“Now what?” said MJ in disbelief. The children were not back in Jamie’s garage. Not by a long shot.

“What’s going on?” MJ asked, confused. “We helped Hank Aaron. We did our job. And that means we’re supposed to be back home.”

A tear started to form in the corner of his eye.

“I know, MJ,” said Jamie. “I’m not sure why. But we’ll find out, and everything will be fine.”

“Yeah, bro,” said Juanito. “Just think: When you’re not home, you don’t have to clean your room and take out the trash. You’ve got to think positive, dude.”

MJ cracked a small smile. His friends always had a way to make him feel better.

The three were, once again, in a ballpark. Only this time, it was different. Much different.

It was obviously not a community diamond like Hartwell Field. Nor was it a Negro League stadium on Tobacco Road. No, this one was a ballpark!

The locker had landed alongside several others just like it—this time, in a hallway just to the side of the main room in the clubhouse. As the three friends stepped out of the locker and into the light, they could barely comprehend their good fortune. Even MJ had to admit this was super cool.

The clubhouse was awesome, in every sense of the word. Everything was white, with red and blue trim. There were tables and chairs, a few couches, a couple of television sets, and even a refrigerator.

The players’ “lockers” weren’t even lockers at all, but small closets with no doors, a small stool set in front of each one. Hanging inside were several uniforms. On the floor were several pairs of cleats and more than a few gloves. Perched on a shelf near the top, next to cans of shaving cream and deodorant, were a bunch of hats. Every one of them had a lower-case, cursive “a” on the front.

“Do you children know whose logo that is?” asked the Coach, who once again appeared from inside the locker.

The kids shook their heads from side to side. They had no idea.

“It’s the logo of the Atlanta Braves, around the time of the early 1970s,” said the Coach. “And you’re in their clubhouse.”

“I think I know what this means!” shouted an excited Juanito. “We’re going to see Hank Aaron break Babe Ruth’s record!”

“Either that, or we’re going to help him break it,” said Jamie, raising an eyebrow toward the Coach, who just smiled.

“How are we going to do that?” asked MJ.

The Coach only continued to grin as he walked back into the locker and disappeared. The kids would have to find that answer out on their own.

“Man, I hate when he just takes off like that,” said Juanito.

“Well, we’re here for a reason,” said Jamie, “or else we would be back in the garage. Let’s find out what it is.”

The three friends started for the exit, but they only made it halfway across the room. Blocking their way was a pair of high-heeled shoes.