Cody was surprised to be in a good mood when he arrived at Eddie Murray Field the next day for the game against the Tigers. For openers, he had gotten a 98 on his social studies test, with his teacher announcing that it was the highest mark in the class. Even better, Dante hadn’t popped out of a gym locker or burst from a storage closet to beat on him, which meant Cody hadn’t been forced to try out his so-called plan, which was probably going to result in his face being rearranged in any case.

As he changed into his spikes, he saw Dante off by himself down the third base line, stretching. When their eyes met, Dante scowled and quickly looked away. Yep, Cody thought, the big lug still loves me.

Just then Coach came rushing up to see him, a concerned look on his face.

Uh-oh, Cody thought. This can’t be good.

It wasn’t.

“I need you to pitch today,” Coach said.

“WHAT?!”

“Robbie didn’t go to school—he’s home with a stomach virus,” Coach said. “Mike Cutko’s starting for us. Then I’m bringing you in. Probably in the fourth inning.”

“Me?” Cody said. His voice suddenly sounded high and squeaky. “Coach, I haven’t pitched since I was—”

“You’ve got the best arm on the team,” Coach said. “Well, you and Connor. And your arm is even more accurate than his. You’ll do fine. Just throw hard and aim for Joey’s mitt. The rest’ll take care of itself.”

He gave Cody a clap on the back and went off to fill out the lineup card. Still dazed, Cody got his glove and wandered over to where Jordy, Connor, and Willie were warming up.

“Dude, I hear you’re on the mound today,” Jordy said.

Bet I know what they’re thinking, Cody said to himself. What’s Coach doing letting a chunkster like that pitch? Sure, he might be okay at third base, where you don’t have to cover a lot of ground. And all that extra weight helps him pop the ball when he’s up at bat. But how do you let the guy pitch?

Yet all Cody said was: “News sure travels fast around here.”

There was an awkward silence. Jordy, Willie, and Connor looked at each other. They seemed to be struggling for something to say.

Finally Willie smacked Cody on the butt and said, “Piece of cake, C. You’ll shut these sorry Tigers down.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Cody said. “I haven’t pitched since I was a little kid.”

“It’s like riding a bicycle,” Jordy said. “You never forget how.”

“Had a feeling someone was going to say that,” Cody said. “But you guys better be ready behind me. I’m going to need some leather flashing today.”

Just then Marty pushed his way through the group and draped an arm around Connor’s shoulders.

“Listen to me, big man,” he said. “Don’t worry about this. You need any pitching advice, you come to me, hear?”

The other Orioles looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

“Uh, Marty?” Willie said. “I say this with all due respect. But have you actually ever pitched? In your entire life?”

Now Marty sighed and draped his other arm around Willie’s shoulders.

“Willie, Willie, Willie…” he said, shaking his head. “Did Columbus ever sail before he discovered America? Did Henry Ford ever drive before he rolled out the Model T automobile? Did Steve Jobs ever sit down at a computer before he developed Apple?”

Willie furrowed his brow. “I’m pretty sure they all—”

“What I’m trying to say,” Marty continued, “is that you don’t have to actually pitch to know about pitching, son.”

“Did you call me son?” Willie said. “Marty, you’re thirteen years old!”

“This is getting us nowhere,” Marty said. Turning back to Cody, he said, “I’m here for you, big man. Think of me as your personal pitching guru.”

Despite how nervous he was becoming, Cody found himself grinning. There was something about Marty you had to like. The cluelessness, the over-the-top confidence, the posing as the ultimate authority on any subject…Cody had never seen anything like it. Marty could sure talk a good game, even if he couldn’t play one.

The Orioles jumped out to a 3–0 lead on a two-run single by Connor and a sacrifice fly by Dante. Mike held the Tigers in check, giving up a long double to the Tigers’ cleanup hitter in the top of the third inning before ending the threat with two strikeouts in a row.

With the bottom of the Orioles order due up, Coach said, “Marty, go warm up Cody.”

“See that?!” Marty crowed, grabbing a catcher’s mitt and face mask. “Coach knows who to put in charge of the rookie right-hander!”

