Carter Jones woke with a start. He blinked in the darkness, momentarily disoriented by his shadowy surroundings. Then he remembered where he was: the dormitory of the A. Bartlett Giamatti Little League Leadership Training Center in Bristol, Connecticut. He was in the top bunk of one of the beds. His friend Ash LaBrie slept in the bunk below. Other players from Forest Park, Pennsylvania, were in similar beds throughout the hall.
Carter rolled onto his side, wondering what had woken him. Suddenly, his head vibrated.
Bzzzz, bzzzz. Bzzzz, bzzzz.
He grinned, dug his hand beneath the pillow, and retrieved the personal cell phone he’d stashed there earlier. Only Liam would be calling this late, and for only one reason: to tell him who’d won the West Regional Championship.
As quickly and quietly as he could, he slipped down the bunk bed ladder, speed-walked to the bathroom, and closed the door behind him. Then he answered the call.
“Doofus?” he whispered hopefully.
“Dork.” Liam’s voice was just as quiet.
No, not quiet. Subdued. As in, not the way it would sound if SoCal was the West Regional champ. Carter’s heart sank.
Before Carter could think of something to say, Liam murmured, “I’m sending you a video clip. Watch it, then call me back.” He hung up.
Carter blinked, not sure what to make of Liam’s abruptness. His phone buzzed again, signaling that the video had been received.
He thumbed his way to the attachment, muted the volume, and hit play.
The video opened with a close-up of the Al Houghton Stadium scoreboard. According to the information there, it was the top of the sixth and final inning. The home team had seven runs while the guests had five. There were no outs, but the batter had a count of oh-and-two.
But which team is “Home”? Carter wondered.
He got his answer a moment later, when the shot pulled back to show the infield. Standing at first and second were runners in Ravenna uniforms, their cobalt-blue-and-white jerseys brilliant beneath the stadium lights. He tried to see whether Liam was one of the runners, but before he could, the image veered to home plate.
His eyes widened. Liam was the batter.
As Carter watched, Liam stepped out of the box and wiped his brow. The video zoomed in on Liam’s face. He looked anxious.
Oh, no, Carter thought, biting his lower lip.
But a split second later, something fascinating happened. Liam’s expression morphed from worry to fierce determination as he lifted the bat over his shoulder.
He’s going to crush this next pitch! As the thought crossed Carter’s mind, the Northern California pitcher hurled the ball toward the plate. Carter tried to see what kind of pitch it was, but the image on the screen was too small. Liam swung.
Pow!
Carter wished the video had followed the ball’s path. But it stayed on Liam, who dropped his bat and sprinted toward first, head down, legs churning, arms pumping.
“Go, Liam, go!” Carter whispered urgently.
Suddenly, Liam’s head snapped up. A huge grin split his face. He leaped and punched the air with his fist. He touched first base and continued to second. But he wasn’t sprinting anymore—he was practically galloping, each step filled with such glee that Carter didn’t need sound to know what had happened.
Home run! SoCal was in the lead, 8–7!
Of course, NoCal had last bats, but the videographer—Carter guessed it was Liam’s older sister, Melanie, who was making a movie about Ravenna’s postseason—added a shot of the scoreboard at the end of the game. Guests 8, Home 7.
Ravenna had won the West Regional Championship! Next stop: the Little League Baseball World Series!
Impatient with excitement, Carter clumsily tapped the screen to back out of the video and contact Liam.
His cousin answered on the first ring.
“You doofus!” Carter hissed. “I thought—well, you know what I thought!”
Liam’s laugh boomed in Carter’s ear. Carter couldn’t stop himself. He laughed out loud, too—and then clapped a hand over his mouth as the sound echoed off the bathroom walls.
“Gotcha good, didn’t I?” Liam chortled.
“You rocketed that ball out of the park! What’d he throw you, anyway? A meatball?”
“Don’t know, and right now, I don’t care!” Liam replied. “What I do know is that I’ll be seeing you in Williamsport!”
That assertion brought Carter up short. He would see Liam in Williamsport, true enough. But the question was, would he be there as a spectator, or would he and the other Forest Park All-Stars be among the sixteen teams in the World Series tournament?
He decided to look on the positive side. “I’ll be there after we beat DC tomorrow—or today, I guess,” he amended, knowing that it was well after midnight.
Liam chuckled. “Good thing your game isn’t until late afternoon. You’ll have plenty of time for a nap!” He gave a loud yawn. “Listen, I gotta get going. We’re getting the bus to the airport really early. One last thing, though, dork”—Carter could hear the smile in his cousin’s voice—“fist-bump, fist-bump, fist-bump.”
Carter laughed again, this time not caring if someone heard him. Bumping fists three times in a row was his and Liam’s way of wishing each other good luck. He raised his left fist even though Liam couldn’t see him. “Right back at you.”
The cousins ended their call. Carter caught sight of himself in the mirror. He stared into his reflection’s green eyes. He made a fist again and tapped it against the mirror.
“Good luck,” he whispered. “And go get ’em.”