IT’S THE day of the championship game. Rose and I are behind the concession stand when a man wearing a baseball cap and carrying a satchel passes us and walks up the stairs to the announcer’s booth.
“That’s Coach Rodriguez,” Rose says quietly. “The old middle school coach. He was Simon’s coach when he went there.” That was before they built the new middle school and everyone in our neighborhood still went to the old one.
“Ally better be awesome today,” I say. The knife almost ruined it. Ally was so freaked-out after we found it that she hardly slept at my slumber party. So yesterday, we didn’t even mention the box or the knife or anything concerning the mystery. Instead, Rose and I spent the whole day focusing Ally on her number one priority: kicking Joey’s butt and not wearing a Broncos jersey in the Fourth of July parade!
I did revisit the scene of the crime this morning, though. Mr. Gillan was replacing the missing brick from his mailbox. When I walked up, he said, “New brick doesn’t match but I suppose it will have to do.”
I felt bad because I knew the matching brick was upstairs in my bedroom, right beside the clue box under my bed. “It’s not so bad,” I said encouragingly.
He stood back, a cement-covered trowel in his hand. “Who would take a brick from a mailbox?” he asked and looked at me. “It’s a strange world, Birdie.”
If he only knew.
At the game, Rose and I sit in the bleachers next to the General, as usual. Mark’s there, too, skipping soccer for the championships.
As Ally takes the pitcher’s mound, everybody cheers loudly. There are high hopes and expectations in these stands.
Until Ally walks the first batter.
“Oh no,” the General says.
“Come on, Ally!” Mark yells from beside their mom.
“What’s going on, Simon?” Rose turns and looks at her brother, who’s sitting behind us with his girlfriend, Ashley.
“Don’t know. Could be nerves.” Simon looks up at the announcer’s booth, at Coach Rodriguez in his bird’s-eye seat behind home plate. “Shake it off, Al!” he shouts.
As Romeo steps into the batter’s box, Joey appears from the dugout, carrying three bats and a face full of intimidation. He steps into the on-deck circle taunting her. “Pitch-pitch-pitch-pitcher! Come on, Blondie, walk another one! Then I can bat ’em in!”
Ally throws the first pitch.
“Ball,” the umpire calls.
“Way to throw, Blondie!” Joey yells. Ally must want to kill him but she acts like he’s not there. She throws again and almost hits Romeo, who ducks just in time.
“Ball two,” the ump says.
The catcher stands and throws the ball back to her. “You can do it!” I yell as she steps back on the mound. “Strike him out!” Romeo pulls a face at me then turns back toward Ally, bat held high over his right shoulder.
She pitches. “Ball three.”
“Come on, Ally!” the General calls out beside us.
Ally throws again and, “Ball four. Batter, take your base.”
Romeo drops his bat and jogs toward first base while Rose starts quietly clapping. I grab her hand. “You can’t do that,” I whisper.
Joey drops two of the bats he’s been swinging and carries the remaining one to home plate. He steps in the batter’s box, digs in his cleats, and glares at Ally.
Ally’s coach calls time-out and steps onto the field.
“I hope they don’t take her out,” the General says as we watch the coach and Ally confer on the mound.
“Maybe they should,” Mark says from the other side of the General.
“Mark!” she exclaims.
“I just don’t want that big guy to kill my sister.”
After a minute, Ally nods and the coach goes back to the dugout. Everybody on our side starts to cheer. Mark yells, “You can do it, sis!”
Ally looks up at us then steps on the white rubber strip in the middle of the pitcher’s mound. Her eyes sharply focus on home plate. On Joey.
She winds up and throws a hard one. Right down the middle. And WHACK! The ball comes off of Joey’s bat fast and straight, like he’s aiming for her. Ally can’t get her glove up in time. The ball smacks her right in the face.
“Ally!” The General stands.
As the ball rolls down the pitcher’s mound, Joey drops the bat and runs to first base. The catcher hurries to the ball and stops the third base runner from coming home. Ally’s bent over, her hands to her cheek. If I were her, I’d be crying.
But I’m not Ally. And Ally’s not me. As the General hurries down the bleachers, Ally straightens and holds her glove out to the catcher. He throws her the ball.
“She’s going to have a real shiner,” Simon says.
“He did that on purpose!” Rose exclaims. We start booing Joey from the stands and some of the other Hunters fans join in. “Jerk-bag!” she yells.
The coach walks out to the mound to check on Ally and the General isn’t far behind. When Ally sees her mom coming, she waves her off, though. “I’m okay,” she says.
“Are you sure?” the General asks.
“Mom, yes.” Which translates to Mom, get back to the bleachers, you’re embarrassing me.
“Does the little girl need her mommy?” Joey calls out from first base, and Ally’s coach yells, “Come on, ump!”
The ump gives Joey a stern look while Ally nods to her coach, then prepares for the next batter.
She makes it through the inning. Nothing great. But nothing horrible. Two runs come in. At least Joey isn’t allowed to score.
When the inning ends, we follow the General to the dugout and meet Ally outside.
“Put this on it.” The General hands her a plastic bag filled with ice. “It’ll take down the swelling.”
Ally takes the ice and puts it against the side of her face. “Ouch!”
“Keep it on there,” her mom says. “It’s going to hurt.”
Ally puts the ice back on and winces.
“You want to keep playing?” her mom asks.
