They could hear it in Montana, maybe even in Mexico, too. That’s how loud it was.

It cut through the crowd noise like a siren.

Only what came out of Joe Maduro’s mouth wasn’t anger at all.

It wasn’t irritation and it wasn’t impatience, or any of the other things Corey had heard in his dad’s voice for months now whenever he didn’t come through on the baseball field.

“GREAT HUSTLE, COREY!” his dad yelled. “THAT WAS A TOUGH PITCH! YOU’LL GET IT NEXT TIME!”

Corey was so shocked he stopped in his tracks. When he looked in the stands again, his dad was grinning and clapping like Corey had just smacked one over the fence. Standing next to him and also applauding like a madman was a relieved-looking Mr. Noah.

The other Orioles parents were turning around with bewildered looks, wondering what kind of alternate life-form had taken over Joe Maduro’s body.

Everyone in the Orioles dugout heard Corey’s dad, too.

When Corey reached the top step, Coach was waiting for him with a big smile and a fist bump. So was Sammy, who patted the top of his batting helmet, handed him his glove, and wordlessly trotted out to short. And Katelyn smacked him on the butt on her way to right field and said, “Bet hearing that was sweet!”

Corey couldn’t get over how strange it all felt.

It was the first time in his baseball career that people looked happy to see him after he’d killed a scoring opportunity. But he understood what was going on. His coach and teammates knew what he’d been going through with his dad at these games. Now that Joe Maduro had just acted like a seminormal parent again, they were showing his kid some love.

The big question now was: How long would his dad’s new persona last? Was this like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde? Would he go back to having a meltdown the first time an ump’s call went against the Orioles?

But Corey had no time to think about that right now. His team was trying to win a ball game.

Danny came on in relief of Gabe and gave up a walk before striking out the next two batters and getting the fourth kid on a pop-up to Ethan to end the inning.

The score was still 0–0. The pitchers’ duel continued. And it wasn’t about to get any easier. Because strutting to the mound for the Red Sox was none other than Kyle VanderMeer, with a game face that would chill molten lava.

On his first warm-up throw, he uncorked a blazing fastball that sailed over the catcher’s head and slammed into the backstop. As the catcher, a chunky kid with floppy shin guards, walked back to retrieve it, Kyle glared and shouted, “C’mon, c’mon, let’s go!”

“Same great personality as his brother,” Gabe observed.

“Must be fun to be around the two of them,” Sammy said. “Like Christmas morning every day.”

But Kyle VanderMeer turned out to be pretty good when the pitches actually counted. He struck out Spencer on three straight fastballs. Ethan managed to foul off a couple of pitches and run the count to 2–2, but he nearly corkscrewed himself into the ground swinging at a changeup for the second out.

Kyle was so confident now, he started overthrowing. Justin and Gabe drew back-to-back walks, giving the Orioles a flicker of hope. But Hunter barely took the bat off his shoulder, paralyzed by two fastballs on the outside corner and a curveball that seemed to break from somewhere out by the ocean.

“That curve was just filthy,” he said as he waited for Katelyn to trot out with his glove. “How does that team ever lose a game with those two pitchers?”

Katelyn slammed the glove into his chest. Then she pointed to the scoreboard. “In case you haven’t noticed, nerd, they’re not in the championship game, either,” she barked. “And they haven’t won this one yet. We’re right there with them. So quit your whining.”

It was the top of the sixth, and before jogging out to their positions, the Orioles gathered around the mound to talk to Danny.

“We need three more outs from you,” Sammy said. “Just hold these guys. Give us a chance to win. Think you can do it?”

Danny nodded grimly.

“Do you think you can do it, or know you can do it?” Ethan asked. “There’s a big difference.”

“I know I can do it,” Danny said, pounding his glove with his fist.

“Are you saying that because you think that’s what we want to hear?” Justin asked. “Or do you really mean it?”

“Is this supposed to calm me down?” Danny said. “Or make me insane?”

“Yeah, is this really helpful?” Mickey said, pulling up his face mask. “It’s not the Dr. Phil show. Why don’t you guys leave him alone? Shoo!”

“Whoa! Leaving him, leaving him!” Sammy said, backing away with his hands in the air. “Excuse us for checking on the confidence level of a teammate.”

