by Tim Green
“Coach is a really private person. I guess he didn’t want his private life made public. And you can get back with Martin. I’m sure you will. Just be honest with him and tell him why you wanted to write the story.”
Grabbing his batting helmet, Benji bumped fists with Jaden. “You and my old man saving the day, huh?”
“I’m glad we made it,” Jaden said.
Jaden watched Benji hurrying to the on-deck circle. “I started another story, you know.”
“Really?” Josh said. “What’s it about?”
Jaden looked at him. “You.”
“Me?”
“The whole Home Run Derby thing,” she said. “I mean, if you qualify, it’s a super story: you coming back from Florida to try and win your mom a house; it’s very gallant. Like a knight.”
Josh heard a couple of his teammates groan in unison, and he turned his attention to the field, where a new pitcher was taking the mound for Barbourville.
“What just happened?” Jaden asked.
Josh stared at the new kid climbing the mound. “For this story, the Dark Lord of Mordor has arrived.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
JADEN BLINKED. “THAT’S THEIR ace pitcher, Tucker Holland?”
“You heard of him, right?” Josh had come to automatically rely on Jaden to scout their opponents.
“Sure,” she said. “I thought we— Well, we would have talked about it if I’d been here. He’s the top pitcher in the tournament, but I thought he’d be bigger than that.”
“He’s not small,” Josh said.
“No, but they clocked his fastball at eighty-one miles an hour,” she said. “And he throws a lot more than a fastball.”
“Great,” Josh said. “Just what I needed. The best pitcher around and maybe only one shot at a home run.”
“Hopefully you’ll get that homer.” Jaden’s lip disappeared beneath a row of perfect white front teeth.
“Hopefully?” Josh was almost too worn down to get excited.
“Well,” she said. “You heard Benji talk about his no-hitter. Some days he mixes in a slider with his fastball, but I know his out pitch is a twelve-to-six curve.”
They sat without speaking as Tucker Holland struck out first Goldie, then Jack Sheridan with ease. With Benji up, Josh was on deck.
It was time. Josh stood up. Jaden stood up too.
She hugged him and kissed his cheek before he could think. “That house will be yours, Josh.”
Josh nervously polished his batting helmet on his leg, pretending his cheeks weren’t hot from the kiss. “Let’s hope you’re right.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
COACH SWANSON WALKED OUT of the dugout to talk with Benji. He leaned into him with both arms resting on Benji’s shoulders. “C’mon, Benji. You won the last one for us. I know I’ve been hard on you all season, but it’s paid off. You can do this.”
Benji laughed and winked at the coach like some kind of pirate ready to board a ship laden with gold. “You know me, Coach; I’m a heavy hitter. Always have been, always will be.”
Coach Swanson stiffened and shook his head. “Yeah, Benji. But now all I want from you is a single. Just get on base. This Holland kid’s got more tricks than a Las Vegas magician. Can you get me a hit?”
“Consider it done, Coach.” Benji gave the coach a nod and marched toward the plate, giving the Barbourville pitcher his best evil eye.
If Tucker Holland was impressed, he didn’t show it. He read the catcher’s signal, shook it off, then nodded at the next signal, wound up, and fired a curveball. Benji swung so hard, he corkscrewed into the dirt. Laughter sprinkled down onto the field from the stands, but one voice rang out.
Mr. Lido was on his feet and red faced. “Go get yourself one, Benji! Swing for the fences and win this thing!”
Josh was suddenly filled with a new kind of panic. He hadn’t even thought of what happened if Benji hit a home run; but if he did, the Titans would win 3–2, and the game would be over.
“Benji!” His friend’s name burst from Josh’s lips. “Benji! Remember what Coach said!”
Coach Swanson stood outside the dugout with his arms folded across his chest. He reinforced Josh’s plea with a curt nod. “Benji. A hit. Get me a hit. That is all we need.”
Something in Benji’s face told Josh that he wasn’t listening to the coach. He knew that Mr. Lido had absolute power over Benji’s mind, and there was nothing Josh could do about it.
