The Camden Yards field looked like a freshly vacuumed green carpet under the bright stadium lights. It was the Orioles’ last tournament game, and they were excited to finally play on their “home field.” But after taking infield, they were puzzled to see not one, but two pitchers warming up on the sidelines for the Norfolk Red Sox.

Both seemed to be the same height and weight. Both had long curly brown hair spilling out of their caps. Both had the exact same delivery, too. Same smooth windup, same high leg kick, same graceful follow-through.

“Am I seeing double?” Sammy asked.

“Nope,” Corey said. “That’s Kyle and Kenny VanderMeer.”

“Wonder if they’re brothers?” Hunter said.

The rest of the Orioles turned and stared at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Seriously?” Katelyn said. “Nerd, is there something wrong with you? Like mentally?”

“Hunter, we’re talking about two kids who look exactly alike and share the same last name,” Gabe said. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure they’re brothers.”

“They could be cousins,” Hunter said sullenly.

“What about the part where they look exactly alike?” Gabe said. “Wouldn’t that seem to indicate that they’re identical tw—”

“Cousins can look exactly alike,” Hunter sniffed. “Well, sort of.”

“Sort of exactly alike?” Katelyn said. She turned to Gabe. “Don’t talk to him anymore. You’re wasting your time. He’s like the poster boy for dumb.”

They went back to watching the VanderMeers warm up. The immediate impression was this: the brothers threw hard. Really hard. When either kid’s fastball hit the catcher’s mitt, it made a sound like the crack of a rifle. After about fifteen pitches each, both boys began snapping off what looked like killer curveballs, too.

Here was the weird part: One of the brothers was a right-hander. The other was a lefty.

“Please tell me there’s not a Kerry VanderMeer warming up next,” Justin muttered. “Who hits seventy on the radar gun. And is ambidextrous.”

“That means he throws with either hand, Hunter,” Katelyn said. “You’ll learn that word if you ever make it to high school. Which I sincerely doubt.”

Hunter scowled as the rest of the Orioles hooted. Corey shook his head. “No, from what I heard, there are only two VanderMeers.”

Sammy turned to him. “Dude, how do you know so much about two brothers who pitch for a team in Virginia?”

“I’m embarrassed to tell you,” Corey said.

“But you’ll tell us anyway,” Sammy said, wrapping his hands around Corey’s neck and pretending to strangle him. “Because if you don’t…”

“Okay, okay,” Corey said. “My dad told me about these two brothers. He checked out this team on some youth baseball Web site even before we left home.”

“Cyber-scouting,” Katelyn said, nodding. “Not good. My crazy dad used to do that, too. Drove me and my mom nuts.”

Corey grinned. It would have been impossible to imagine two days ago, but he was actually beginning to like Katelyn. It was kind of her to tell him about her out-of-control dad—she didn’t have to do it. Now here she was, bravely talking about her dad in front of the entire team.

It made him realize he wasn’t alone, that there were other kids out there living with parents who could be obnoxious at times.

As for his own crazy dad…well, Corey wasn’t sure what to expect from him today.

After last night’s video intervention—or whatever that was in Coach’s room—Corey had gone down to the hotel game room to hang out with the Orioles for a couple of hours. Coach had suggested it as a way of giving Joe Maduro some space, some time to think. By the time Corey returned to the room at ten, his dad was already asleep.

This morning, his dad had surprised him by joining him for breakfast, enduring the frosty looks of every Orioles parent except Mr. Noah. Joe Maduro hadn’t said anything about the video on the car ride to the game, but Corey figured that was because Sammy and his dad had ridden with them, too.

One good sign: his dad hadn’t seemed as tense on the ride over as he usually did before games.

Normally he’d be sitting rigidly in the driver’s seat, with a death grip on the steering wheel while ticking off all the things Corey and the Orioles needed to do to win—plus all the things they’d been doing to screw up past games.

But today he’d spent the ride making small talk with Mr. Noah about the breakfast buffet.

The breakfast buffet! Corey had to laugh. Who would have ever believed that a pregame conversation with Joe Maduro could center on which was tastier, the sausage or the bacon?

“All right, everybody in here!” Coach said. “Last game of the tournament, people. Let’s make it a good one. Maybe we’re not playing for the championship, but we’re playing for pride now. A win today makes us three-and-two down here. It’s something we’ll remember all summer.”

He paused and said, “Oh, and don’t forget, this game’s being streamed live on the Internet.”

