Come on, man, get up!”
Carter opened one eye. Ash poked him again and said, “It’s time for the most important meal of the day.”
Raj sat up in the bunk bed closest to Carter. He had a terrific case of bed head and a hopeful expression. “Pizza?”
“Not pizza—breakfast,” Ash said, rolling his eyes. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
Raj yawned. “Well, since it’s Sunday, and at my house Sunday breakfast is usually leftover pizza, I just figured.” He yawned again and hopped down from the top bunk. “But I guess pancakes, sausage, eggs, and juice will have to do!”
Carter laughed as Raj trundled off to the bathroom. Ash didn’t. He tightened his lips and shook his head. “I don’t see how you guys can be so relaxed this morning, not with our biggest challenge yet waiting for us.”
Carter’s laughter died. With sleep still fogging his brain a little, he’d momentarily forgotten that Mid-Atlantic was scheduled to play West that afternoon. Reality came crashing down around him, and he flopped over in bed and closed his eyes.
For the first time in their lives, he and Liam would be facing each other as pitcher and batter. They had avoided talking about it last night at dinner.
When they got back to The Grove, however, Liam had taken Carter aside. “I’m going to be playing my best tomorrow. If I think for one second you’re taking it easy on me…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. Carter knew Liam would never forgive him if his cousin thought he hadn’t played his best, too.
Now he tried to imagine what it would be like pitching to Liam, but he couldn’t. Instead, he dwelled on the fact that only one of them would join his teammates on the field for a joyful celebration at the end. The other would return to the dorms knowing his team was one loss away from elimination.
He opened his eyes and stared at the slats of the bunk above. Liam is my best friend. I want him to succeed.
He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and stood. But I want to win, too.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer cried over the loudspeaker, “welcome to the fifteenth game of the World Series! Today the West Regional champions from Ravenna, California”—he paused to allow the crowd’s applause to die down—“will face the Mid-Atlantic Regional champions from Forest Park, Pennsylvania.”
The last words were nearly drowned out by the raucous roars from the fans packing the bleachers and the Hill, confirming that the bulk of the spectators were there to support Mid-Atlantic.
“Whoa,” Craig said, “I think there are even more people cheering for us this year than last.”
“Let’s make it even louder!” Raj cried. He cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, “Woo-hooo! Mid-Atlantic! Yeah!”
West was the home team. Carter glanced over at the first-base dugout and caught a glimpse of Liam suiting up in his catcher’s gear. They had exchanged quick smiles and waves coming on and off the field during warm-ups. Seeing Liam prepare to catch for someone other than himself made Carter’s spirits sag just a little. He quickly shook himself out of it.
Got to stay focused!
He saw Phillip, too, of course. He could tell from the pitcher’s posture that he was in game mode.
Well, so am I, Carter thought.
A few minutes later, the West players raced onto the field for the start of the game. The crowd cheered as they threw the ball around. Then the umpire called, “Play ball!”
Freddie, Mid-Atlantic’s first batter, strode to the plate.
“You got this, Freddie,” Charlie M. said encouragingly. “Start us off strong!”
Freddie did—much to Carter’s surprise. Not because he didn’t think Freddie could hit. He just wasn’t sure how Freddie would handle Phillip’s pitches. But there he was on first, the proud owner of a single.
Keith grounded out to short. Craig adjusted his helmet and said, “My turn to make something happen.” He squared his broad shoulders and moved to the batter’s box, looking for all the world like a bulldog ready to pick a fight. He swung hard, but he sent Phillip’s first two pitches foul.
“Come on, Craig, you got him, you can do it!” his teammates yelled.
Ping! The Mid-Atlantic players leaped to their feet at the sound of bat meeting ball. Craig tore down the base path as the ball flew into shallow right field behind the first baseman. Freddie took off for second.
Rodney raced in from right field. He couldn’t get there in time to catch the ball, but he nabbed it after a few bounces and threw to first. Craig appeared to hit the bag a split second after the ball reached Mason’s glove. Sure enough, the umpire jerked her arm backward, confirming that Craig was out. Mason cocked his arm as if to throw to second, but Freddie was already there.
The fans applauded Craig’s effort as he trotted back to the dugout. Carter thought he might be disappointed, but he was beaming. “I was nervous about facing that DiMaggio guy again. Last year, his pitches seemed a lot harder to hit.” Craig lowered his voice. “Plus, I kept thinking about Liam’s strikeout, you know?”
Carter nodded.
“So either I’m a lot better than Liam,” Craig continued, “or that guy’s not such a great pitcher after all, because those pitches looked like volleyballs coming at me.”
Carter stared at Craig in disbelief.
“Just you wait,” Craig said. “You’ll see what I mean when you get up.”
The next batter was Ash. He usually hit fifth in the order, but the coaches had moved him up because his batting had been so strong. He stepped into the box and lifted the bat over his shoulder, twirling it slightly while he awaited the pitch.
On the bench, Charlie S. started clapping and chanting, “Ash. Ash. Ash.” The other boys picked up the rhythm. Even Coach Harrison and Coach Filbert joined in.
Swish!
Their chant faltered with Ash’s first strike, then resumed with greater intensity. “Ash! Ash! Ash!”
Swish!
Strike two. Ash stepped back, rolled his shoulders a few times, and got back into his stance.
“Ash! Ash! Ash! A—”
Swish!
The chanting, and the inning, ended when Ash struck out.
“That’s okay, boys,” Coach Harrison said encouragingly. “We’ve got at least five more chances to get on that board!”
“Nice swings, man,” Carter told Ash just before he left the dugout.
Ash let out a frustrated sigh. “Those pitches were meatballs. I should have gotten a hit. I fanned because Liam distracted me.”
Carter stopped short. He wanted to ask Ash what he meant. But there wasn’t time.
“Less chat, more action, Carter,” Coach Harrison called. “Get on out to the mound for your warm-up throws!”