The Orioles were eating lunch in the hotel dining room when Mickey sat down with a meal of indeterminate origin smothered with ketchup and mustard.

“What…is that?” Gabe demanded.

“What?” Mickey said. “The thing on my plate?”

“No, the thing on top of your head,” Gabe said. “Yes, of course on your plate! What is that?”

“It’s a cheesesteak sandwich,” Mickey said, picking up the gloppy mess with both hands and taking a huge bite.

Gabe regarded him suspiciously. “But there’s something else going on there,” he said. “What are those…things sticking out of it?”

Mickey opened the roll and peered inside. “Fries,” he said, chewing furiously.

“You put fries in your cheesesteak sandwich?” Gabe said.

Mickey shrugged. “What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with that?!” Gabe repeated incredulously, looking at the others for support. “Everything’s wrong with that! What isn’t wrong with that? Who puts fries in a sandwich? That’s like putting, I don’t know, pizza in a sandwich.”

“I wouldn’t have a problem with that,” Mickey said.

Now Katelyn stared at the sandwich and said, “Ewww, that is really, really gross! I can’t even look at it!”

Mickey nodded happily and took another savage bite. It reminded Corey of a video he had seen recently of a great white shark tearing into a sea otter. Except the shark hadn’t seemed quite as ravenous.

By now Mickey had vivid streaks of ketchup and mustard splattered all over his face, too, which was grossing out not just Katelyn, but the entire team.

“If you don’t want to look at it,” he said, waving the sandwich at Katelyn, “there are plenty of other tables where you can sit.”

“Oooooh, you got owned!” the other Orioles cried as Katelyn shot Mickey a death stare.

Listening to all this, Corey managed a weak grin before listlessly picking at his food again. Even though it had been a hard practice and a long walk back from the pond, he still didn’t have much of an appetite.

From the minute the Orioles returned to the hotel, all he’d been able to think about was his dad, who was holed up in their room with the curtains drawn, watching the Golf Channel.

Corey took this as a sure sign that he was still upset and depressed about the events of yesterday, because Joe Maduro didn’t even play golf.

Corey didn’t get golf, either. It looked incredibly boring, hitting a little white ball and walking after it, just to hit it again and walk after it again. Riding in a golf cart didn’t look any more exciting, not unless you could put racing stripes on it, blow out the engine, and zoom around the course with your friends instead of playing the stupid game in the first place.

He was lost in thought, wondering if he should go back upstairs to talk to his dad, when he felt a tap on the shoulder.

It was Coach.

“Hey, if you’re through with lunch, let’s talk,” he said. He found them a table in the back of the room, away from the others.

“Big game tomorrow,” Coach said with a smile. “Last one of the tournament. But you look like you’re ready. You sure came out of that slump, son. That was an all-world showing at practice today.”

“Thanks,” Corey said.

Normally, hearing praise like that from Coach would have thrilled him. In fact, normally it would have made him glow for hours, and he would have raced to tell his dad. But now he looked down and searched for something to say.

Coach leaned forward with his elbows on the table and his hands clasped in front of him. His expression grew serious. “Just had a long talk with your dad,” he began. “I know you’re worried about him. I’m worried about him, too. That’s why I wanted to chat with you.”

Corey braced for the worst. Coach had tried talking to his dad about his behavior at games a couple of times this season.

The first time, Joe Maduro had stomped away in a cold fury. The next time, he had heard Coach out and even promised to change his ways. But by the next game, it was the same old story: he was a ticking time bomb in the stands, just waiting for the right moment to go off on another ump or parent or kid.

“First thing I got out of our conversation,” Coach went on, “was how much your dad loves you. And how he wants only the best for you. He knows how hard it’s been for you since your mom died. It’s been hard for him, too. He’s still hurting. Anyone can see that. Unfortunately, he’s not dealing very well with being the only parent.”

Corey sighed. “If he loves me so much, how come he keeps doing stuff like the other night? Running after the ump—I mean, that was the worst one of all.”

Coach nodded sympathetically. “Right now it’s obvious your dad can’t control himself,” he said. “But he’s going to have to. I told him it’s got to stop. I didn’t pull any punches, Corey. I said this was it, that if he did one more thing to cause a disruption, I would have him banned from our games. And I will.

“I told him if he acts up at tomorrow’s game, I’ll have the police escort him off the field again. Only this time, I will personally press charges. Which means they’ll slap the handcuffs on him and he’ll be arrested.”

Corey winced and fought back tears. His dad was all he had now. The idea of not having a family member in the stands during his games made him sad beyond belief. So did the idea of his dad being taken off to jail, and the thought of how horrible that would be for both of them.

“Anyway, I think that really shook him up,” Coach continued. “He apologized all over the place. He said he feels terrible for how he embarrassed you and the team yesterday. He says he really learned his lesson this time.”

Corey rolled his eyes and looked away.

“I know, I know…” Coach said. “You’ve heard all this before, right? So have I. I wasn’t sold on him suddenly turning into a model citizen, either. Sometimes it takes a lot for adults to change behavior patterns they’ve had for years.”

He leaned in closer and dropped his voice. “But I have an idea,” he said. “It’s something that might help us get through to your dad once and for all. Something that might really jolt him, show him how crazy he’s been acting. I’m not one hundred percent sure it’ll work. But I figure it’s worth a try.”

Corey was having a hard time seeing where this conversation was going. But at this point, he was willing to try anything. If Coach had an idea, it was better than anything rattling around in Corey’s head right now.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Coach said. “Your dad is coming to our room at seven o’clock tonight. He doesn’t know why. All I told him was I had something I wanted him to see. Anyway, I’d like you to come with him. Would you do that?”

“I…I guess so,” Corey said.

“Good man,” Coach said. “We definitely need you there. I might have someone else there, too. A sort of mystery guest. But don’t you worry about that.”

Now Corey’s curiosity was piqued. What did Coach have up his sleeve? He was one of the smartest men Corey had ever known. But his dad was the most stubborn man he’d ever known, a guy who seemed pretty much set in his ways.

Even worse, Joe Maduro seemed so clueless at times about how ridiculous his behavior seemed to everyone else.

Corey was about to ask for more details when Coach pushed back from the table and stood.

“Okay,” he said, clapping Corey on the back. “See you at seven o’clock sharp. Keep your fingers crossed that this works. Who knows? But I have a good feeling about it.”

With that, he signaled for Mickey and the two of them left.

It was all very mysterious, Corey thought. Mysterious and more than a little bizarre.

He went over to join the Orioles and saw Katelyn smiling up at him. She pulled out the chair next to her and said, “Sit here, buddy. I’m going for another chocolate milk—you want one? You must be whipped after that all-world practice you had.”

Corey shot a quick glance at Sammy, who stuck his index finger in his mouth and pretended to gag.

Speaking of bizarre, Corey thought, the way Katelyn was acting definitely qualified.