Carter Jones tossed a pink rubber ball from hand to hand.
“So, doofus, what’s your big news, other than your team is going to Sectionals, too?”
Carter was in his bedroom, video-chatting with Liam. Cousins and best friends, they used to hang out together all the time. They used to play baseball together, too, with Liam behind the plate and Carter, a top-notch southpaw, on the mound.
Then last winter, Liam and his family moved from Pennsylvania to Southern California. Now the boys caught up through texting, phone calls, and video-chats. Baseball was the main topic of many conversations—especially now that both of their teams were heading to Sectionals.
“I might be Phillip’s catcher from now on,” Liam said.
The ball dropped from Carter’s hand and rolled under his bunk beds.
Liam had had his trouble with DiMaggio, but so had Carter. Two summers back, Phillip played a practical joke on him during Little League Baseball Camp. At the end of the session, Carter had left bearing a huge grudge against the California pitcher. The idea that his cousin might be catching for Phillip left him cold. He felt even more uneasy about it when Liam told him about Phillip’s “corrections.”
“Are you kidding me?” he fumed. “Who does he think he is?”
A sharp knock on the bedroom door cut into their conversation. Carter twisted around in his desk chair. “I wonder who that could be.”
“Only one way to find out,” Liam said.
“Open the door?” Carter guessed.
“No,” Liam said, and then bellowed, “Get in here, quick! I need help!”
The door banged open. A blond-haired boy about Carter’s height rushed in. “What’s wrong?” he cried, his brown eyes darting around wildly.
Liam laughed. “Is that Jerry? Or Charlie? Tell him to get in camera range so I can say hi!”
Jerry Tuckerman and Charlie Murray had played on the Forest Park All-Star team last year with Carter and Liam. But the blond boy wasn’t Jerry or Charlie. His name was Ash LaBrie. Liam had never met him—not officially, that is, although he certainly knew who Ash was.
Ash had moved into Liam’s old house with his mother last winter. He was the same age as the cousins and, like them, played baseball. This past season, he’d taken over Liam’s spot as Carter’s catcher.
While no one could ever replace Liam as his favorite catcher, Carter couldn’t deny that he and Ash made a good pair. He believed Liam accepted that fact. Still, he couldn’t help squirming inside when Ash moved into Liam’s view.
Ash spoke first. “So you’re Liam. Nice to finally meet you.”
“Yeah.” Liam’s voice was cool. “And you’re Ashley.”
“Liam,” Carter broke in hurriedly, “I told you he goes by Ash. He’s just kidding around,” he added to Ash. “He does that.”
“Oh, right.” Ash looked back at Liam. “Congrats on getting on the All-Star team after all. Too bad you’re not catching, but outfield is important, too.”
Liam’s eyes narrowed. “As a matter of fact,” he said tersely, “I could be starting at catcher in Sectionals.”
“Really?” Ash raised his eyebrows. “No offense, but what are your coaches thinking switching things around like that in the postseason?” He turned to Carter. “I mean, wouldn’t it be hard for you if Coach Harrison replaced me as your catcher now?”
Carter bit his lip. Ash was right; it would be a big adjustment for him to make. But he felt caught in the middle. Agreeing with Ash would make it seem as if he thought Liam’s playing catcher would be a liability for his team. So he just shrugged.
Ash seemed satisfied with that. “By the way, Liam, what do you think about Carter’s killer pitch? Pretty tough to get a glove on it, isn’t it?”
Now Carter squirmed even more. His “killer pitch” was a knuckleball, a pitch that practically bounced through the air as it approached the plate. The movement fooled batters but was also tough for catchers to follow.
Ash had learned to handle it after lots of practice. But last month, when Carter had paid a surprise visit to the McGraths, Liam had bobbled every knuckleball he’d thrown.
Carter hadn’t told Ash about that, of course. But the look on Liam’s face made it clear he thought Ash was making fun of him.
“No offense, Ash”—Liam repeated Ash’s own words and emphasized the name with sarcasm—“but Carter and I were having a private conversation here. So…” He circled his hand in an impatient, tell-us-what-you-want-already gesture.
Ash blinked. “Oh, right. Carter, your mother sent me up to get you. She’s in the kitchen with my mom.”
“Okay. Liam, I guess I better go.” Carter held his fist up to the screen. “Sectionals, man.”
Liam glanced at Ash but then raised his fist, too. “Sectionals.” Together they bumped the screen three times. Then Liam signed off.
“What was that?” Ash asked, imitating the fist-bump gesture.
Carter shrugged. “Just our way of wishing each other good luck. Come on. Let’s go see what our moms want.”
Mrs. Jones, a petite brunette with light brown eyes, was pouring herbal tea for Mrs. LaBrie when the boys entered the kitchen.
“Hi, Carter,” Mrs. LaBrie greeted. Blond like her son with an athletic build and shrewd blue eyes, she had a slight southern accent that always reminded Carter of a Civil War movie he’d once seen. She took a sip of tea before explaining the reason for the visit. “I’m here to tell you that I had asked your mom for a favor. It seems the person I’d hired to run the Diamond Champs summer programs can’t take the job after all.”
The Diamond Champs was an indoor baseball facility with state-of-the-art pitching tunnels, batting cages, a full turf infield, and much more. Carter and his friends practically lived there on rainy days.
“I can run the programs myself, of course,” Mrs. LaBrie continued. “But that means I can’t go to Sectionals.”
“So Ash will be staying with us instead,” Carter’s mother said.
The upcoming tournament was in a town that was three hours away by car. Carter, like most of the players, was staying with his parents at a nearby hotel. Ash and his mother were booked at the same place.
“We’ve changed the reservation to two adjoining rooms,” Mrs. LaBrie said. “You boys can stay in one and Carter’s parents in the other.”
“And Mrs. LaBrie will take care of Lucky Boy while we’re gone,” Mrs. Jones put in, referring to Carter’s small black-and-tan dog. “So everything’s worked out just fine.”
“I guess so,” Carter replied. Deep down, though, he felt a prickle of apprehension.
Ash could be pretty intense when it came to baseball. Assuming Forest Park advanced to the final game of the tournament, they’d be together for at least three days, maybe four. What would it be like spending every minute of that time—meals, games, practices, free time, bedtime—with someone that intense?