The pitch came in, a fastball right down the middle, something Josh dreamed of getting. Benji swung for the fences. The bat cracked, and the ball flew.
Benji took off down the first-base line, watching the left fielder backpedal for all he was worth. The ball began to drop. Benji rounded first, heading for second, pumping both fists up over his head like a true champion.
The ball was gone.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
MAYBE IT WAS THE breath of God or maybe just a cold front blowing in from Ohio.
Either way, Josh felt the blast of cold air and knew that it saved his chance at the Home Run Derby. Benji’s ball fell just short of the wall. The left fielder played the bounce perfectly, turned back toward the infield, and fired to third in one continuous motion. Benji was fifteen feet off third and pulled up short, racing back to second.
The third baseman threw to the second baseman, who snatched it and quick as a blink tagged Benji. The umpire was right there, bent over and watching, and Josh felt it all slip away until the umpire stood straight and slashed his arms. “Safe!”
Relief poured through Josh only to ebb and give way to a flood of worry.
This was the chance he’d been praying for the past two days. Now it was up to him. He had to do it. He had to get his twentieth home run. It would not only win the game, it would send him to Houston the very next weekend for his appointment with destiny.
It had to be his destiny, didn’t it?
Josh walked to the plate, breathing deep and working out the kinks in his neck. He thought about Florida, his dad, and the team he’d left there. It seemed like another lifetime. His arms felt sluggish, and he shook them out, one at a time, swapping the bat from hand to hand. The wind was stiff in his face, working against him, but he pushed that from his mind, took one final big breath, rounded the plate, and stepped into the box.
“Josh!” Coach Swanson yelled through a cup made from both of his iron hands.
Josh’s jaw went slack. He stepped out.
“Left side, Josh.” Coach Swanson wasn’t asking. “Take away that slider.”
It was a good call, and Josh warmed to his coach because it was something his dad would have thought of, and something Josh should have. The impact on Tucker Holland was obvious. When Josh circled to the other side of the plate, his face fell.
“Heavy hitter! Heavy hitter!” Benji howled from second base.
Josh bit his lip, took a swing, and stepped up to the plate.
He saw the slider and swung for everything he was worth.
SMACK!
He pulled it way inside the first-base line, but the ball flew past the pole and out of the park. The crowd behind him buzzed with excitement. His teammates stood frozen in the anticipation of a game winner gone foul. Jaden clenched both hands on either side of her face.
“You got this, heavy hitter!” Benji yelled. “You got this. Destiny! It’s all about the heavy hitters!”
Josh stepped back. The wind shrieked through the ear holes in his helmet. Holland wound up and threw. Fastball. Low and inside, and Josh wasn’t buying it.
“Strike!” The umpire yelled so loud it hurt Josh’s ears.
The crowd murmured.
Coach Swanson lost his mind. “That’s awful! That’s horrible! That’s the worst call I’ve seen in my life!”
Josh breathed deep and pushed it out of his mind. It was an 0–2 count with everything against him: the pitcher, the wind, and now even the umpire. He could either dig in or go home. He could crumble or stand. He
could win or lose.
He gripped the bat and heard his father’s voice.
“Treat every pitch the same. You have to look at a 0–2 count at the bottom of the sixth with two outs the same as the first pitch of the day. That’s what the great ones do. Derek Jeter could strike out three times in a row but always went back to the dugout saying, ‘He’s not that good. I can hit him. You guys can hit him.’”
How many times had he heard his father say that?
Josh knew it was true. He also knew that when a pitcher felt in control, he went to his out pitch. Holland’s out pitch, according to Jaden, was the slow twelve-to-six curveball. Like Clayton Kershaw’s. The only way to hit it is see the spin, let it drop, and follow it to the bottom of the strike zone before you swing. Josh stepped into the box, glad to be on the left-hand side.
Holland wound up and threw. The ball’s rotation screamed curveball.
