A moment later, Phillip and Dom appeared. “What did they want?” Phillip asked, jerking his chin at the Malden players.
“Nothing,” Liam said. “Just being friendly.”
Phillip and Dom exchanged disbelieving looks. Then Phillip said, “Plenty of time to be friendly—after we beat them.”
CHAPTER
SIX
Coach Harrison bounced on the balls of his feet. “Okay, boys, round up.”
Carter, Ash, and their teammates gathered in a circle by the dugout with Mr. Harrison and his assistants, Mr. Filbert and Mr. Walker.
“Hands in the middle,” Mr. Harrison said. “And—”
“Forest Park, one-two-three! Forest Park, one-two-three!” the boys bellowed, flinging their hands skyward in unison on the second three.
It was four o’clock on Saturday afternoon—game time. The Forest Park All-Stars were facing the team from the town of Calder. Forest Park was up first.
Mr. Filbert barked out the batting order. “Detweiler, O’Donnell, Ruckel!”
Second baseman Freddie Detweiler shoved a batting helmet over his stick-straight brown hair and chose a bat.
“Go get ’em, Fredzo!” cried Raj Turner, Freddie’s best friend and the game’s third baseman.
Freddie flashed a big smile. His new braces, complete with plastic bands that matched the team colors of forest-green and white, glinted in the late-afternoon sun. He did indeed “get ’em,” knocking out a single between first and second.
First baseman Keith O’Donnell was up next. Part Irish, part Scottish, the eleven-year-old had the freckles, thick reddish-brown hair, and pale skin common to his ancestors. He also had a stubborn streak that ran a mile deep. At one practice, he’d muffed a catch to first—and then refused to leave the field until he’d made the same catch successfully twenty times in a row.
He practiced his hitting with the same tenacity. That practice paid off now. Crack! The ball rocketed past Calder’s shortstop. Keith reached first and Freddie landed safely at second.
Craig Ruckel, a two-time All-Star, came to the plate—and struck out swinging. Back in the dugout, he complained that the sun had blinded him.
“I should wear that black stuff under my eyes,” he grumbled. “I really should.”
“Coach Walker has some,” Raj volunteered.
Craig grunted but didn’t move from the bench. Raj caught Carter’s eye and grinned. Carter shrugged. Sometimes Craig complained just for the sake of complaining.
Charlie Murray batted cleanup. Another returning All-Star, he was one of the fastest kids on the Forest Park team. He didn’t need extra speed this time, though. After tapping the ball foul three times, he socked a rainmaker that soared high and dropped between center and right fields. Bases loaded, one out.
Ash was up after Charlie. Little League doesn’t have an on-deck circle, but while Charlie was at the plate, Ash took practice cuts with a pretend bat. When Charlie reached first, Ash grabbed a real bat and hustled toward the batter’s box.
“Play is to any base!” the Calder catcher reminded his teammates.
Carter sat forward and rubbed his suddenly sweaty palms down the front of his thighs. Come on, Ash, get a hit! he pleaded silently.
A single now would get them on the board first. That would be a huge boost for the team. Plus, Carter was up next. If Ash got a hit, then he would come to the plate with one out instead of two. And finally, a solid hit would give Ash a confidence boost. Every player, no matter how good, could use that.
Ash let the first pitch go by for strike one. The next pitch, though—crack! He connected for a knee-high line drive.
The crowd cheered—and then gasped when the pitcher made a desperate sideways lunge, snared the ball before it hit the ground, and then flipped it to Calder’s first baseman. Double play!
“Great blast, Ash!” Rachel’s voice rang out from the stands. “You’ll get ’em next time!”
Ash stormed into the dugout, clearly disappointed, and started pulling on his catcher’s gear. Carter tried to break the tension. “Hey, Ash, I—”
Ash cut him off. “Forget it. Let’s go over their order again.” He rattled off the names and most recent batting efforts of the first three Calder hitters. “Larry Miller: bats righty, hit three singles and a double, struck out twice, popped out, and grounded out twice in Calder’s bid to be District champs. Jarvis Greenaway: bats righty, one homer, two singles, four strikeouts, very fast on the base paths. Ricky Muldoon: bats righty, two singles, a triple, grounded out four times. He could be dangerous.”
