckleball had forged something of a bond between them. But clearly it hadn’t, because, unlike Rachel, Ash didn’t sound happy. The coach had turned away and didn’t hear his tone. But Rachel did.
“Good grief, you would have thought he had to waltz with me,” she stage-whispered to Carter.
Carter bit his lip to keep from laughing. Now, as she prepared to face her first batter, he leaned forward, elbows on knees, curious to see how she would do on the mound—and how Ash would do as her catcher.
He hadn’t considered what the spectators might do.
“What the heck?” someone said incredulously. “What’s a girl doing out there?”
Carter looked over his shoulder. The speaker was a teenage boy with a mop of brown hair and a wide gap between his two front teeth. He was standing in the top corner of the bleachers, arms draped over the railing.
“Isn’t someone going to tell her she’s on the wrong field?” the teen said, his voice louder. “The softball game’s over there!”
Now Carter saw his mother crane her neck, obviously trying to identify the heckler. But she couldn’t see him from her seat in the front row.
The umpire straightened and glanced toward the bleachers, too. Carter hoped he was going to ask the teen to leave. But then he realized the official didn’t know who had spoken any more than his mother did.
Should I point him out? he wondered. He dismissed the idea as soon as he had it. The teen seemed to be finished, and Carter didn’t want to give him an opening to yell again. I can always describe him to the ump later if I have to.
The umpire allowed Rachel some practice pitches and then called for the game to resume.
The first Eagle approached the plate. Carter sucked in his breath. Two of the Eagles’ three runs had come from an RBI triple hit by this player. In his second at bat, he’d singled. If he got a hold of a pitch he liked—
Crack!
The Hawks on the bench let out a groan. The Eagle had homered off Rachel’s first pitch!
“Oh, nice going!”
This time, Carter’s mother zeroed in on the source of the heckling. She stood up, hands on hips, and stared at him over the heads of the other people in the crowd. Carter held his breath, waiting for her to confront the boy and dreading the moment she did.
Luckily, the umpire had figured out who’d spoken, too. He waved his arms through the air, indicating that play was to stop, and strode toward the bleachers.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry, I’m going,” the teen said. “I was about to leave anyway. I came here to see my brother play some baseball, not watch some girl blow the Hawks’ lead.” He banged his way down the bleachers and jutted his chin at someone in the Hawks dugout. “Text me when you’re done, Drew.”
Carter turned and stared at his teammate Drew Meeker. So did the other Hawks.
Drew scowled. “What are you all looking at me for? I didn’t say anything!”
No, Carter thought, but you didn’t tell your brother to shut up, either. That makes you just as bad as him.
And what about you? a little voice inside his head rebuked. You could have said something. But you didn’t. What does that make you?
Carter swallowed. A hypocrite, that’s what. A hypocrite and a coward and a lousy teammate.
“Excuse me, sir?” All eyes turned to the mound. Rachel tossed the ball into the air and caught it. “Can we get back to the game now? Because, for some reason, I’m suddenly all fired up to play.”
Laughter and applause rippled through the stands. The umpire smiled, clapped his hands, and cried, “You heard her! Play ball!”
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Liam plucked the last cheese curl from his snack bowl and ate it. Atomic orange cheese dust stained his fingertips. So when his laptop started blooping, he had to wipe them on his shirt before he could answer Carter’s video-chat call.
“Is there a doofus in the house?” his cousin asked.
“No, but there’s a dork on my screen,” Liam replied. “So? How’d Opening Day go?”
Carter gave a thumbs-up. “We won, fourteen to four. I pitched the first three innings and Rachel closed it out in the fourth. The game ended then.”
Liam nodded. “Ten-run rule, huh?”
Little League’s ten-run rule ended games after four innings if the visiting team was ahead by ten runs, or after three and a half if the home team was up by that same margin.
“Yep,” Carter said, nodding. “How’d your game go?”
Liam hesitated before answering. Then he seesawed his hand in the air. “I got a two-run homer,” he said, “but I let the Sidewinders’ big hitter get a home run, too.” He told Carter about neglecting to tell the outfielders to move back.
Carter frowned. “Dude, that’s not like you. You always know what’s happening on the field. That’s why you’re such a great catcher—you see everything and anticipate what might happen next. No one reads a game like you do.”
“Stop it, man, you’re going to make me blush,” Liam said, trying to lighten the mood. He appreciated what Carter said about his catching. But the frown on his cousin’s face told him Carter had more to say than compliments. Sure enough—
“It’s the whole home run thing, isn’t it? You’re letting that take up so much space in your brain, it’s crowding everything else out. Am I right?”
“No, I—”
“If you had a thought balloon hanging over your head, it’d have one word in it: home run.”
“First of all, that’s two words and secondly—”
Carter jabbed a finger at him. “Quick, what’s the name of the Pythons substitute shortstop?”
Liam blinked in confusion. “What? It’s Kevin—no, wait, not Kevin. It’s—it’s Devon.” He threw his hands up in frustration. “But what does it matter?”
“It matters,” Carter said slowly, “because he’s your teammate. He’s your teammate and you don’t even know his name.”
