CHAPTER 14

I came to the plate first in the bottom of the eighth with the score 2–1. Maybe Wilkins thought I’d forgotten about the previous times I’d batted. But he tried first-pitch fastball again and this time I nailed it, a long liner to the gap in left center.

I’m not quite the fastest runner on the team in a straightaway. That would be Darius McKay. On the bases though—well, that’s one of my strengths. By the time the throw came in from the outfield I was standing on third.

That woke up Wilkins, who struck out our next batter. Then Nick stepped in, called time, stepped out and tapped the bat against his left shoe, like he was knocking dirt off his spikes. What he was really doing was sending a signal: suicide squeeze. I was going to go on the pitch, and Nick was going to bunt.

The biggest thing that could go wrong was Nick missing the ball. I’d be caught—hence the name “suicide.” And trying to bunt a knuckleball is risky, for obvious reasons. But I guess Coach was feeling frisky, and the Miners were asleep.

At the second Wilkins passed the point of no return in his windup, I was off. Nick squared away and put down a bunt that was beautiful enough to make you cry: a slow roller that hugged the line so close I skipped over it on my way in to score. There wasn’t even a throw. The Miners knew they’d been had. It was 3–1.

Coach pinch-hit for Carson, but Dave Teller hit into a double play and the inning was over. All we needed were three outs from Shotaro. But as luck would have it, the first Miner up homered and the second one singled. The next scene was a common one on our team, though. Nick would go out to Shotaro and say some magic words—we never knew what they were—and Sho would settle in. He struck out the next batter and got the one after that to ground into a double play.

Okay, I was really, really tired of baseball. But even so, a game like this one was a lot of fun. And good times like this are best of all when a bunch of guys is sharing them. It reminded me of the way I used to feel before “my baseball future” became so serious.

Dad was out in the parking lot with the Yankees’ scouts, grinning and waving me over.

“Haven’t I been telling you, Trip? You’ve got what it takes! Great game!”

Brian nodded in agreement. “Nice work, Trip. The way you turned that blooper into an out at home, that was great.”

“We’re going to be in San Diego at the Beach Blowout later this week,” the other scout said. “We’re looking forward to seeing you play some more.”

I just said, “Thanks.”

“I’m taking my friends out for a while,” Dad said, “but I’ll see you at home later, okay?”

“Sure,” I said. But I lied.