Best of the Best

by Tim Green

  “Marcus! Marcus!” Diane screeched, dropping to her knees and taking Zamboni’s face in her hands. “Oh my God! Someone get an ambulance!”

  “Mom!” Zamboni said, slapping away her hand and shaking free from her grip. “Cut it out. I’m fine.”

  “Look at that lump!” she said. “You are not fine. Coach Q! An ambulance!”

  Benji, the center fielder, and the second baseman all got to their feet, dusting themselves off and looking embarrassed, not only for their own comical collision, but for Zamboni’s hysterical mom.

  Josh could see the purple knot on Zamboni’s forehead from where he stood, and when he saw Benji rubbing the side of his own head, Josh thought he knew what had happened and went over to his friend to ask if he was okay.

  “Me?” Benji said. “I’m fine. Made of bricks, you know that.”

  “Bricks in your brain,” Josh said, grinning.

  “I was talking about the outside,” Benji said, flexing a muscle. “Nice work cleaning up the mess. I told you we had this thing locked up.”

  “That was too close.” Josh glanced at home plate, where Coach Q had let go of Vito. The coach marched out to where they stood next to Zamboni and his mom.

  “Aww,” Benji said, swatting the air, “we gave the crowd a little drama. That’s what champions do. Come on, let’s get away from this soap opera.”

  Josh glanced over at Zamboni and his mom, thankful for Zamboni’s sake that she’d finally quieted down. Josh agreed with Benji by motioning his head and moving toward the dugout.

  After they had their bags packed and slung from their shoulders, Josh, Benji, and the rest of the players headed for the team bus. Zamboni continued to shoo his mom away, but she buzzed around him like a pesky mosquito until he stepped up onto the bus holding an ice pack onto his forehead while half the team stuffed knuckles in their mouths to keep from giggling at him.

  “Can I sit here?” Zamboni asked Josh.

  Josh got up so Zamboni could slide into the window seat. Benji sat across the aisle and rolled his eyes at Josh. Josh shrugged, and Zamboni rested his head against the window until his mom began tapping at the glass from the outside and he turned his back to her, shaking his head. Zamboni looked at Josh with red cheeks.

  “It’s no big deal,” Josh said, touching the scar below his eye. “You should have seen my mom when I got this. Right, Benji?”

  “Anyway,” Josh said, “we need to work out who does what on a pop fly.”

  “Who does what?” Benji asked, narrowing his eyes.

  “There are rules for who can call off the other players,” Josh said.

  “Isn’t it just whoever calls it?” Zamboni asked.

  “Not really,” Josh said. “Because then you get situations like we just had, and that’s not good. It’s not a big deal, but let’s get everyone together before tomorrow’s game and get it straight, that’s all.”

  “The whole team?” Benji asked.

  “Why not?” Josh asked. “It’s something everyone needs to know. We can meet in the parking lot before dinner. I can go over it and we’ll be all set.”

  Benji nodded and so did Zamboni. When they got back to the hotel, the word spread that everyone was going to meet in the parking lot behind the hotel at five forty-five, right before dinner. When Josh arrived, there were already a handful of guys there, and soon the whole team arrived, standing in a cluster around Josh.

  “Okay,” Josh said, “it’s no big deal, but we’ve all got to be on the same page when there’s a pop fly so we don’t get a repeat of today.”

  “How do you know?” someone asked from the back.

  Josh felt his face grow warm, but before he could say anything, Benji stepped up.

  “Because me and Josh are the playmakers, that’s how he knows,” Benji said, jutting out his jaw in the direction the question had come from. “And if anyone’s got a problem, let me know right now.”

  No one said anything, but there was a general murmur of acceptance.

  “Guys,” Josh said, “I’m just trying to help us win.”

  The metal door from the back stairwell to the hotel suddenly banged open. Everyone turned to see Vito and his dad emerge. Coach Q scowled.

  Vito pointed at Josh and said, “See, Dad? This guy thinks he’s the coach.”

