It was Friday evening and the Orioles were gathered in a side room at Gino’s Burger Barn, consuming food at an astonishing rate.

Burgers piled high with pickles, onions, lettuce, and tomato were being inhaled. Orders of fries seemed to disappear the moment they were set down. Enough pitchers of soda had been consumed to suggest that the team had just returned from a ten-mile hike through Death Valley.

The shaken waitstaff had never seen anything like it. These twelve-year-olds were scarfing down food and drink as if they were the Baltimore Ravens.

“I’m afraid to put my hand on the table—they’ll devour that, too,” one server said.

“Probably not the whole hand,” Ray Hammond said with a chuckle. “Maybe just a couple of fingers.”

“I can’t afford to lose any of those,” Ben said. “That’s why I’m sitting here with Coach.”

The impromptu team meeting had been Robbie’s idea. A thought had been gnawing at him ever since the long drive back from Fulham.

In less than twenty-four hours, the Orioles would take the field against Big Red and the Yankees in the final game of the season. Before they did, Robbie had decided, there was a bit of business he needed to take care of.

He was nervous as he pushed away from the table, almost as nervous as he’d been facing hitters all season. He took a deep breath and nodded at Ben, who banged the table with a fork, signaling for quiet. Robbie stood and looked around at the faces of his teammates, all of them staring at him with puzzled looks.

“Ahem,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Good start, dude,” Willie said. “Glad we got our parents to drive us here for that.”

The rest of the Orioles chuckled.

“But at least the burgers are good,” Joey said. “And Coach is paying for them, too!”

This triggered a fresh wave of laughter, along with a chant of: “COACH! COACH! COACH!”

Coach grinned and held up his hands. “I’ll pay,” he said, “but only if you listen to Robbie first. That’s the deal.”

When the table had quieted down, Robbie tried again. “First, I…I want to apologize to you guys,” he began.

For the next ten minutes, he told them all about the incident that had haunted him for the past year.

He told them about the awful June day when he had hit Stevie Altman, about how much it had shaken him, about how he’d had a knot in his stomach and trembled with fear every time he’d taken the mound since, certain he would put another kid in the hospital and mess him up for life.

Then he told them about his going to Fulham to watch Stevie play, about finding the kid looking as strong and confident at the plate as ever, and about how this had lifted a huge weight from Robbie’s shoulders.

When he was through, a hush fell over the room.

Finally Willie said: “Dude, why didn’t you tell us you were freaked out about hitting a kid?”

“Yeah,” Jordy said. “We thought you just, you know, sucked.”

Now the entire table dissolved in laughter again, with Robbie laughing the hardest. Then he grew serious again.

“It was a mistake not to tell you guys,” he said softly. “I almost told you that night at the carnival. And then at lunch that Monday.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Connor pressed.

“Lots of reasons,” Robbie said. “I was embarrassed, for one thing. I thought you’d think I was a wuss. Like: ‘Okay, you hit a kid, big deal. Now get over it.’”

He looked over at his dad, who nodded encouragingly.

“The other thing was, I thought I could get over it by myself,” Robbie continued. “I thought if I just gave it time and tried a few things, I’d forget about Stevie. And get my control back.”

He shook his head sadly. “But that sure didn’t work. I’m just glad Ben realized it wasn’t going to work, either.”

All eyes turned to Ben, who gave Robbie the thumbs-up sign.

“Anyway,” Robbie said, “I’m sorry I kept the secret from you. Sorry I killed our season, too.”

He looked down as the rest of the Orioles exchanged uneasy glances.

“You didn’t kill our season, dude,” Joey said. “We all killed our season. After all, no one else except Mike could pitch anyway. And we didn’t hit a lick all year long. Plus our fielding was awful.”

“Other than that,” Mike said, “we had a pretty good team.”

They all chuckled ruefully.

“But here’s the good news,” Robbie continued. “I’m not afraid to pitch anymore. Might be hard to believe, but it’s true. And we’ve got one more game left, right? Against the Yankees. And I really, really want to beat those guys.”

“Yeah,” Connor said. “Wouldn’t it be great to stick it to Big Red?”

“And the rest of the Yankee Barbies,” Willie said, to more chuckles. “With their matching spring ensembles.”

“Yeah, but who are we kidding?” Jordy said now. “We can’t beat those guys. They’re the best team in the league. And Big Red’s an absolute beast who kicked our butts last time.”

A gloomy silence descended on the room again.

Suddenly Marty shot a hand in the air.

“Again with the hand!” Willie said, shaking his head. “Like it’s science class.”

“Oooh, oooh!” Marty cried. “Can I say something?”

“If we said no,” Jordy said, “would it matter?”

With that, Marty leaped to his feet and began pacing the room. “Why can’t we beat the Yankees?” he said. “Since time immemorial, there have been underdogs who defied the odds.”

“Time immemorial,” Willie repeated, rolling his eyes.

“Here we go,” Gabe muttered. “It’s showtime. Marty’s all wound up from the soda.”

“The three hundred Spartans,” Marty continued, his voice rising. “Weren’t they underdogs? Three hundred soldiers against the entire Persian army at Thermopylae?”

“Yeah, and they all got slaughtered,” Connor said. “I saw the movie.”

“But they lasted for seven days!” Marty said. “Held off three hundred thousand Persians. Totally beat the odds.”

“How did they beat the odds,” Connor asked, “when they all ended up with, like, spears through their chests?”

“And arrows through their throats,” Gabe said.

“And swords through their hearts,” Mike said.

Marty ignored them, pacing even more briskly now.

“And what about David versus Goliath?” he went on. “Little David with his humble sling against big ol’ Goliath with his sword and armor and whatnot. What about Cinderella? And Harry Potter?”

“I don’t know,” Gabe said. “Harry Potter could kick some serious butt when he had to, bro.”

“SO CAN WE!” Marty thundered. He walked up behind Robbie and put a hand on his shoulder. “And here’s the guy who will lead us. My man Robert William Hammond is back, dudes!”

All eyes turned to Robbie, who sat there thinking, Please don’t start with that legend stuff again.

“Yes,” Marty said, his voice dropping to a dramatic hush. “He’ll pitch his heart out for us tomorrow. And the rest of us will come up big, too. We’ll hit against the Yankees. We’ll field against the Yankees. We’ll be aggressive on the bases against the Yankees. I can feel it. And ultimately, we’ll beat them. First win of the season coming up, dudes.”

“Poof!” Joey said, pretending to wave a magic wand. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Marty said. “Remember: what the mind believes, the body can achieve.”

“I like that one,” Willie said, grinning. “Whose quote is that?”

“I forget, but that’s not important,” Marty said. He pointed a bony finger at his teammates. “What’s important is that we go out there tomorrow thinking we can beat the Yankees. Let’s play out of our minds, dudes. What’ve we got to lose?”

He sat down with a self-satisfied smile. Then he looked over at Robbie’s dad.

“Coach,” he said, “any more burgers coming out?”