Liam fell silent. “I do know his name, and I know what I’m doing,” he said finally. “You don’t get it, Carter. I’m the new kid here. If I’m going to make the All-Star team this summer, I have to make sure people know who I am. Hitting home runs will do that better than anything else. I’m sure of it.”
Carter looked as if he was about to say something else. But instead, he scrubbed his hands over his face and yawned. “Listen, doofus, I should get going. It’s three hours later here, and I had a game today, too. I’m beat.”
“Yeah, okay. We’ll talk again soon. Right?”
“ ’Course we will. See ya.” And with that, Carter’s face disappeared from Liam’s screen.
Two afternoons later, the Pythons lost their first game of the season. The defeat came at the hands of the Copperheads, a good but not great team. Liam hoped to rack up another home run, but the Copperheads made sure he didn’t get it. They walked him twice. His third at bat was a long hit that landed in the center fielder’s glove.
Next up in their schedule was the Rattlers. With identical records of five wins and one loss, both squads were looking for the upset. Liam was looking for more. He was determined to homer off a pitch thrown by Phillip DiMaggio.
Dark clouds scudded across the sky the day of the game. The umpires and coaches kept looking up and borrowing a spectator’s tablet computer to check the weather forecast. A game might be held in drizzle, but the fields would be cleared at the first sound of thunder or flash of lightning.
A storm of a different sort was raging inside Liam. Every time he glimpsed Phillip DiMaggio, that storm threatened to burst forth. But he held himself in check.
Channel y
our anger into your pitching, he’d once advised Carter. He planned to take his own advice and channel his nervous energy into his hitting. But until the game began, that energy had nowhere to go.
“Dude, quit it, will you?” Sean complained from his seat next to Liam. “You’re shaking the whole dugout!”
“Huh?”
Sean looked pointedly at Liam’s leg, which was jackhammering so fast it was more blur than flesh.
“Sorry,” Liam said. He stood up and began pacing.
“And now he’s doing his caged-lion routine,” Rodney commented, “making another groove in the dirt.”
“Groove?” Spencer laughed. “Does someone see a groove? Well, keep an eye on it, because Liam and I will need it out there. Right, Liam?”
Liam halted and stared at the pitcher. “We’re going to need focus out there. Think you’ve got that today?”
Spencer’s laughter died. “Yeah, sure, man,” he mumbled.
“Liam,” Rodney said quietly.
“What? Oh. Right. Listen, I’m sorry, Spencer. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just on edge because of—well, you know why.”
Spencer gave him a puzzled look. “I do?”
Liam rolled his eyes. “Uh, yeah! Remember?” He jerked his thumb toward the Rattlers dugout.
Spencer glanced over. His eyes widened. He suddenly appeared so nervous that Liam regretted pointing Phillip out to him.
But I had to, he thought. He’s got to be ready for DiMaggio. And so do I.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
After their huge victory against the Eagles, the Hawks hoped to romp over their next opponents, the Raptors. But that game was much closer. Drew was on the mound. Carter watched the first three innings from the bench, and then substituted in for Leonard at third base. Carter saw plenty of action in the “hot corner” that afternoon, and even made a diving catch on a pop foul ball. He got to bat twice, singling the first time and then lining out to the pitcher the second time. He was disappointed not to score either trip to the plate, but in the end the Hawks didn’t need a run from him. They squeaked out a 5–4 victory.
Afterward, Coach Harrison called the team together. “Before I talk about the game, I want to remind everyone that there’s still time to volunteer to be a Challenger buddy. It’s a great program that pairs players from Little League Baseball and Softball with players in the Challenger Division. Your job would be to help your buddy during their games.”
That said, he moved on to a quick critique of the game, pointing out places he thought they could improve and noting specific moments when players gave the extra effort needed to win. When his diving catch was mentioned, Carter blushed with pride.
Next up after the Raptors were the Falcons. The weather that Saturday morning was cool and sunny. Too sunny, actually—Carter’s mother insisted he apply sunscreen to his face.
“Mom, I’ll be wearing my cap,” Carter protested.
“And you’ll be wearing sunscreen,” she returned, “so you’ll be doubly protected.” She handed him the tube and left to find a seat.
With an exasperated sigh, he squeezed the lotion onto his fingers and spread it on his cheeks and forehead.
“Is it all rubbed in?” he asked Rachel.
“Oh, most definitely,” she replied.
“No, it isn’t!” Ash interjected, frowning. “You look like a clown.”
“Aw, Ash, you’re such a party pooper,” Rachel said.
Ash cut her a look but didn’t reply.
Carter finished rubbing the lotion onto his cheeks and then hurried to the restroom to wash his hands.
Ash barged in behind him. “Why do you put up with her?” he demanded.
Carter stared at him in the mirror. “Who, Rachel?”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Ash paced the concrete floor, his cleats rapping out an angry rhythm. “She could ruin our World Series hopes!”
Carter burst out laughing. “Are you kidding me? How?”
