Mickey found it hard to concentrate. The Orioles were loosening up before their big game against the Rays, needing two more wins to catch the front-running Indians, who had lost their last game and seemed ripe to be overtaken.

But all he could think was: Why did I open my big mouth—again?

Because right now his teammates were killing him.

“Oooooh, did I hear someone’s just back from the Ron Dillman clinic?” Katelyn said loudly as she threw with Sammy on the sidelines. “That’s the premier catchers’ clinic around, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, you gotta be an off-the-charts prospect to attend,” Sammy said. “Or else your daddy has to plunk down a nice chunk of cash to get you in.”

“Everybody’s heard of the Ron Dillman clinic,” Corey chimed in.

“Absolutely everybody,” Evan said. “They’ve heard of it in China, India, Africa—all over the world!”

Mickey knew his face was turning red. But there was no way to stop the teasing. He had screwed up, pure and simple, telling Hunter about this great clinic he’d been lucky enough to attend over the weekend.

Hunter had waited, oh, maybe five seconds before spreading this information to the rest of the team.

That’s all it took for the rag-fest to begin.

Now it was in full swing.

There was nothing to do but wait for the jokes to die down. It was death by a thousand paper cuts, sure. But at this point, what could you do?

“When we go to Augie’s for Wing Night, are you going to require your own private booth?” Katelyn asked. “Because you’re such a big Dillman superstar alum and all?”

“Yeah,” Sammy said. “And you’ll have some big bouncer dude working the velvet rope to keep all us little people away, right?”

“Even better,” Hunter said, “Mickey and Zoom could share a booth in a specially cordoned-off section. It would be like the Elite Arms/Ron Dillman booth! And they could sign autographs and look down on the rest of us while they sit up there wolfing down their wings. Which, of course, would be on the house.”

“Of course,” Katelyn said. She yelled to Mickey, “Nerd, you should call your agent and tell him to get the ball rolling on that right away.”

The Orioles laughed so hard that even Mickey had to join in.

“Remind me to never tell you another thing as long as I live,” he said to Hunter, who shrugged sheepishly, as if to say, Come on, bro, what did you expect?

“Speaking of our star pitcher, what time do we think the Z-Train will roll in this afternoon?” Gabe asked, scanning the parking lot.

“Oh, please!” Katelyn said. “It’s only half an hour before game time. You can’t expect the boy to get here in time to stretch and take batting practice, can you?” She shot a look at Mickey. “Our coach has apparently decided that certain big-shot pitchers can show up whenever they want.”

Mickey felt his cheeks get warm again. Over the years he’d heard from other kids who played for their dads that it could sometimes suck being the coach’s son. This was definitely one of those times.

Mickey wanted desperately to stick up for his dad. But he was just as ticked off as the other kids about Zoom getting free license. No, check that. Mickey was even more ticked off than the rest of the team, since Zoom was insisting on calling pitches.

In fact, it was another fifteen minutes before Zoom and his gloomy-looking posse arrived. As he walked down the left-field line with Mickey to warm up, Zoom draped an arm around his catcher.

“Feeling good about this game, big man,” Zoom said. “In fact, I got a plan.”

Mickey braced himself.

Zoom’s last plan—the let’s-walk-’em-and-pick-’em-off plan—hadn’t worked out so well.

“I can’t wait to hear it,” Mickey said drily.

But Zoom shook his head.

“No, better not tell you right now,” Zoom said. “It’s top secret.”

Mickey recoiled. Top secret? Nuclear missile codes were top secret. The new iPad software to be unveiled next week was top secret.

But a plan for a baseball game? Weren’t they on the same team?

Zoom clapped him on the back. “You’ll see what we’re doing as soon as the game starts. It’s killer, too.”

Unfortunately, as soon as the first Rays batter dug in, Zoom’s plan became painfully obvious: he had decided not to throw any fastballs. Instead, from the very first pitch, he began relying solely on his curve and changeup.

This meant that the Orioles and Rays—and everyone else in the stands—were treated to the weird sight of Zoom sticking out his tongue or closing his eyes before each pitch to signal his catcher as to what was coming.

“What a clown act,” Mickey muttered to himself after the first Rays batter walked on a 3–2 breaking ball a mile outside.

It didn’t take long for Zoom’s facial gyrations to provoke a cascade of snickers and jeers from the Rays dugout.

“Whoa! Pitcher’s spazzing out!” a voice cried.

“Hey, what’re you doing with that tongue, Pitch?” bellowed another voice. “And those eyes! Those are some seriously ugly looks you’re throwing!”

It didn’t help that Zoom was struggling with his control. And without throwing his blazing fastball at all, he was fooling no one when he put the ball over the plate.

After the next batter walked, only a nice 6-4-3 double play started by Sammy on a two-hopper up the middle prevented the Rays from scoring. And only a running catch by Katelyn on a long fly ball to right got the Orioles out of the inning without giving up a run.

“What’s he doing?” Gabe hissed, staring at Zoom as the pitcher plopped down at the end of the bench, his usual spot.

“I don’t know,” Mickey said, shaking his head. “He’s like the weather around here: something new every five minutes.”

The Orioles took a 2–0 lead on a one-run single by Sammy, and Mickey’s double into the left-center gap off the Rays starter, Josh Grogan, one of the better pitchers in the league. But Zoom continued with his tongue wagging and eye closing and no-fastballs policy when he took the mound again, and he gave up a single and a walk.

Between pitches, Mickey kept glancing at the dugout, wondering if his dad had seen enough and was ready to give Zoom the hook. But the coach stood impassively on the top step, arms folded across his chest, studying the pitcher as if trying to figure out what in God’s name had gotten into him.

Zoom managed to get the next Rays batter on a pop foul to Ethan behind first, and the next kid was called out when he tried to bunt and ran into the ball on his way to first. But another single put the Rays at 2–1 before Zoom got the final out on a slow roller to the mound.

It wasn’t until the third inning, as they took the field, that Zoom said to his catcher, “Going back to the heat now, big man. Just so you know.”

Gee, thanks for sharing, Mickey thought.

And that’s not top secret?

On the other hand, Mickey was greatly relieved that Zoom had come to his senses. Maybe, he thought, all the weirdness is over.

But it wasn’t.

In fact, things quickly got even weirder after Zoom blew three fastballs past the Rays lead-off hitter.

When the last pitch popped into Mickey’s glove and the ump bellowed, “Stee-rike three!,” Zoom pretended to pull a sword from his belt and make a slashing motion.

At first Mickey didn’t get it.

Then it dawned on him: Zoom was slashing a big Z in the air!

And the Z wasn’t for “Zorro,” either.

Mickey was so stunned he forgot to whip the ball down to third.

In the next instant, his dad popped out of the dugout, called time, and made a beeline for the mound with a grim expression. He signaled Mickey to join him.

This could be interesting, Mickey thought.

He hadn’t seen that look in his dad’s eyes in a long time.