Play Ball!

by Matt Christopher

  Carter swallowed hard. “Did I break a rule by throwing it?”

  Coach Harrison narrowed his eyes at the question. “No, Carter, there isn’t a written Little League rule prohibiting young players from throwing such a pitch. But let me assure you, if you’re on my team this season, you will not be using it.” He laid a hand on Carter’s shoulder. “But no matter who your coach is, I hope you’ll remember this: just because you can throw that pitch, doesn’t mean you should.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SIX

  When Liam grabbed Robert and his friend—Scott Hoffmann was his name, Liam found out later—he’d just wanted to do something to zip Robert’s lip. But midway through the relay drill, he realized he got something even better. He got an up close look at what Robert could do.

  He wasn’t impressed. Robert’s throws had power, but his aim wasn’t true. When he ran the bases during another drill, he looked so clumsy and slow Liam was reminded of a troll he’d once seen in a movie. He did okay at bat, knocking in some solid grounders and a few high flies, but nothing extraordinary.

  In fact, Liam had trouble imagining Robert contributing much to the team except a heavy dose of sarcasm. That, he had plenty of.

  Scott, on the other hand, moved with fluid grace. He raced around the bases like a fleet-footed deer. While not particularly strong at the plate, he had a good swing, and Liam figured he was just out of practice. His throws were on target and powerful, and Liam wasn’t surprised to learn that he was a pitcher.

  What did come as a shock, however, was that Scott wanted Robert to be his catcher.

  “Why him?” Liam wondered aloud at school on Monday.

  “I think Scott is hoping Robert will turn out like his brother, Donnie,” Rodney replied.

  “Who’s Donnie?”

  Rodney looked surprised. “Donnie Hall? I thought you knew—Donnie Hall was Phillip’s catcher at the World Series last year. He, um, he caught the pitch you missed.”

  “Oh, great,” Liam groaned. “When do I get to face him?”

  Sean laughed. “Don’t worry, he’s up in Juniors now, along with the rest of the World Series All-Stars. Phillip’s the only one who was eleven years old.”

  “Speaking of Phillip,” Rodney said. “You realize we’re playing his team next week, right?”

  Liam choked on his milk.

  “I don’t think he realized,” Sean said, pounding on Liam’s back.

  Knowing that he’d be playing Phillip’s team in less than a week, Liam threw himself into practices as never before. He spent extra time in the backyard, too, hitting balls his mother or father pitched. And every night after dinner, he updated Carter on his progress.

  “I hit three over our fence today,” he reported one night. “Serious blasts that I think would have been homers in a game.”

  “Awesome!”

  And after a practice—“I got to play catcher for the first time today. I think Scott might be having second thoughts about Robert.”

  “Of course he is. Why would he want a lunkhead like Hall when he could have a doofus like you?”

  And the night before the game—“I think I’m going to puke I’m so nervous. What if I screw up tomorrow? What if he plays with my mind—”

  “What mind?”

  “—or gets all up in my grill?”

  “You can’t pull off that kind of talk, so don’t even try.”

  “Carter?”

  “What?”

  “What if he strikes me out again?”

  Carter leaned in so close nothing but his eyes filled the screen. “He. Won’t.” Then he sat back. “Now go to bed.”

  “It’s only seven o’clock here.”

  “Right. Well, it’s ten here. So I’m going to bed. Luck.” Carter held up his left fist and Liam tapped his screen with his right.

  The game was scheduled for three o’clock. Before they left, his mother gripped his shoulders and looked him in the eye.

  “It’s not going to be easy, facing that boy today.”

  He lifted his chin. “I know. But I’ll be okay. Come on. Let’s go.”

  The Rattlers were the home team, so the Pythons warmed up in the field first. Liam had been assigned to center field, with Rodney and Jay Mendoza at left and right. Rodney started with the ball and threw to Liam. Liam caught it and spun to face Jay. He was about to throw when a movement caught his eye. He froze.

  Phillip DiMaggio was walking toward his team’s dugout.

  “Hello, Earth to Liam!” Jay yelled. “Come on, McGrath, throw it already!”