Corey couldn’t be sure, but as Danny warmed up, his fastball seemed to have gotten five miles per hour faster this inning. Maybe that’s the key, he thought. We pester him, he gets annoyed, he throws harder.

Hopefully he gets batters out, too.

It worked that way with the first two Red Sox hitters. The first kid hit a two-hopper to Ethan for the easy putout at first base. And the second batter hit a weak dribbler back to Danny for the second out.

That brought Kyle VanderMeer to the plate, lugging a big silver bat that gleamed under the lights. He took a couple of vicious practice swings and dug in to the batter’s box. But just as Danny began his windup, Kyle held up one hand and asked for time.

Then he stepped out, reached into his back pocket, and made a big show of taking out a pack of bubble gum. He slowly unwrapped a piece and made another big show of sticking it in his mouth and chomping on it ferociously, all the while grinning cruelly at Danny.

Finally the umpire barked at him to get back in the batter’s box.

“Un-freaking-believable!” Katelyn yelled to Corey. “Do you believe this kid? This could be one of the biggest dorks of our time!”

Danny was steaming, too. Corey watched him pace around the mound, shaking his head, as Kyle stalled. Big mistake, Corey thought. Danny was a little guy, but with a real live arm. Not the sort of pitcher you wanted to tick off before you stepped in against him, no matter how good a hitter you were.

Now Danny was amped.

He stared in at Mickey, got the sign, and blew a letter-high fastball past Kyle for strike one. His next fastball was belt-high, but Kyle was late on this swing, fouling it off into the screen in front of the Red Sox dugout.

Just like that, the count was 0-and-2.

Kyle stepped out again, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and tightened his batting gloves. But Corey could see he wasn’t grinning anymore. Instead he was probably thinking: How does this skinny little kid with the matchstick legs throw that hard?

Now he dug in again, scowling and holding the bat high, waving it menacingly in tiny circles. Danny threw him a curveball that was way outside. That’s just a decoy, Corey thought. He’s coming back with some major heat right now.

Danny rocked, kicked, and delivered. It was the hardest pitch he had thrown all night. The ball seemed to whistle on its way to the plate, darting and dancing the whole time. Kyle lunged forward, hands extended. But at the last second, he checked his swing.

The pitch flirted with the outside corner before it slammed into Mickey’s mitt with a loud WHAP!

Now it was as if the entire ballpark held its breath.

“Give it to us, ump!” Corey whispered.

The umpire popped out of his crouch.

“STEE-RIKE THREE!” he shouted, pumping his right arm.

“NO-O-O!” Kyle shouted. “NO FREAKING WAY!”

He slammed the bat on the plate, kicking up a cloud of dust. Then he glared at the umpire before whipping off his helmet, firing it at the backstop, and stomping off to the dugout. When he was ten feet from the steps, he flung his bat against the far wall, scattering his teammates.

“The boy has a temper.” Mickey chuckled as the Orioles hustled off the field.

“He certainly does,” Coach said, frowning. “If that was one of my players, he’d be sitting—maybe for the rest of the season.”

“More like for the rest of his career,” Mickey muttered when his dad walked away.

The Orioles could see Kyle was still hot when he came back out to warm up. He was rearing back and firing as hard as he could on every throw, while shooting death stares at the ump, who pretended to ignore him.

“Make this guy throw strikes,” Sammy said. “He’s so rattled, he might be really wild out there.”

“Good advice,” Coach said. “All right, let’s make something happen. This is it, bottom of the sixth. And everybody pay attention when I flash the signs. If we get a runner on, we might put on a certain play—if you know what I mean.”

“The secret play!” Justin blurted as Coach jogged to the third-base coach’s box. “Right? Isn’t that what he’s talking about? The secret play?”

Sammy punched him in the thigh. “Why don’t you say it a little louder?” he hissed. “So their whole team hears it!”

Katelyn led off. “Need a base runner!” the Orioles cried as she strolled to the plate.

She turned and spit a shower of sunflower seeds into the air. “Consider it a done deal, nerds,” she said.

As Kyle fumed silently on the mound, Katelyn took her time digging in, further infuriating the big kid.

When she was finally ready, she looked up.

And did something no one had ever seen at a baseball game before.