Cody warmed up down the left-field line. His hands were sweaty and he could feel his heart thumping. He couldn’t remember ever being this jittery on a baseball field. His first two throws sailed over Marty’s head. The third bounced so hard it nearly dug a divot at Marty’s feet.

“Whoa!” he said. “Hey, Tim Lincecum! Maybe we could try not to hit one hundred on the radar gun until you’re actually facing a batter!”

Cody nodded and took a deep breath. Hoo, boy, he thought. This was going to be…interesting.

It was still 3–0 Orioles when, in the top of the fourth inning, Cody walked stiffly to the mound for his pitching debut.

He took his warm-up tosses and was relieved to see that none of them ended up in the Tigers’ dugout. After the last one, Joey fired the ball down to Connor at second base and jogged out to the mound.

“Got a few butterflies in the stomach?” the stocky catcher asked. He was chomping on his usual four pieces of bubble gum, a wad that stuck out like a golf ball in his cheek.

“They feel more like bats flapping around,” Cody said, rubbing the ball furiously.

Joey nodded, blowing a huge bubble.

“We’ll keep this real simple,” he said. “I put down one finger. You throw a fastball. That’s all you gotta remember, okay?”

Cody nodded and thought: a kid who gets a 98 on his social studies test ought to be able to handle that.

As the first batter dug in at the plate, the Tigers’ dugout erupted with catcalls.

“Big, big man on the mound!”

“I can’t believe I ate the whole thing!”

“Yo, pitcher! Grand Slam breakfast at Denny’s! Available twenty-four/seven!”

Cody could feel the familiar anger rising as the Tigers batter dug in. Anger and adrenaline—that’s a bad combination, he told himself. He went into his windup, kicked, rocked, and fired. Ball one. He threw the second pitch even harder. Ball two. Great, he thought. The kid hasn’t moved the bat from his shoulders. And why should he? He’s taking the E-ZPass lane to first base.

Cody walked the kid on two more balls outside. And the next batter walked on four pitches too. Now the Tigers’ dugout was a sea of noise, the jeering getting louder and louder. Cody ran the count to 2–0 on the third batter when Coach yelled, “Time!” and popped out of the dugout.

He trudged slowly to the mound while Cody kicked nervously at the dirt in front of the pitching rubber.

“Cody,” Coach said, “look at me.”

Cody tilted his head up slightly.

“You can do this,” Coach said. “Don’t let these guys get to you. All you need to do is find your rhythm, and you’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know, Coach,” Cody said, looking down and kicking the dirt again.

“Well, I do know,” Coach said. The irritation in his voice startled Cody. “But you’re not giving yourself a chance. And you’re not giving your teammates a chance to help you. Now take a deep breath and relax. Then take ten miles per hour off that fastball and get it over the plate. I don’t want to have to come out here again.” With that, he turned and left.

Cody tried to compose himself. Breathe. Relax. Slow everything down. And he did. Slowed everything down so much it was like he was taking a nap. The result was a pitch that seemed to float through the air as the batter’s eyes lit up with delight. The kid promptly slapped it into right-center field for a two-run double.

Just like that, it was Orioles 3, Tigers 2.

Cody was furious with himself. Why don’t I just throw it underhand if I’m going to pitch that slow? Why don’t I bowl it up there?

He tried throwing the ball slightly harder now, and suddenly his luck seemed to change. The next Tigers batter swung at a pitch outside the strike zone and hit a weak comebacker to the mound for the first out. The batter after that helped Cody even more by striking out on a fastball over his head. And the Tigers’ number-nine hitter swung at three balls in the dirt to end the inning.

Cody hung his head as he walked off the mound. Some debut. Then he said a silent prayer: I don’t know what those last three guys were swinging at. But please don’t let them stop swinging at junk now.

When he reached the dugout, Coach gave him a fist-bump and said, “Okay, not bad. You got out of trouble when you had to.” But Cody was disconsolate. What a train-wreck of an outing, he thought.

Which was when Marty walked over and put a hand on each shoulder and got right in his face.