  Phillip stopped abruptly. His head snapped around. His eyes skipped over Jay and landed on Liam.

  They stared at each other, neither moving.

  Then Phillip slowly lifted a finger, touched his chest, touched his nose, and pointed at Liam.

  “Is that—? Are you okay?”

  Rodney’s voice beside him pulled Liam back.

  “I think I need to practice your dad’s breathing techniques more,” Liam said shakily. Then he threw to Jay.

  Ten minutes later, the Rattlers took the field and soon after, the game began.

  The Pythons had first raps. Liam watched Phillip take the mound and rifle in some practice throws. His arm looked as strong and his aim as accurate as it had in Williamsport.

  Robert was watching Phillip, too. “That’s the guy I should be catching for,” he muttered. “We’d make a great team, just like he and my brother did.”

  Liam glanced around at his teammates, wondering if anyone else had heard the comment. Scott was frowning, but Liam wasn’t sure if it was because of what Robert said or not.

  Finally, the game started.

  First baseman Reggie Zimmer grabbed a bat and strode to the plate. Four pitches later, he walked back with a dazed look, having struck out.

  “Man, those pitches came fast,” he said, reminding Liam that he was just starting out in the Majors.

  Alex Kroft, a tall, skinny kid with a pointed nose, moved to the box. He laced a line drive toward third, a surefire single—except that the third baseman somehow caught it.

  Now it was Robert’s turn. He let the first two go by, swung at the third, and then watched the next two sail wide of the strike zone.

  “Take your base!” the umpire called.

  Robert tossed his bat aside and trotted to first. Once there, he pounded his hands together and yelled, “Come on, Scott, bring me home!”

  The bench took up the call as Scott got into his stance. One pitch went by. Two. Then—

  Crack! A sharply hit fly ball jolted Liam and his teammates to their feet.

  “It’s going, it’s going, it’s—GONE!” Sean bellowed.

  Liam applauded as first Robert and then Scott touched home plate. But his eyes were on Phillip the whole time. The pitcher was stabbing at the rubber with his toe, clearly disgusted with himself.

  Well, what do you know? Liam thought. Guess there are some kids who can hit off you after all, huh, DiMaggio? And guess who’s going to be one of them? Me!

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Carter held up his glove and waited for Jerry Tuckerman to send him the ball. They and their Hawk teammates were at the Diamond Champs for their first practice. But Jerry seemed more interested in telling Ash about Liam than warming up.

  “You should have been there, Ash. Boom! That was the sound his bat made when he belted the RBI triple that got us into the U.S. Championship last year.” Jerry shook his head. “Doesn’t it feel weird to be playing without him, Carter?”

  “Yeah,” Carter agreed—although weird didn’t begin to describe how he felt.

  He and Liam had been on teams together since they were four years old. They’d learned the game side by side. They’d celebrated their victories and consoled each other when they lost. Starting the new season without Liam just felt wrong—and at that moment, Carter missed him a lot.

  But he couldn’t say that to his teammates, so he simply repeated, “Yeah, Jerry,
it does feel weird.”

  “I’ll tell you what’s weird,” Ash said, “the fact that you still haven’t thrown the ball, Tuckerman!”

  “Huddle up, Hawks, huddle up, huddle up!”

  The call came from their coach, Mr. Harrison. Carter, Jerry, and Ash hustled to the bench with their teammates.

  When Carter had received his team assignment last week, he’d been psyched to see that he had Mr. Harrison for a coach again. He’d also been happy to see Jerry, Miguel, Leo, Remy, and Ash on the Hawks roster. He didn’t recognize all of the other names, but he figured he’d get to know his other teammates soon enough.

  “Today’s practice starts with a half hour, six-on-six infield-only scrimmage,” the coach announced. “Then we have time in the cages. So let’s make the most of it, yes?”

  He consulted his clipboard. “Scrimmage positions are as follows. Carter, pitcher! Ash, catcher! Jerry, Kevin, Miguel, Leo—first, second, short, and third! The rest of you are batting in this order: Josh, Jared, Remy, Arthur, Seth, and Drew. Understood? Okay! Hands in the middle now. One, two, three—”

  “—Hawks!”