  All eyes turned back to Josh.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  JOSH’S MOUTH FELL OPEN, but no words came out.

  “What are you doing, LeBlanc?” Coach Q asked, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pants.

  Josh looked toward the ground and said, “Just trying to help, Coach.”

  “With what?” Coach Q asked.

  “Just the rules on a pop fly,” Josh said, his voice barely a mutter.

  “There are no rules,” Coach Q said. “Whoever calls it gets it. It’s simple.”

  Josh looked up at Coach Q’s round red face and saw from the look in his eyes that he really didn’t know.

  “Coach,” Josh said, “all due respect, but I’m pretty sure there are.”

  “Oh!” Coach Q said with a burst of laughter. “Really?”

  “Well,” Josh said, glancing around to see that his teammates were paying attention. “If it’s in the infield, it’s the shortstop’s call. If he calls it, everyone else has to back off.”

  Coach Q let loose another burst of laughter before he said, “Don’t you think you make enough plays, Josh? Now you gotta have the clout to call everyone off on a pop fly? Come on.”

  “Not because I’m the shortstop, Coach,” Josh said, his face burning now at the chuckles from his team. “If it goes outside the infield, even an inch, then any outfielder can call off any infielder.”

  Doubt flickered on Coach Q’s face, but he kept his smile going and said, “That doesn’t help if it’s between two outfielders like today, so your rules don’t help too much.”

  Josh shook his head. “If it’s in the outfield and it’s between two of them, the center fielder can call off either of the other two. That’s the rule.”

  Coach Q’s smile faded. Everyone watched as Coach Q’s face changed from white, to purple, then back to red.

  After another moment of silence, he said, “That’s the rule they use in the major leagues.”

  “Yeah,” Josh said in what was barely a whisper, uncertain of how the whole thing would end.

  Finally the coach said, “Not something I was sure you kids were ready for, but…Excellent. Good idea to get everyone together. Great. Okay, everyone clear on Coach Q looked around at the silent faces, then clapped his hands and said, “Great. All right. Here we go. Time for dinner.”

  Everyone followed the coach and his son back into the hotel. Josh leaned close to Benji’s ear and said, “Playmakers? Where’d you get that?”

  “Hey,” Benji whispered back. “That’s what we are, dude. I wasn’t going to let anyone call what you had to say into question. You and me? We’re alpha males. These mutts don’t question us. Do I gotta teach you everything?”

  “I guess everything but the rules on a pop fly,” Josh said, and Benji returned his grin before punching him softly in the shoulder.

  After dinner they were already in bed when Josh’s phone rang. The sight of his home number filled him with unease.

  “Josh?”

  “Hi, Mom,” he said.

  “You didn’t call,” she said.

  “I know you’re busy,” he said. “We won.”

  “That’s great,” she said. “I won, too.”

  “You won? Won what?”

  “I just got off the phone with the owner of Murray’s Catering,” his mom said, speaking so quickly she was nearly out of breath. “Josh, I got a job!”

  She sounded so happy, Josh had to grin.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  THE GOOD LUCK JOSH’S mom experienced seemed to spread.

  The next day Josh and Benji’s team won by two runs. The day after that, they won by three. In all the excitement, everyone seemed to forget abo
ut the pop fly rules and Josh’s uncomfortable exchange with Coach Q. It seemed like their team was destined to win the regionals and make it to Williamsport.

  But on the third day, in the semifinal game of the regional qualifiers, the Lyncourt All-Stars found themselves in a bind. They had a one-run lead, and it was the bottom of the sixth with two outs. The problem was that the bases were loaded. That’s when a pop fly went high over second base, and Josh sprang into action.

  “I got it!” Josh yelled, calling off the second baseman.

  In the back of Josh’s mind, he congratulated himself when the second baseman stepped away because of the talk they’d all had. The ball sailed up so far that it looked like a pinprick in the sky. Josh stood solidly beneath it in the grass just beyond second base, even before it began to drop. When it was halfway to his glove, Josh heard Zamboni running his way at full speed, shouting, “I got it! I got it! I got it!”

