Arriving at destination,” the computerized female voice of the Joneses’ GPS announced.
“Thanks for stating the obvious,” Mr. Jones said as he pulled into the hotel parking lot.
It was midmorning on Saturday, the first day of the Sectional tournament. Carter’s team, Forest Park, was scheduled to play in the late afternoon. First, though, there was a welcome luncheon at the hotel for all the players, coaches, and family members. The Joneses had picked up Ash bright and early and arrived with time to spare.
Mr. Jones went inside to see if their rooms were ready. Carter got out and stretched. The acrid smell of hot blacktop practically curled his nostril hairs, but he didn’t care. For the past three hours, Ash had been sharing details about Calder, the team they were facing later that day. That information was kept in a special binder along with notes about other teams in the Sectional tourney. Carter appreciated the lowdown, but now he needed a break.
Ash and Mrs. Jones got out, too. “Phew! The weather folks were right,” Carter’s mother said, fanning herself with a magazine. “The air is so thick with humidity you can practically cut it with a knife. So, you boys excited?”
“Excited, and a little nervous,” Carter admitted.
“I just want to get started,” Ash said.
The hotel’s revolving glass doors deposited Mr. Jones back outside. “We’re all set,” he called.
The cool air enveloped them as they walked through the hotel lobby. They were by the elevator when Forest Park’s manager, Mr. Harrison, happened by. An energetic man with thick black hair, beefy arms, and a snub nose, he had been Carter’s Little League coach for the past two seasons and for last year’s postseason. He shook hands with Mr. Jones and offered to take Mrs. Jones’s bag. She waved him off with a smile of thanks.
“I’ll see you all at the luncheon, then,” the coach said, nodding as the foursome stepped into the elevator.
Their rooms were on the top floor, which was perfect, Mrs. Jones told them, because it meant there wouldn’t be the sounds of people walking around above to bother them.
“I brought earplugs for everyone,” she added, “in case there are any loud parties going on.”
“And your white-noise machine to cancel out other annoying sounds?” Mr. Jones said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
Carter’s mother colored. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
“My mom gets a little crazy if she’s woken up in the middle of the night,” Carter stage-whispered to Ash.
Mrs. Jones laughed. “I like my beauty sleep!”
Her husband put his arm around her and gave her a kiss. “You’re beautiful enough without it.”
Carter pretended to gag. But Ash didn’t see. He was looking at Carter’s parents with a wistful expression.
Carter didn’t have any brothers or sisters, but he did have both his parents; Ash had only his mother. Carter didn’t know anything about Ash’s father because he’d never asked. He didn’t want Ash to think he was prying. But he sometimes wondered about him.
The elevator doors opened on their floor. Their footsteps were hushed as they made their way down the long carpeted hallway to their adjoining rooms.
“Sweet,” Carter said, taking in the two double beds and flat-screen television. He opened the drapes. Sliding glass doors led to a tiny balcony that overlooked a huge outdoor pool. “Check it out! That’s Craig and Allen swimming down there.”
Craig Ruckel played right field for Forest Park. Allen Avery was one of the team’s shortstops.
Carter cupped his hands around his mouth and called down to them. They didn’t look up.
“They must have some of Mom’s earplugs in,” Carter joked when Ash came out onto the balcony. “Hey, you want to go join them?”
Ash looked over his shoulder at the digital clock between their beds. “The lunch starts in fifteen minutes.”
Carter was disappointed but saw that Craig and Allen were out of the pool and drying off anyway. “Oh well,” he said. “We can go afterward, right?”
Ash frowned. “We could, but we shouldn’t. You’re pitching today, remember? You don’t want to tire out your arm swimming. Save the pool for after we win.”
Carter suppressed a sigh. Ash was probably right, but it was so hot out and the pool looked so inviting.
Liam would go in, he thought with just a tiny bit of bitterness.
Carter’s mother poked her head through the adjoining door then and told them it was time to head downstairs.
The luncheon took place in the hotel’s dining room. Breakfast had been hours earlier and Carter’s stomach growled when he saw the food. He filled his plate and then looked around for the other Forest Park players.
“Carter, Ash, over here!” Charlie called from a corner table. The rest of the team was there, too. Carter’s parents sat with the other adults, leaving the boys to themselves.
Carter took a seat and examined his roast beef sandwich. Meat, American cheese, mayo, and lettuce on a bulky roll, no weird stuff like sun-dried tomato spread or horseradish sauce—just the way he liked it. He had just taken a big bite when Craig nudged him and pointed to a girl with long hair tied back into a ponytail.
“Look, Jones, it’s your girlfriend.”
Carter nearly choked on his sandwich.
Rachel Warburton had played on the Hawks, his regular-season Little League team. Funny, smart, confident, and with a powerful throwing arm, she reminded Carter of Liam. He liked her a lot, but just as a friend, not as a girlfriend. He was sure she felt the same way.
Rachel wove her way through the dining room. “Surprised to see me?” she said with a grin when she reached Carter’s table. “My mom and I just got here. So did the Delaneys.” She nodded toward the door where a tall man with piercing black eyes and black hair flecked with white stood next to a younger man in a wheelchair.
The tall man was Mr. Delaney. A volunteer Little League pitching coach, he’d taught Carter to throw the knuckleball. His son, Matt, was a former high school pitching star who now worked with the local Little League Challenger team. Carter had often wondered what had happened to put him in a wheelchair. He didn’t ask, though. He thought it might be too painful for Matt to talk about.
Carter waved to the Delaneys and then asked Rachel if she wanted to sit down.
“Can’t,” Rachel replied. “No outsiders allowed. I just sneaked in to say hi and to give you this.” She passed him a handmade book.
“What is it?” He started to leaf through it, but she stopped him.
“Don’t look at it now. Just keep it with your stuff in the dugout. If you start getting all squirrelly inside, look at it then. Okay?”
“Okay.” Carter tucked the book into a pocket of his gear bag.
Rachel nodded with satisfaction, then wished him and the other players good luck and headed back to the Delaneys.
“I still say she’s your girlfriend,” Craig said mischievously.
Carter rolled his eyes. “Give it a rest, will you?”