Josh waited, knowing he could go down and get it.
He thought about that house.
He thought about his mom and Laurel.
He swung the bat.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
JOSH SWUNG SO HARD at the falling pitch that the tip of the bat touched the back of his heel. It was gone. Even Tucker Holland watched it go.
Joy and relief and gratitude overran Josh’s brain. It was as if that strong wind lifted him from his feet to dance like a kite as he rounded the bases and came home to a sloppy kiss from Benji and a swarm of cheering Titans.
It all blended together: the laughter and the trophies, the applause and the handshakes, the smiles and the hugs. And then they were quiet and riding up the thruway. The bus swayed like a cradle, rocking the players to sleep, but Josh sat rigid in the backseat with Jaden next to him, typing intently on her computer, her face aglow.
Jaden stopped typing and looked up at him. “I’m surprised you’re not asleep. You look wiped out.”
“Just thinking,” he said. “How’s the article?”
“I wish I had another week,” she said, “but I heard Diana Henriques wrote her story about American soldiers in a day.”
“And Diana Henriques would be?”
“The 2005 Pulitzer Prize–winning writer for the New York Times.” Jaden looked at him like he didn’t know who Mike Trout was. “Actually, she was the finalist for the prize. She had all the background, but I’ve got to dig for mine. I’ll call the company tomorrow and find out who thought of the contest, how long it’s been running, how many winners they’ve had. That sort of thing.”
“Well, that’s good then.” He sighed. “There’s only one thing that would make me happier than you winning your journalist contest and that scholarship.”
“Winning your mom a house,” she said. “I know. Can you imagine the impact of the story if you really won?”
Josh stared at her. In front of them, one of Josh’s teammates snored.
“You don’t think I can win it, do you,” he said.
“Well, don’t say that,” she said. “I . . . Josh, it’ll be very hard. It’s a bathtub you’re swinging for, not the fences. I love that you’re trying, and I love that you made it this far, but . . .”
“I know,” he said. “It’s okay. But maybe.”
“Maybe,” she said. “For sure.”
Josh rested his head against the window and fell asleep hoping to dream about what just might happen.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY, THE last weekend in October, Jaden’s dad took them to the airport and escorted them onto the plane before departing for the hospital. Qwik-E-Builders gave the derby finalists a plane ticket for themselves and one guest. Josh gave his extra ticket to Benji since Jaden was being flown down to Houston by the newspaper. Bud Poliquin, the editor she’d worked with before, was betting her story about Josh’s quest would be award winning. He planned to publish it on Monday, November first.
They made their connection in Atlanta, with Jaden navigating the enormous airport like a professional traveler. Josh’s dad picked them up at the Houston airport, looking leaner and with tanner skin than Josh ever remembered him having.
Josh shook his father’s hand. “Hi, Dad.”
“Come here, you.” His father pulled him into a bear hug that took Josh’s breath away, then his father held him at arm’s length. “Look at you. You look good. Taller too.”
Josh’s dad greeted his friends, then took them all to the Omni hotel downtown. After checking in, they went out to the Astros baseball complex hosting the derby. He knew there were thirteen finalists from around the country, and he saw four of them in the shuttle van on the way out to the field.
While the winner of the derby who hit the most home runs got a five-thousand-dollar scholarship, the red bathtub just beyond the center-field fence, propped up at an angle for all to see, was all Josh could think about.
An official who wore a dark-blue blazer with a Qwik-E-Builders Home Run Derby name tag explained the rules of the practice round. “Once you start, you’ll get a pitch from the machine every fifteen seconds, four a minute for five minutes. Good luck today and in the main event tomorrow.”
Benji and Jaden watched from the seats behind home plate while Josh’s dad went with Josh out onto the field. A kid named Dale Schwamman from Turkey Valley, Iowa, banged every other pitch over the fence before Josh got his chance.
When Josh finally dug in, he hit a line drive on the first pitch that bounced off the machine.
His father laughed. “Okay, you’ll get it. Don’t try and dip under it. You just have to get used to the machine.”