  Josh bit his lower lip. There was no way he wouldn’t make this catch, end the game, and send them into the finals but he remembered his own rules. Josh glanced at Zamboni, and, even though Zamboni’s chances of making the play didn’t look good, he stepped clear of the ball.

  Zamboni, whose eyes were intent on the ball, dove with an outstretched glove. Josh winced, almost certain now that Zamboni couldn’t make the catch. They’d lose, and everyone would go home, destroying the only chance they’d ever have of playing in the World Series.

  It would all be Josh’s fault for being too smart for his own good and coaching his own team with an advanced set of rules they obviously weren’t ready for.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  ZAMBONI CLIMBED UP OFF the ground, looking directly at Josh. The egg on his forehead had shrunk to a small rise and the purple had faded to a sickly yellow and black.

  “Sorry, Josh,” he said.

  Josh felt his own face stretch into a gigantic smile.

  “Don’t say you’re sorry, Z,” Josh said, clapping his teammate on the shoulder. “We just won!”

  Everyone crowded around Zamboni, thumping him on the back as he held the ball for all to see before handing it to Josh.

  When they all got to the dugout, Coach Q put an arm around Josh and said, “Good thing we went over those pop fly rules, right?”

  “Great thing, Coach,” Josh said.

  “Great thing,” Coach Q said, grinning. “We won the game, and I made a big sale when I got that call in the bottom of the third inning. I just covered your first year of college, Vito. It’s definitely time to celebrate!”

  “But not too much, right, Coach?” Josh said.

  “Hey, Josh, it’s not every day you sell a Gullwing convertible.” Coach Q winked and said, “But today doesn’t mean anything if we don’t get the job done tomorrow, right, Josh?”

  “Absolutely,” Josh said.

  Coach Q nodded, then turned to the team and raised his voice. “Guys, enjoy the win. The pizza and sodas are on me, and then it’s to bed. Don’t forget, as nice as this win was, it’s all about tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow came fast, and in the regional finals the Lyncourt All-Stars had a one-run advantage in the bottom of the last inning. The bad news was that the momentum had turned against them completely, and the hope of hanging on to their lead was fading fast.

  This time Josh’s teammates remembered the close call they had in the opening game, so no one was goofing around. Even with a one-run lead and two outs, they stood in the field, jittery, palms sweating and almost in a daze. The sound of the cheering crowd swept past them like a swift current. Josh’s arms and legs seemed to float on the little swirls of heat kicking up dust devils on the infield grit.

  “Come on!” Benji shouted, his voice hoarse from a week’s worth of shouting and laced with desperation because things were so obviously slipping away. “We got this! This is ours!”

  Josh glanced at his friend for an instant before his eyes took in the runners in scoring position on second and third and the batter in the box who’d already hit a double and a home run in the game. Callan Fries checked Josh from his spot on the mound. Josh signaled for him to throw only junk, knowing their best bet was to either strike him out swinging at a bad pitch or load up the bases and go after the next batter.

  Callan was shaken after giving up three runs already this inning, but he nodded and went into his windup. He delivered a sinker that hit the plate and took a wild bounce. Josh saw the runner on third start to go. The catcher leaped up, whipping off his mask and diving for the ball. Josh moved without thinking, knowing the place for him was backing up the third baseman in case they stopped the runner and got him into a pickle. Even as he ran, Josh realized it was hopeless. The catcher could never reach the ball in time. Sickness hit Josh like a brick.

  Then they got lucky.

  With nothing between him and home plate but the chalk baseline, the runner tripped and fell and Vito reached for the ball, snatching it from the dirt and starting fast toward home plate, the ball in his glove, both hands stretching to tag the runner. The runner bounced up and realized he wouldn’t make it to the plate before Vito.

  He turned and sprinted back for third. Vito ran three steps down the baseline and fired for third so the third baseman could tag him out. The throw was high and wild. The third baseman jumped and missed and the runner turned and dashed for home. Josh leaped for the ball, just nicking it with the tip of his glove so that it looped skyward, toward the outfield, a total disaster.