“Listen to me, dude,” Marty said. “Forget that big windup of yours. It’s killing you. You’re totally off balance. Just pitch from the stretch, like the closers in the major leagues do. It’ll make your delivery way more compact. You’ll have much better control.”

Cody’s jaw dropped. Marty, the kid who talked to himself, the kid who couldn’t run to first base without stumbling, was talking like a big-league pitching coach. And the scary thing was, he was actually making sense.

“Okay,” Cody said, nodding. “Why not? I’m not exactly mowing them down this way.”

So when he took the mound in the fifth inning, Cody pitched from the stretch. And something clicked immediately. He could feel it in his warm-up throws. He wasn’t teetering all over the place. Everything seemed so much smoother. Every pitch was around the plate, even when he threw hard. Joey didn’t have to make one sprawling kick save.

With his newfound confidence, Cody set the Tigers down in order. The first batter grounded out to Jordy at first. The next batter hit a pop foul near the Tigers’ dugout that Jordy also gloved. Cody’s fastball was popping into Joey’s mitt. And the next batter—the Tigers’ number-three hitter—struck out to end the inning.

This time Cody sprinted off the mound with a big smile on his face, accepting fist bumps from his teammates as he neared the dugout. Marty stood on the top step grinning like a proud parent.

“You’re a genius!” Cody said, wrapping the skinny kid in a bear hug.

“There are those who think so,” Marty said, shrugging. “Who am I to argue?”

The Orioles were still clinging to a 3–2 lead when Cody took the mound for the sixth inning. But he was in a groove now. The Tigers’ cleanup hitter, a big kid named Manny, hit a fly ball to deep center field that scared Cody—until Yancy ran it down for the first out.

But Cody got the Tigers’ number-five hitter on a slow grounder to second base. And when he fanned the next batter on three straight fastballs for the Orioles’ seventh straight win, Joey pumped his fist and ran out to high-five his pitcher, touching off a small celebration near the mound.

“Way to close it out,” Coach said, beaming. “I knew you had it in you.”

“I didn’t,” Cody said, shaking his head. “But you were right about me not relying enough on the rest of the guys. Thanks, Coach.”

After the two teams lined up and slapped hands, Willie pretended to interview Cody, holding his fist out like it was a microphone and he was a TV sideline reporter.

“We’re talking with one of the stars of today’s game, Orioles relief pitcher Cody Parker,” Willie began. “Cody, terrific outing. What was working for you out there?”

“Well, I felt good today,” Cody said, playing along perfectly. All those hours of watching ESPN SportsCenter had actually paid off. “I was locating my pitches real well, changing speeds, able to keep the hitters off balance.”

Willie nodded earnestly. “Now, I know you hadn’t pitched in quite a few years,” he continued. “That must have been a little nerve-racking, moving from third base to the bullpen on such short notice.”

“I just want to help the team,” Cody said. “Whatever they want me to do is fine with me. The bottom line is, I just want to help us win a ring.”

“They don’t give rings in this league, Cody,” Willie said with a straight face. “They only give you a trophy if you win the championship. And it’s not very big, either.”

Cody tried not to crack up. “Rings, trophies, it’s all the same to me,” he said. “I’m all about the team.”

“Well, there you have it,” Willie said, pretending to turn to an imaginary camera. “A young phenom came of age today. Cody Parker closes out the Tigers in a thrilling three to two Orioles win. Now back to you guys in the booth.”

With the “interview” over, the rest of the Orioles burst out laughing. Willie and Cody slapped hands and laughed too. For Cody, it had pretty much been a perfect day. But as he gathered up his stuff and said good-bye to his teammates, he had the eerie feeling that someone was watching him. Turning around, he saw Dante standing by the corner of the dugout, glowering at him.

“You think you’re pretty funny, don’t you, fat boy?” he said. He spit out a mouthful of sunflower seeds and nodded grimly. Without another word, he slung his equipment bag over his shoulder and stomped off into the twilight.

“What’s his problem?” Willie said as they stared at the retreating figure.

“Apparently it’s me,” Cody said. “Which makes it my problem too.”