“I do.” Ally’s eye looks awful but we all know Ally doesn’t care about stuff like black eyes or bruises or even broken bones.
“All right,” says the General. Maybe it’s because Ally has four older brothers that her mom’s that cool with it. My mom would be driving me to the hospital by now.
Over the next few innings, it’s not bad but it’s not good. Ally keeps pitching but only good enough to keep her from being pulled from the game. Joey, on the other hand, is pitching great. He even strikes out Ally when she’s up to bat.
By the fourth inning, Ally’s eye’s grown deep purple and the Broncos lead 6–1.
“Ah, shoot!” We turn to Simon. He’s looking up at the announcer’s booth. Coach Rodriguez is walking down the back stairs.
“Maybe he’s getting a drink,” I say.
“Not with his stats satchel,” Simon says. “He’s out of here.”
“Simon, get him to stay!” Rose pleads.
We watch as the coach heads to his car. “Don’t think it would make a difference, Rose. Ally did not bring her A-game today.”
As Ally walks back to the pitcher’s mound, I see her watching the coach leave, too. I know she must feel terrible. This was her big chance and she blew it. But at least now she might pitch better. After Coach Rodriguez leaves, she doesn’t pitch better, though. In fact, she might be even worse.
I drop my face into my hands. How can this be happening? Ally’s never going to hear the end of this from Joey. She won’t pitch in the big charity game. She might not get on the middle school team. And she’s going to lose the Fourth of July parade bet!
I think back to that day in Rose’s front yard when Simon and Ally were throwing. Simon had said that pitchers often have slumps because of something psychological. Something in their head. But if something in her head is causing the problem, what could it be?
Think, Birdie, think. It just doesn’t make sense. Ally’s been doing great again. The past three games have been solid. So what’s so different about today? What made her go into the slump again?
I don’t think it’s the championship, because Ally usually shines under pressure. Joey is a pain but she’s beaten him before, with pleasure. It could have been about being scouted by Coach Rodriguez, but then shouldn’t she have improved after he left the ball field? And honestly, I don’t think it’s about the knife.
I squeeze my palms against my eyes willing my brain to find an answer. And suddenly, it appears.
“Mark!” My head pops up from my hands.
Ally’s brother looks over at me. “What?”
“Come with me!” I bound down the bleachers and Rose comes after me. At the bottom, I look up and see Mark still sitting there.
“Come on!”
The General nudges him. “Go with them,” she says.
Mark rolls his eyes and stands up. “Girls,” he mutters but follows us anyway.
I lead them behind the concession stand, where Rose and I were talking before the game. When Mark rounds the corner, I confront him. “It’s you, Mark. You’re the reason Ally can’t pitch today.”
“What are you talking about, Birdie?” he asks.
“I know I’m right. Just listen. When was the last time you watched her play and she was good?”
Mark thinks for a second. “I don’t know. She’s been bad for a while now.”
“No! She got good again! When you missed her games for soccer practice. Don’t you get it? She’s good when you’re not here.”
Rose glares at Mark. “What did you do to her?”
“I didn’t do anything!” he says, but guiltily, like he’s hiding something.
“Mark!” I say. “I can tell. You did something. You’ve got to tell us. For Ally!”
“Ah, crap,” he says and kicks the ground.
“What?” Rose demands.
“Shhhh,” Mark whispers. “Listen. I didn’t think she heard me at the time but maybe she did.”
“Heard what?” I ask.
“I don’t know. It was weeks ago. Ethan was over and we were in my room.” Ethan is Mark’s best friend and they’d played on the same baseball team for years. “I was missing playing and Ethan was trying to get me to come back on the team. I told him I couldn’t. But he kept bugging me about it, until I kind of exploded.”
“Exploded, how?” I ask firmly.
“I said I couldn’t play because my little sister was better than me. And it made me mad. And it wasn’t fair. Stuff like that.” He pauses. “But I yelled it. And I guess Ally was in her room.”
“You mean in her room that is right next to your room,” Rose says accusingly.
“Yeah. But it doesn’t mean she heard me.”
“Oh, she heard you,” I say.
“I was just frustrated! I didn’t think she’d fall apart or anything.”
“Well, you were wrong,” Rose tells him.
“She only falls apart when you’re there,” I say. “Because she’s guilty. Ally’ll let herself beat anybody at baseball, Mark. Except you.”
He lowers his head for a moment and then looks up. “How do I fix it?”
* * *
Rose and I stand by the dugout waiting for Ally to finish up another mediocre inning. When she comes off the field, we grab her and send her to Mark, who’s waiting outside the fence down the first baseline.
From the back of the dugout, Rose and I watch them. While Mark talks, Ally studies the ground. When he finally stops, her head tilts up and they just stare at each other. Still as statues.
Rose and I watch them like they’re a science experiment ready to blow.
Then Ally winds back like she’s going to punch him hard. Her fist flies forward but slows as it lands on Mark’s shoulder. Grabbing his arm, Mark pretends he’s hurt like he used to do when they were younger. He pushes her. She pushes him back. In other words, the Lorenz family hug.
Over the last three innings, Ally goes back out there and plays like she’s pitching for her life. She strikes out Joey twice and even though it’s too late and the Hunters lose 8–6, Ally is back again. In those last innings, she does what she came to do. She pitches better than the boy.