  Carter hurried to the mound. Ash jogged to the plate. Their assistant coach, Mr. Walker, acted as umpire. Carter threw a few final warm-up pitches and then Coach Walker yelled, “Batter up!”

  Josh Samuels, an eleven-year-old with a mop of hair tucked under his cap, looked about as likely to get a hit as Carter’s dog. Carter had never played with him before, so he didn’t know what he was capable of. He decided it was better not to underestimate him.

  He leaned in and stared down at the plate. Ash flashed the signal for a fastball low and inside. Carter nodded once. Then he straightened, went into his windup, and threw.

  The ball sizzled on a line straight from Carter’s hand—thud!—to Ash’s glove. Josh didn’t even try for it.

  “Strike!” Coach Walker cried.

  Ash threw the ball back to Carter. “That-a-boy, Jones, that-a-boy!” he called, thumping his fist into his mitt. “Let’s see it again, rifle it right past him, you can do it!”

  Carter blinked. In all the time they had been practicing together, Ash had never let loose with such a stream of chatter. Carter wished he could tell him to stop. But instead, he just waited for his catcher to get back into his crouch.

  This time, Ash signaled for a changeup. Again, Carter threw—and again, Josh stood like a statue.

  “Strike two!”

  That cry was followed by another enthusiastic outburst from Ash. This time, the other Hawks in the field joined in, their voices echoing off the walls. Carter closed his eyes, trying to block out the noise. He hoped one of the coaches would tell them to pipe down. But Mr. Harrison was busy showing one of the other batters a good grip on the bat, while Mr. Walker readied himself for the next pitch.

  The chatter seemed to wake up Josh, for he swung at the third pitch, another fastball. But he missed for strike three and the first out.

  The next two batters, Jared Levy and Remy Werner, weren’t any more trouble than Josh was. Carter retired the side without giving up a hit.

  Back on the bench, Carter sat down next to Ash. “Listen,” he started to say.

  But Ash cut him off. “Watch out for Arthur in the next inning. He’s been coming to the batting cages a lot. He’s got a good eye.” Then Ash turned his attention to the game. “Start us off, Miguel!”

  Miguel Martinez stepped into the box. He let Drew Meeker’s first pitch go by but clocked the second one for a bouncing grounder between short and third. Jerry got a hit, too, putting runners on first and second. Leo looked eager to keep things rolling, but instead lined out to first. Unfortunately, Jerry had taken too big a lead. All Arthur Holmes had to do was step on the bag for the double play.

  Now Ash came up to bat. Carter had seen him connect over and over with balls hurled from a pitching machine. He hoped Ash could do as well off a live pitcher.

  He could. Crack! In fact, Ash hit the ball so hard it caromed off the wall behind center field! As he passed his squad’s bench, he called, “How’d you like that boom, Jerry?”

  Miguel scored, and Ash landed on second. That was the only run scored their turn at bat, however, for second baseman Kevin Pinto flied out.

  As the two groups switched sides, Carter finally had a chance to ask Ash to ease up on the chatter. “It’s just really distracting,” he said apologetically. “So can you maybe save it for when we’re outside?”

  Ash shrugged. “Gee, I dunno. Sure seemed to help last inning. Now head to the mound—and remember what I told you about Arthur.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Woo-hoo! Two runs on the board, baby!” Rodney cheered as he jogged to the plate. “Time to make it three!”

  Liam and the other Pythons cheered, too. But their cries died when Rodney struck out to end the top of the first inning. Liam grabbed his glove and hurried to his spot in center field. He passed DiMaggio on the way and the two locked eyes for a long moment. Rodney must have seen the exchange, for when he and Liam were in position, he yelled a piece of advice to Liam.

  “Breathe!” he called from left field.

  Liam took that advice while Scott threw some warm-up pitches. To his surprise, the deep inhalations and exhalations actually seemed to help. When the bottom of the first inning began, he felt calmer and more focused.

  I’ll have to tell Carter to give it a try!