“Not to us.”
Ash looked up then. Carter handed him his catcher’s helmet and smiled encouragingly. After a second, Ash stood up. “Yeah, not to us.”
“You boys ready?” Coach Harrison called out.
“Absolutely!” Carter said. He grabbed his glove and raced out to the mound.
And he was. Maybe it was the perfect baseball weather. Maybe it was the fact that the stands were packed with familiar faces—his parents, Rachel, the Delaneys, and lots of kids from his hometown Little League. Maybe it was simply that he and Ash had been playing together as pitcher and catcher for months. Whatever the reason, he took to the mound with confidence coursing through his veins.
Larry Miller stepped into the box. Carter sized him up and then nodded at Ash’s signal for a fastball high and tight. He reared back and threw. Larry swung and missed.
“Strike one!”
Two more strikes sent Larry back to the dugout. It took just three more pitches to strike out Jarvis Greenaway, too.
Ricky Muldoon came up with a little swagger in his step. He returned Carter’s stare-down with a fierce look of his own. Not that it did him any good. Swish! Swish! Swish! He took three monstrous cuts and hit nothing but air.
I just retired the side with nine straight pitches, Carter thought with amazement.
A few of his teammates smiled at him as they trotted into the dugout. But to his puzzlement, no one congratulated him. Not that he needed praise, but he’d assumed Ash or Coach Harrison at least would comment on the three-up, three-down inning.
What the heck? he thought as he tried and failed to catch Ash’s eye.
Then it hit him. He sank down on the end of the bench, his heart hammering in his chest.
I’m one inning into a no-hitter!
Baseball, like any sport, has many superstitious beliefs. The superstition surrounding a no-hitter is among the most sacred. Players and fans of all ages believe that merely mentioning a no-hitter could jinx the pitcher. Many refuse to talk to the pitcher at all for fear of accidentally putting a whammy on his streak.
“Jones!”
Carter snapped back to the present. He gulped when he saw Mr. Filbert beckoning to him.
He’s going to say something to me about the… the… Carter refused to even think the word.
To his profound relief, the coach simply held out a helmet and said, “You’re up first.”
CHAPTER
SEVEN
An hour before game time, Ravenna, Malden, and the two other teams in the Sectional tournament, Seaport and Yorkshire, took to the field for the opening ceremonies. The players stood behind each team’s District Championship banner and, caps held over their hearts, listened respectfully as an elderly man sang the national anthem. The same man then invited them to say the Little League pledge in unison.
After Liam repeated his promise to play fairly and try his best, he glanced around at his teammates. Most wore similar expressions of eagerness and excitement. He caught Phillip’s eye and, after a brief hesitation, offered him a smile. Phillip nodded once.
When the pledge finished, the man in charge made a short speech about the tournament. “Game One is Malden versus Ravenna on Field One. Seaport and Yorkshire will be on the other diamond. Tomorrow, the two winners will face each other, as will the teams that lose today. This is a double-elimination format. When a team loses twice, it is out.”
He paused a m
oment to let that information sink in. Then he reminded everyone to respect the umpires and the players at all times. Finally, he instructed the teams to head to their fields for the pregame warm-ups.
Ravenna, the home team, had fielding practice first. Liam had played all six innings in the final District game, so he wasn’t in the starting lineup. Phillip, Cole Dudley, and Carmen Baker were subs, too. They joined their teammates in the outfield, though, because they would all see playing time sooner or later. For his part, Liam hoped it would be sooner.
After fifteen minutes, the head umpire, a heavyset man with a shock of white hair and a no-nonsense demeanor, ordered Ravenna off and Malden on. A short time later, the two teams switched places again and the game began.
Elton Sears, a strong pitcher with a sizzling fastball, started Ravenna off well by delivering three pitches that were right on the money. The Malden player swung at all three. He missed the first, fouled the second, and fanned at the third for out number one.