The next pitch Josh hit deep into right field, then he put one over on the third pitch. The fourth went over the wall as well, both center right, a good ways away from the bathtub. He huffed in frustration.
“Relax,” his dad said.
Josh tried. The fifth hit went to deep left field. He kept hitting and drove seven of his twenty over the fence. The seventeenth bounced six feet from the bathtub, causing Benji and Jaden to scream as it dropped. The next three were closer, but none even dinged the tub.
“Better you didn’t waste it on the practice round.” Josh’s father clapped a big hand on Josh’s neck as they walked off the field toward the stairway leading into the stands.
Josh shook from exertion and nerves.
That night they ate at Brennan’s, a fancy old place that served Creole food more common to New Orleans. Benji ordered a second bread pudding and declared it the dessert he knew he’d be eating in heaven one day.
“What makes you think you’re headed up and not down?” Jaden asked with a mischievous smile.
Benji didn’t miss a beat. “Anyone who’s kind and patient enough to be friends with a grump like you gets an automatic spot in heaven.”
He showed his pleasure by stuffing a spoonful of pudding into his mouth that was big enough to leave whipped cream skid marks on his cheeks.
Later that night Josh had trouble getting to sleep. His father snored in the bed next to his. Jaden and Benji each had beds in the connecting room. Josh got up and softly opened the door to their room. Benji had his mouth wide open and his eyes closed in a peaceful sleep. Jaden sat propped up on pillows typing away. He knew she was excited about her interviews with the Quik-E-Builders people.
She looked up at him and blinked. “All I need now is the happy ending. You ready?”
Josh sat down on the edge of her bed and kept his voice low. “Yes and no. How can you ever be ready for something like this? But I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. . . .”
Jaden covered his hand with her own and gave it a squeeze. “Even if you don’t, it’s a sensational story. Not every quest ends with the Holy Grail.”
She paused and seemed uncertain about what she was going to say next.
Josh felt his muscles tighten.
Jaden shook her head as if ridding herself from all thoughts.
“You should sleep the sleep of a hero,” she said. “You’ve done everything you can think
of to help your family.”
“I wish he’d do everything he could to help our family.” Josh nodded his head toward the room where his father slept. “That stupid Diane.”
Jaden sighed. “He’s here. He loves you a lot, Josh. That’s more than a lot of kids can say.”
“Really?” he asked, squinting at her.
“Really,” she said.
Josh thought about that, then in a whisper he said, “I gotta win this thing.”
Jaden whispered back. “You might. I keep saying that.”
He looked right at her. “I think it’s my destiny. I really do.”
The next morning Josh didn’t want to talk to anyone. It was game day times a million to him. He was concentrating. He was visualizing that ball and that big red bathtub he planned to drop it into. They boarded the bus, and all thirteen contestants and their guests rumbled out to the field. They changed into their respective uniforms in the visitor’s clubhouse. They drew numbered balls from a bag to determine the order. Josh reached into the felt sack, got hold of one ball, but switched it for another at the last second and pulled out thirteen.
Dale, the kid from Iowa, looked at Josh’s number. “Last, that’s lucky.”
Someone behind them barked with laughter. “Lucky? Thirteen is as unlucky as you can get.”
Josh never figured out who said that, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it as they marched out onto the field in a small parade. The stands weren’t full, but the TV cameras for ESPN 3 added plenty of excitement.
The Qwik-E-Builders president, a man named Bert Bell, gave a speech about excellence in baseball and home building, comparing the two. “Finally, while the winner who hits the most balls over the fence will receive a five-thousand-dollar college scholarship, the prize we’re all here for is a U-Built-It three-bedroom Streamline Ranch. Any player who hits a homer into the big red bathtub you can all see resting just beyond the center-field fence and that ball stays in the tub wins a free Streamline Ranch home for his family. The Streamline Ranch is the model we at Qwik-E-Builders call America’s Dream. Good luck, boys.”