  Thinking of his cousin brought a sudden lump to his throat. Rodney, Sean, and the others all knew about Liam’s history with Phillip. But only Carter really understood, because only Carter knew Liam inside and out.

  Plus, he realized with a start, Carter had been humiliated by Phillip, too. He’d been so busy worrying about his own problems he’d completely forgotten his cousin’s troubles with DiMaggio at baseball camp.

  You owe Carter a jersey, he thought fiercely. And somehow, some day I’ll make sure you pay up!

  With that, he turned his attention to the game.

  Scott mowed down the first batter on three straight pitches. The next Rattler gave him a little more trouble, fouling the ball four times. All were grounders, making them impossible to catch for an out.

  On the fifth pitch, however—tick!—the batter popped up the ball in front of the plate. It should have been an easy out for Robert to make. But he struggled to get his mask off and the ball fell in the dirt. While he scrambled to pick it up, the runner sprinted safely to first.

  “Play is to first or second!” Liam yelled from center field. “Let’s try for two to end this inning!”

  The third batter pinged a bouncing ground ball that looked as if it leaped into Alex Kroft’s glove on purpose. The third baseman zipped it to Sean at second. The runner was out—and so was the batter, for Sean’s throw beat him to first.

  “Yes!” Liam cried, slapping Sean’s palm when he reached the dugout. Then he selected a bat and waited for his turn at the plate. He was up after the inning’s leadoff hitter, shortstop Clint Kelley. He cheered for Clint with his teammates, but kept his eye on Phillip, studying his mechanics so he’d be ready to face him.

  He didn’t get to see many pitches, however, for the Pythons shortstop rapped out a single on the second pitch.

  Liam headed to the plate. Before he reached the box, he glanced at the assistant coach. Mr. Dumas gave the signal for a bunt.

  Liam felt a curl of disappointment. He wanted to try teeing off on Phillip—badly. But he knew the bunt made more sense.

  “Li-am. Li-am. Li-am.” A single voice in the stands started the chant.

  He rolled his eyes. He knew whom the voice belonged to without even looking. Melanie, he thought. Man, she’ll do anything for attention!

  But secretly, he was pleased his sister was there for him.

  He straightened his batting helmet, stepped into the box, hefted the bat over his shoulder, and faced DiMaggio.

  They locked eyes for a long moment. The pitcher gave a half smile. Liam wished he c
ould knock that look right off his face. But he knew better than to disregard his coach’s instructions.

  Next time, DiMaggio, he vowed.

  The pitch came. Liam squared off and poked the ball straight down. As it dribbled down the third-base line, he took off for first. For one fleeting moment, he thought he could beat the throw. But he didn’t.

  “Out!”

  Well, at least I moved Clint to second, he thought as he circled back to the dugout. Unfortunately, Clint died on base when Sean and Jay both struck out.

  The Rattlers didn’t earn any runs their turn at bat either. Neither did the Pythons. But in the bottom of the third, the Rattlers got on the board thanks to a sizzling RBI double off Phillip’s bat.

  Liam got up to bat again in the top of the fourth inning. This time, he got to swing away. He connected, too—for three foul balls in a row. He straightened out the fourth, but it was a weak shot the third baseman had no trouble handling. His out ended their chances to score that inning.

  He felt Phillip’s eyes mocking him the whole way to the dugout. But he refused to get rattled.

  Channel your anger, he told himself, and get him next time.

  But there was no next time. While the Rattlers nearly tied the game in the fourth inning when Jay bobbled a catch in right field, the next three batters made outs and the runner died on base. The Pythons were blanked their last two at bats, as were the Rattlers in the bottom of the fifth.

  By the bottom of the sixth inning, the score was still Pythons 2, Rattlers 1.

  The Rattlers were at the top of their order. On the mound, Scott was flagging. He got the first batter out, but gave up singles to the next two.

  With runners on first and second, the Rattlers big hitter, Phillip DiMaggio, was in the batter’s box.

  Liam expected Robert to wave the outfielders back. It was the catcher’s job to direct the play on the field, after all, and Robert had to know that Scott was tiring and Phillip had a good chance of creaming the ball.