  Josh’s brain told him it was over. The runner would never trip twice, and he didn’t. Still, it wasn’t over. Zamboni had done the right thing, too, and it was Zamboni, backing up Josh, who snagged the ball. If Zamboni had tried to make the throw home, it would never have happened. But he didn’t.

  Zamboni tossed the ball to Josh, underhand like a relay so Josh could barehand the ball, crank his hips, and fire it to home plate. Josh did just that, sending a rocket to home, pinpointing the catcher’s mitt so that the ball arrived at the perfect spot just as the runner slid. A cloud of dirt filled the air. The umpire leaned into it, his face disappearing in the dust. Everyone in the stadium held a breath.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  THE UMPIRE STRAIGHTENED HIS back, his arms extended in front of him as though he still hadn’t made up his mind about the call.

  “Out!” he suddenly bellowed, his thumb flying back up over his head with the signal.

  Josh jumped four feet in the air with a whoop. Zamboni jumped on him from behind, tackling him in the grass, laughing and screaming that Josh was the greatest ever. Together they laughed, got up, and ran for the swarm of teammates in a pile over the top of their catcher. The Lyncourt All-Stars were going to the Little League World Series, one of only eight teams in the entire country, and one of only sixteen in the whole world.

  Finally the team got to its feet and shook hands with their opponents, then milled about their dugout, accepting congratulations from parents and friends. Josh’s sudden loneliness cut through the spell of the big win. Zamboni accepted an enormous hug from Diane, and the pang of envy made Josh turn away. It was the first time in his life that his parents—at least one of them—hadn’t been at a major event. Not even Jaden had been able to make the trip.

  Josh stuffed equipment into his bat bag, then helped Coach Q pick up the team gear and load it into the big bag, trying to ignore all the hugging, kissing, picture taking, and backslapping going on around him. On the bus ride home, the camaraderie of his teammates brought back some of the thrill, but even as they sang “Pants on the Ground” as they pulled up into the parking lot at Grant Middle School and Benji planted a big kiss on his cheek, Josh couldn’t help feeling hurt at the missing piece of his puzzle. The sun had gone down long ago, but the darkness only added more thrill to the parking lot, which glimmered like a carnival. Decorations and balloons fluttered in the night air, and the bugs shot through the cones of light beneath the street lamps like mini-fireworks displays.

  When they got down out of the bus, Josh and Be
nji were greeted by Josh’s little sister, along with their moms and dads. Seeing his whole family together in a group gave Josh a rush of hope, but after congratulating Josh, his dad excused himself and pushed through the crowd in the direction of Diane and Zamboni. Josh’s mom and Mrs. Lido glared after him, but everyone’s attention was diverted when Jaden burst into their midst screaming with delight, clapping her hands and hugging Josh and Benji.

  “Now I get to go to Williamsport, too,” she said, laughing with joy. “The newspaper is paying for everything, for me and my dad. No team from Central New York has ever gone to the Series, and my editor said that the story I did on the regional finals was on a whole new level, thanks to the quotes I got from you guys. I hate to say it, but I never thought you guys could do it, either. Not you and Benji, Josh; I mean with the other guys. I know you could do anything, but the team…”

  “Believe me,” Josh said. “The things that happened were wild. We got lucky.”

  “Aw,” Benji said, “luck is just when preparation meets opportunity.”

  Josh told them how the last play had ended and how lucky things like that seemed to happen for them several times each game throughout the regional tournament.

  “I don’t know, Benji,” Josh said. “Guys tripping, umps making bad calls that go our way, rain washing out a game we were down by seven runs and the next day their pitcher has bursitis in his elbow? I mean, everything that could have gone right for us did. Everything that could have gone wrong for the teams we played did. I’ve heard the saying ‘I’d rather be lucky than good’ before, but I think this proved it.”

  “You won’t be able to count on that in the World Series,” Josh’s mom said.