Corey groaned silently. He had forgotten that little detail. That meant that if his dad did another high jump over the fence and another bull-rush of the umps, it would be seen not only by everyone here, but also by anyone watching back home—and all over the country, too.

Maybe all over the world, for that matter.

Great.

That was certainly something to look forward to.

When the Orioles took the field, Corey looked for his dad in the stands and was shocked to see him sitting with the other Orioles parents. Well, not exactly with them. He was sitting in the same bleachers, but four rows behind the other moms and dads. And sitting next to him was none other than Mr. Noah.

Good ol’ Mr. Noah, Corey thought. Maybe he was hanging with Dad out of the goodness of his heart. Or maybe Coach had asked him keep an eye on the team’s notorious parental loose cannon.

Whatever the reason, Corey was thrilled to see the two of them together. As a calming influence on his dad, Mr. Noah was better than a bottle of Maalox.

Gabe was throwing serious heat and he set the Red Sox down in order. When the Norfolk team took the field, it was Kenny VanderMeer, the lefty, who headed for the mound. His brother jogged out to center field.

“Okay, at least we know who we’re facing now,” Katelyn said, clapping. She turned to Hunter and said, “Start us off, nerd.”

“Don’t know if I can,” Hunter said in a sulky voice. “I might be too dumb.”

“Oh, did I hurt your feelings with what I said earlier?” she asked in a soft voice.

When he looked at her sadly and nodded, she punched him in the arm and snarled, “Too bad. If you don’t get on base, nerd, I’m gonna hurt something else. Trust me.”

“Now, that’s a motivator,” Sammy muttered. “It’s like, ‘Step up or I’ll kill you.’”

But the Orioles didn’t get anything going against the Red Sox until the fourth inning, when Katelyn drew a one-out walk, and Sammy followed with a weak flare that just made it over the second baseman’s head.

Kenny VanderMeer looked ticked now. He picked up the resin bag and threw it down angrily before glaring at the second baseman.

“Look at this guy!” Gabe said. “Like he’s all-world or something! Like he never gave up a hit before! Like he’s not supposed to give up hits!”

“Like it was the kid at second’s fault!” Katelyn said. “What a dork.”

When Mickey walked to load the bases, the Norfolk coach called time and walked slowly to the mound for a conference.

Standing in the on-deck circle, Corey wondered if the Red Sox would bring the righty VanderMeer in to face him. You could almost see the wheels turning in the coach’s head as he thought about the move. But finally he murmured some words of encouragement to his pitcher, smacked him on the butt, and walked back to the dugout.

Good, Corey thought. Leave him in. I can hit off this dude. No matter how good he thinks he is.

Lefties didn’t scare Corey. Hard throwers didn’t scare him, either. He was swinging the bat well again, and his confidence was soaring. Sure, if a pitcher threw hard and had a good breaking ball, he could wear you out, really make you look dumb.

But Corey knew there weren’t too many twelve-year-olds who had both those things working for them.

Besides, the Orioles hadn’t seen this VanderMeer throw a curve in the game yet. He was just pounding the strike zone with fastballs. Maybe he was one of those pitchers whose curve looks great in warm-ups. But when he throws it in a real game, someone smacks it into the next area code and the kid never throws another one.

So Corey was thinking fastball all the way as he dug in.

And that’s what he got.

The first one was six inches outside for ball one. The second was low and away for ball two. Corey stepped out and beat back a smile. Two-and-oh. Hitter’s count. If this next fastball was anywhere over the plate, he’d be raking.

The kid went into his windup and delivered. And here it came, right over the plate. Corey’s eyes lit up.

Except…it wasn’t another fastball at all!

It was a changeup.

Now alarm bells were clanging in Corey’s head. He tried to check his swing—he was way out in front of the pitch. But it was too late. He hit a weak dribbler back to the pitcher, who quickly threw to the catcher to force Katelyn.

Corey ran as hard as he could down the line, but the catcher whipped a strong throw to first and got him by a half step.

Double play. Inning-ending double play.

Rally-killing double play, too.

The Orioles fans let out a collective groan.

As he trotted dejectedly back to the dugout, Corey stole a quick glance at the stands. Just then he saw his dad leap to his feet and cup his hands around his mouth. Mr. Noah jumped up, too, with a look of alarm as he watched Joe Maduro.

Corey braced himself.

Here it comes, he thought. Dad’s about to unload on me. In a voice that can be heard in Montana.

All of it on streaming live freaking video, too.