Ash stopped. “Say she starts pitching regularly. Batters who face her could be thrown off because she’s a girl. If they’re thrown off, they’ll hit poorly and she’ll earn good stats. If she gets good stats as a girl pitcher, she’ll grab headlines. The All-Star selection committee will see those headlines and before you know it, boom!”—he smacked his hand on the sink, making Carter jump—“they choose her for the team.”
“I still don’t see the problem,” Carter said. He pushed the restroom door open, stepped outside, and started walking back toward the dugout. Ash kept pace. “If she can get batters out, then—”
“She might get them out in our league, sure!” Ash said. They had almost reached the dugout, but Ash apparently had more to say, for he grabbed Carter’s arm and pulled him back. “But tell me this: How would Rachel do in All-Star competition? She’d be facing players who are at the top of the league, and they only get better the further we advance in the postseason. You know that. You’ve been there!”
Carter crossed his arms over his chest, thinking back to the previous summer. Ash had a point. The competition had been fierce, from district play to sectional, from state to regional, and onto the World Series. He himself had struggled at times. If it hadn’t been for Liam’s support, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to fight for as long and as hard as he had. He considered Rachel a good player, but did she have that kind of stamina?
Then he shook himself. “Hang on, Ash, we’re getting way ahead of ourselves here,” he said. “I mean, it’s only the third game of the season. All-Star selections aren’t for another two months. A lot could happen between now and then.”
“Okay, then maybe think about it this way,” Ash said. “There are lots of people out there who don’t think girls should be playing in Little League Baseball. They’ll be watching Rachel, judging her, and talking about everything she does, right or wrong. What if she cracks under that pressure? What kind of chance do we have then to make it to Williamsport?”
Carter chewed on his bottom lip. He knew what Ash said about people not wanting girls to play baseball was true—Drew’s older brother was proof of that. And so, he realized, was Ash. Ash wasn’t as rude, but he’d made his opinion of having Rachel on the team clear, at least to Carter, and Carter doubted very much that he’d be able to change that opinion.
So why even bother trying? he thought. It’d be like banging my head against a brick wall.
Besides, Rachel was strong. Ash had dished out garbage to her now and then, but she’d simply put it aside, dusted off her hands, and walked away.
She doesn’t want a battle, he thought. So I won’t be doing her any favors if I pick one with Ash on her account, will I?
“Listen, Ash,” he said finally, “let’s just give the whole Rachel thing a rest, okay? We’ll take care of it if and when we need to. Come on. The game is going to start soon.”
He turned the corner into the dugout—and almost walked right into Rachel. “Whoops, sorry!” he said. “Didn’t see you there.”
She gave him a long level look. “No,” she said. “I guess you didn’t.”
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Hey, Liam!”
Melanie poked her head into the dugout and waved her video camera in his face. “I just wanted you to know that I’m moving to another spot. I tried over behind those guys”—she pointed toward the Rattlers dugout—“but the sun was angling right at me so—”
“Just sit behind us, okay?” Liam growled.
“Grouch.” She disappeared in a huff.
Liam grimaced. When he had mentioned his idea of videoing his games to Melanie, she’d jumped right on board.
“I need to practice for my film and video class at school,” she told him. “This could be perfect!”
It had taken time to get all the permission forms signed by his teammates’ parents and Little League officials, so this was her first game. Now she was being such a pain that Liam already regretted having her there.
&nb
sp; Then again, if she caught him homering off DiMaggio… well, maybe he wouldn’t mind so much after all.
Fifteen minutes later, the game against the Rattlers began. The Pythons were in the field first.
“Bring your best stuff,” he said to Spencer.
“I’ll try.” The pitcher gave Liam a tentative smile. “No, wait, I mean, I’ll do. Like a Jedi, right?”
Liam frowned. “Save the jokes for later, after we win.”
Spencer’s smile vanished. He turned and hurried to the mound. He pitched well, but the Rattlers still connected. Luckily, the Pythons retired the side one-two-three thanks to crisp fielding and on-target throws to first.
Phillip returned the favor by striking out the Pythons batters in order.
“Man, I wish I was that good,” Liam heard Spencer murmur.
“Me too.” The words slipped out of Liam’s mouth before he could stop them. He shot Spencer a look of apology. “I just mean because DiMaggio’s their best hitter and he’s up first. Which reminds me”—he pointed at Jay, Robert, and Rodney—“back up and be ready for the long hit.”
“Oh, yes, sir,” Robert said. He snapped Liam a mock-salute and then ran onto the field.
Liam snorted. “Nice attitude, huh?” he said to Jay and Rodney.
The outfielders exchanged a look. “Yeah,” Rodney said. “I was thinking the same thing.” Then they took off after Robert.
Liam moved to the plate and got into his crouch. DiMaggio approached, tapped dirt from his cleats, and surveyed the field. Just before he stepped into the box, the corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile.
Liam’s heart skipped a beat. Phillip had seen something he liked out there, he was sure of it. But what?
Is someone out of position? he thought, his eyes darting from Python to Python. Then he saw it. Robert, playing center field, was standing too far toward Jay in right. Phillip was a right-handed batter. If he got a pitch he liked, he could pull the ball left where it could drop into the gap between Rodney and Robert!
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