ALLY IS in a slump.
“What is happening out there?” the General says quietly. Rose and I sit beside Ally’s mom in the bleachers. We, along with everyone else in the stands, are watching in disbelief as Ally walks the third batter in a row. Her team, the Hunters, is already behind by two runs.
Rose leans into me. “This is bad. Like last week all over again.”
Ally’s coach calls time-out and walks to the mound. Last Saturday, we sat in this same spot and watched Ally pitch the worst game of her life. It was shocking because that’s never happened to her before. Ally always pitches great.
We hardly talked about it afterward. I think we were hoping whatever was wrong would magically fix itself.
It hasn’t.
“She can’t be great every week,” Mark says from the other side of Ally’s mom. Mark is the youngest of Ally’s older brothers and the one who taught her to play baseball.
The General shoots him a look that says No talking trash about your sister, but Mark just shrugs. “I’m going to get a Coke,” he says and jumps down from the bleachers.
Mark is two years older than Ally. When Ally was in second grade, Mark gave her his old glove and started throwing with her. In the years since, she’s become better at baseball than him—and practically everyone else. This year he decided not to play anymore. Says he’s gotten too old for Little League.
“Girls, do you know what’s going on with Ally?” her mom asks as we watch Ally walk, eyes low, back to the dugout. The replacement pitcher, Charles Johnson, takes the mound.
“No,” I say.
“No idea,” says Rose.
“Well, there’s something wrong,” she says.
Ally takes a seat in the dugout with the second- and third-string players. She doesn’t belong there. I realize the General is right. Something is wrong with Ally. But what?
After the game, we sit under the tree down from the third base dugout and eat snow cones while the next teams take the field. Ally’s white baseball pants are streaked with dirt. She throws down her cap and pulls the ponytail holder out of her long blond hair like it’s her mortal enemy.
The General and Mark have left already. Ally’s house isn’t far from the ball field, so we’ll walk there after our snow cones.
“It’ll be better next week,” I say, trying to cheer her up.
Ally groans and throws her head back.
“Don’t listen to her, Al,” Rose says. “It’ll suck next week, too. Don’t worry about it.”
Ally throws her cap at Rose, almost toppling her snow cone.
“Kidding!” Rose exclaims. “Geez, Al.”
“What did Mark say?” Ally asks.
“I don’t know. I don’t think he said anything.” I look at Rose. “Did he say anything?”
Rose shrugs. “What would he have to say?”
“I don’t know,” says Ally. “Oh, crap.”
We follow Ally’s gaze and see Joey Wachowski walking our way, flanked by Connor and Romeo. Their baseball gloves are tucked under their arms and a bat is slung over Joey’s shoulder. They all wear blue baseball shirts sporting their team’s name, the Broncos. “Hope they lost,” Ally utters quietly.
Joey looks up at the scoreboard hanging over left field. Orioles 6, Hunters 1. “Too bad, Lorenz! What’s it like to be the worst girl pitcher in the league? Oh, I mean the only girl pitcher in the league. Or is it the same thing?” He laughs. “Your championship dreams are slipping away, Blondie.”
“Shut up, Joey,” Ally says.
“Why don’t you make me?” Joey shoots back.
“I’ll make you,” Romeo says and punches Joey in the shoulder. Not hard. But hard enough.
“I’ll kick your butt, Rome,” Joey threatens. But Romeo is not threatened. He just smiles.
“Hi, Romeo.” Rose’s flirty voice calls out from beside me.
“Hi.” He looks down at us, the sun haloing his head. “Y’all coming to the pool later?” Connor lives in our neighborhood, and Romeo and Joey come over a lot.
“Maybe,” Rose says.
Romeo looks at me.
“No, we’re going to Ally’s,” I say quickly. “Her mom is expecting us.”
“We don’t have to go,” Rose says.
“Yes, we do.” I look at Ally, then nudge Rose’s arm.
“Yeah, we gotta go,” Rose says back. “She needs a Red Vine infusion.”
“We won, by the way. On a streak,” Joey says. “Pitched a no-hitter.” He pops his gum dramatically. “Way things are going, we might not meet again, Blondie.”
I’ll translate: All the teams have one more game in the regular season. Then the championship playoffs begin. The way the championship brackets are set up, the Hunters and the Broncos will play again only if they meet in the final championship game. And whoever wins the championship game plays the winner of the Dunwoody league in the big charity game in August.
Joey goes on. “Hate to break it to you, Blondie, but if you can’t lead your team to a Little League championship, there’s no chance of you making it on the middle school team!”
Now he’s gone too far. Ally’s about to serve up a rude hand gesture, when Rose says, “She’ll be in the championships.”
Everyone looks at Rose.
“In fact, the Hunters are going to win. You watch, Joey.” Oh yeah. That’s how she does it. Cool Rose has a big mouth when it comes to sticking up for her friends.
“Right.” Joey laughs. “How much you wanna bet?”
“How much you wanna bet?” she says.
“Against the Broncos! That’s crazy!”
“Don’t call me crazy!” Rose springs to her feet and squares off in front of Joey, which looks pretty hilarious because Joey is practically twice the size of her in every direction. “A hundred bucks!” she says. “A hundred bucks that Ally beats you!”
“No money,” Romeo says.
“Yeah, no money,” I say and nod to Romeo.
“Then what?” Connor asks.
“It’s got to be good,” barks Joey.
“It’ll be good,” Rose says and starts pacing in a circle, starting to think.
“How about this?” Romeo says, and Rose stops. “What if … the loser has to ride in the Fourth of July parade wearing the winning team’s jersey?”
“That’s not bad,” I say. Every Fourth of July, there’s a big parade in our neighborhood. There are floats and people riding in convertibles and everything. It would be fun to see Joey waving to the crowd in a Hunters shirt while getting soaked by water cannons from the crowd.
“Yeah.” Rose eyes Romeo. “I like it.”
“Okay,” Joey says. He spits in the palm of his hand and holds it out.
“Gross!” Rose says. “I’m not shaking that!”
“No shake, no bet.”
Rose’s head rolls back. “Fine, then. It’s a bet.” She hesitates, then sticks out her hand. They shake and Joey holds on a little too long. “Give me back my hand, you disgusting slob.” He does and Rose can’t wipe off her infected palm soon enough.
“Cool,” says Joey. He looks down at Ally, who’s been strangely silent while Rose was betting her life away. “See ya, suckers!” Smiling and waving his bat around, Joey takes off toward the concession stand, Connor by his side.
Romeo rolls his eyes. “Sorry, Ally.” Then he smiles at us. “Later.”
Once they’re out of earshot, Ally looks up. “Thanks a lot. I can’t wait to be in the parade.”
“We’ve got two weeks before the play-offs start to figure this thing out,” I say.
“You can’t be in a slump forever,” adds Rose. “It’ll be okay.”
“Yeah, right. You saw me out there today.”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “We saw.”
“If Joey wins the championship, he’s going to make the middle school team. He’ll be the sixth-grade pitcher, and I’ll be nothing. You know that, right?”
Rose and I swap glances. Ally and Joey will be going to the old middle school together in August. There’s only one spot for a sixth-grade pitcher on the team.
Ally turns and looks over at Joey. “I hate that guy.”
“I like that guy,” Rose says, and we both glare at her. “Romeo!” She says defensively.
“Cut it out, Rose,” I say and turn toward the concession stand. I find myself looking at Romeo and see he’s looking at me, too.