The next batter was Tony, one of the boys Liam had met earlier. Sam had said that Tony was a good hitter. Part of Liam’s job as a catcher was to recognize batting threats. There was no guarantee he’d ever be playing catcher when Tony was at bat, but still…
Better pay attention, he thought, leaning forward, elbows on knees, to watch Tony.
He didn’t have much opportunity to study him, however. Tony let Elton’s first two pitches go by. Both were balls. With the count two-and-oh, Liam didn’t expect Tony to swing at the third. But Elton must have thrown something Tony liked, for when the pitch came, the Malden player took a big cut at it.
Crack!
The ball jumped off the bat and soared to right-center field. Liam and the other players leaped to their feet, shouting encouragement to the outfielders.
Rodney streaked across from the right. Matt Finch, playing center field this game, raced over, too. It should have been Matt’s catch; he was closer and the ball was falling on his glove side. But suddenly, he tripped and went sprawling across the grass.
Groans of sympathy mixed with disappointment rose from Ravenna’s fans. No doubt they thought the hit would go for at least a single now.
But they hadn’t counted on Rodney. When Matt fell, Rodney put on a burst of speed. At the last second, he dove, arm outstretched, and caught the ball bare-handed!
“Yes!” Liam whooped. He could hear Sean shouting from the stands. Cole and Carmen jumped up and slapped high five. Coach Driscoll folded his arms over his chest, his face shining with pride.
Phillip, meanwhile, clapped and smiled with satisfaction. His eyes followed Rodney as the outfielder trotted back to his spot. Then he looked at Liam appraisingly. “Now that’s an All-Star,” he said. He held Liam’s gaze for a moment longer before turning away.
Liam blinked. He completely agreed with Phillip about Rodney. After that fantastic catch, who wouldn’t? But for some reason, the comment bothered him.
Because it seemed as if he was saying you aren’t an All-Star, a little voice inside him whispered.
Liam frowned at the thought. It was crazy, after all. He was just as much an All-Star as Rodney.
Except you’re only on this bench because someone else dropped out, the little voice mocked. You’re only getting to play catcher because Owen can’t. No wonder DiMaggio keeps correcting how you play!
Liam looked sideways at Phillip.
“What?” Phillip said when he caught the look.
“Nothing. Just… nothing.”
Rodney’s circus catch set the tone for the next innings. In the field, the Ravenna players chased down balls, fired pinpoint throws, and reacted to situations with clockwork efficiency. At bat, they lit up the starting pitcher and the one who replaced him, too. When Liam took over for Nate Solis in left field at the top of the fourth, the score was Ravenna 6, Malden 1.
The other subs got in the game, too. Phillip was in the hot corner, third base. Cole replaced Luis Cervantes at catcher, with Carmen relieving Elton on the mound.
Sometimes such lineup changes can break a team’s rhythm. When Carmen gave up a home run to Sam, Liam tensed. Was this the beginning of a Malden rally?
It wasn’t. The next three hitters made outs. Ravenna 6, Malden 2.
Liam led off in the bottom of the fourth. He took a deep breath, stepped into the box—and creamed the first pitch for a stand-up double!
After that, Malden fell apart. Its fielders made unforced errors. Its batters swung at pitches that were far outside the strike zone. Ravenna, meanwhile, racked up three more runs. The game ended after five and a half innings with a final score of Ravenna 9, Malden 2.
In the postgame hand-slap, Liam shook Sam’s hand. “Good game, man. And good luck tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” Sam replied. “Here’s hoping we meet again.” He gave Liam a rueful smile.
Liam nodded his understanding. They’d meet again only if Malden won the next day’s match. Lose, and Malden was out of the tournament. Liam liked Sam. He hoped his team performed better tomorrow than it had that afternoon. But if not, well… only one team could come out on top.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Carter had hoped to start the second inning with a hit. He grounded out.
“Good try, Carter,” Coach Harrison said. “Raj, you’re up.”
Raj was a slender boy with a mop of shiny black hair. A year younger and a foot shorter than Carter, he bore an unfortunate resemblance to a bobblehead whenever he wore a batting helmet.
“I’m not a power hitter,” he once confided in Carter with a forlorn look at his thin arms and bony wrists. “So I try to follow Wee Willie Keeler’s advice.”
