The doorbell rang at nine a.m., followed by the kind of urgent knocking someone might use to alert someone that his house was on fire.

It has to be her, Mickey thought.

He answered the door and groaned inwardly. Yes, there she was: Katelyn. In one hand she held what appeared to be a thick sheet of cream-colored paper.

“What’s up, nerd?” she said. “Wanna read something that’ll totally make you puke?”

Mickey considered how to answer.

“Sure,” he said finally. “Like most people, that’s my favorite thing to do. Especially first thing in the morning.”

“Don’t start with the sarcasm,” Katelyn said, brushing past him. “You’re not good at it. Not good at a lot of other things, too. But we won’t get into that now.”

Mickey shook his head and watched her stroll into the family room and plop down on a couch.

Long ago, he had decided that living around the corner from Katelyn had both advantages and disadvantages.

The good thing was that there was always someone nearby to play catch with, or shoot baskets with, or toss around a football with.

The bad thing was that you got called “nerd” a lot. Plus she could show up at your door at all hours with weird requests and off-the-wall questions, like today’s stunner.

“Know what this is?” she said, tossing the paper on the counter.

“Another love letter to me?” Mickey said, grinning. “Katelyn, this is really getting embarrassing. People are starting to talk.”

She shot him a look.

“Don’t start,” she said. “This, for your information, is the Huntington Yankees’ newsletter.”

“They have their own newsletter?” Mickey asked.

“Apparently,” Katelyn said. “My mom works in Huntington. She picked this up in a drugstore.”

The newsletter had a slick, professional look to it. The lead story at the top of the page was headlined in big, block letters: A TEAM FOR THE AGES. It was accompanied by an oversize photo of a smiling Al “Money” Mayhew, leaning on a bat while watching the Yankees practice in the background, looking like a proud general surveying his troops on the eve of a battle.

Mickey began to read aloud:

“‘There’s a reason Al Mayhew, one of the most respected youth baseball coaches in the country, has earned the nickname “Money.” In his eleven years at the helm of the Huntington Yankees, he’s guided the team to nine league titles and countless tournament wins and postseason honors. Al’s encyclopedic knowledge of the game, his strong work ethic, and ability to get the best out of his young charges have again propelled the Yankees to one of the best records in the team’s storied history.’”

Katelyn snickered. “Yeah, right. Nothing about him illegally recruiting players from all over. Or holding mandatory four-hour practices. Or stealing the other teams’ signs. Nothing about him making sure it’s his buddies who umpire his team’s games.”

“No,” Mickey said, “none of that’s in here. Absolutely shocking, isn’t it?”

He continued reading:

“‘But as is typical with the ever-modest Coach Mayhew, he deflects praise for his efforts and credits the team’s success to the outstanding players he’d had over the years. “I always tell my boys to play clean, follow the rules, and have respect for your opponent. To paraphrase what a great man said many years ago: It’s not about whether you win or lose, it’s about how you play the game.”’”

“AAARGGHH! That did it!” Katelyn said, sticking a finger down her throat. “I’m officially gonna spew!”

Without looking up, Mickey pointed down the hall. “You know where the bathroom is,” he said.

He went back to the article:

“‘This year’s team is once again loaded with talent and should have no problem posting yet another undefeated season. Led by Al’s son, all-star catcher Marvin “Moose” Mayhew, the Yankees—’”

“Marvin?” Katelyn interrupted. “His real name’s Marvin? No wonder he goes by Moose.”

“‘—feature a power-laden offense, airtight defense, and sensational pitching,’” Mickey continued reading. “‘Like so many of its famous predecessors, it’s a Yankees team that appears to have absolutely no weaknesses.’”

Katelyn rolled her eyes. “Translation: ‘We’re the greatest team ever assembled and nobody can beat us, so don’t even try.’ Ooooh, that makes me so mad I could scream! Please, don’t read any more. It makes me want to just…strangle someone.”

“As long as it’s not me,” Mickey said. He scanned the rest of the page and whistled softly.

“Look at this!” he said. “A photo of each player, along with a miniprofile.”

“Like they’re rock stars or something!” Katelyn said. “Can you believe it? God, I would love to play those arrogant dorks and beat their butts!”

“Me, too,” Mickey said. “Okay, let’s just read what they say about your boy Moose Mayhew.”

“Marvin,” Katelyn corrected. “If we’re going to talk about budding legends, at least use the kid’s real name.”

“Fine,” Mickey said. He went back to reading:

“‘The Yankees’ cleanup hitter and one of the most feared sluggers in the league, Moose’—er, Marvin—‘Mayhew is once again the cornerstone of the vaunted Yankees offense. But his rocket arm and outstanding defensive abilities behind the plate have also played a key part in the team’s success this season. While being interviewed for this article, he asked that we give a shout-out to his new girlfriend, Katelyn Morris—’”

“WHAT?!” Katelyn cried.

“Just messing with you,” Mickey said, chuckling. He threw up his hands and ducked. “Please, no freak-outs, no punches, no strangulations. Be cool.”

Katelyn glared at him. “Nerd, you are so asking for it,” she said. But Mickey was relieved to see her smile seconds later.

She snatched the newsletter and crumpled it into a ball.

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” she said. “Do you know I’ve actually dreamed about what it would be like to beat them and their slimeball coach?”

Mickey pretended to dab tears from his eyes. “That hurts, Katelyn. Really hurts. Here I thought you only dreamed about me.”

Katelyn shook her head. “You’re really pushing it, nerd. Do you have a death wish? Is that it?”

“Okay, okay,” Mickey said, laughing and holding up his hands. “But the fact is, you could end up playing the Yankees. It’s not like a total fantasy. We’re having a pretty good season, aren’t we? And even though Zoom’s a major pain in the butt, he could be just what we need to win the whole league. So don’t give up hope, girl.”

Katelyn nodded. Now there was a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“If we ever did play them,” she said, “think your dad would let us chant ‘MARV-IN! MAR-VIN!’ when that big dork Moose is up?”

“Uh, I’d say that’s a definite no,” Mickey said.

“Too bad,” she said. “Another great fantasy bites the dust.”