“ ‘Hit ’em where they ain’t’? ” Carter guessed, remembering the Hall of Famer’s best-known quote.
“Exactly.”
Raj hit a tumbling grounder that bounced between shortstop and third. The third baseman nabbed the ball and fired it to first. It should have been a straightforward putout—but the throw was wild! Raj touched first and continued on to second.
Allen Avery drew a walk. With runners on first and second and one out, Charlie Santiago socked the ball deep into left field. Raj and Allen churned up the base paths. When the dust settled, Raj had crossed home, Allen was standing on third, Charlie was safe at second, and Forest Park had its first run on the board.
That’s all they got that inning. Allen and Charlie were left stranded on base when Freddie and Keith popped out one after the other. Still, the mood in the dugout was upbeat when the runners returned.
“Nice blast, Charlie S.,” Charlie Murray praised.
The center fielder grinned. “Thanks, Charlie M. And nice running, Raj. You too, Allen.” He grabbed his glove and added, “Now if Carter can just keep—ooof!”
Charlie S.’s breath came out in a whoosh thanks to a jab in the ribs from Ash. “What’s the big idea?” he demanded, glaring at Ash.
Ash glared back. After a second, Charlie’s eyes widened. He clapped a hand over his mouth, glanced at Carter, and then ran from the dugout without saying another word.
Carter left the dugout in a hurry, before anyone else accidentally mentioned the no-hitter. That’s when the jitters struck.
Okay, calm down, he said to himself. He remembered Liam’s saying how deep breaths helped him focus. So he inhaled and exhaled, slowly and evenly. With each breath, his anxiety eased a little. When the first Calder batter stepped into the box, he was ready.
More than ready—he was on fire. Three sizzling fastballs. Three swings a fraction too late. One out.
The second batter grounded out after five pitches. The third reached for a changeup and missed. He nicked the second pitch, but the ball flew foul. So did the next three. Finally, he straightened one out, but it was just a weak pop fly toward short. Allen caught the ball easily.
Another hitless inning. Back in the dugout, Carter felt as if he were sitting inside a protective bubble. No one, not even the coaches, came near him.
The top
of the third inning began with Craig reaching first on a walk and ended with another run on Forest Park’s side after Raj hit an RBI double. Back on the mound, Carter retired the remaining three batters of Calder’s lineup in order.
Three innings played, nine batters faced, no hits made, and no one reached base. Carter wasn’t just pitching a no-hitter; he was halfway to a perfect game!
As they jogged off the field, Carter’s teammates darted quick glances at him but said nothing. Carter sat on the bench, closed his eyes, and breathed slowly. But this time, the calming technique didn’t help. The dugout was too charged with repressed excitement.
Then, just as tension started to freeze the blood in his veins, he heard Rachel bellow, “Go, Forest Park, go!”
Carter suddenly remembered the book she’d given him. He pulled it out and opened it. On the first page, there was a cartoon illustration of a pitcher in the midst of his windup. The pitcher looked a lot like him—left-handed and green-eyed, with shaggy brown hair peeking out from under a forest-green baseball cap.
Why does a pitcher raise one leg when he throws? the caption read.
He flipped to the next page.
Because if he raised two, he’d fall down!
The joke was awful, but the illustration of the dazed pitcher sprawled on the mound was hilarious. At the bottom of the page, she’d added another thought: You’re going to fall sometimes, you know. Just get back up again!
The corner of his mouth twitched in a half smile. Throughout the regular Little League season, Rachel had kept him loose by cracking stupid jokes whenever they were on the bench. She wasn’t allowed in the dugout now, but her book proved a good substitute. Carter slowly relaxed.
Thanks, Rach, he thought as he put the book away.
Forest Park added two more runs its turn at bat. In the bottom of the fourth, Carter faced the triple threats of Larry, Jarvis, and Ricky again. He struck Larry out but gave up a walk to Jarvis—and then one to Ricky as well.
Ash called time and hurried to the mound. He gave Carter an appraising look and then said, “I’ve been thinking about that fist-bump thing you and Liam do.”
State Showdown Page 3
