Nicely done, boys,” Coach Driscoll praised the West players as they joined him in the dugout. “Now let’s see if we can get some runs on the board.” He rattled off the batting order. “Dom, Phillip, Matt! Then Rodney, Liam, and Mason.”
“Rodney made a great stop, don’t you think?” Liam commented as he sat next to Phillip.
Phillip nodded but didn’t say anything or even smile. Instead, he leaned forward and stared at Carter on the mound.
“I never thanked him,” he said suddenly. “I should have said something last night, but I didn’t. I was too busy thinking about Nathan Daly.”
Phillip returned his look. “He didn’t have to say anything about this”—he wiped his cheek against his right shoulder—“but he did.”
Then Liam understood. “Your ‘tell.’ ”
A few weeks earlier, Melanie had accidentally sent Carter a video montage of Phillip pitching. Ash had watched the video with Carter, and he noticed that every time Phillip prepared to throw a changeup, he wiped his cheek on his shoulder. Any batter who knew about the face-wipe would know which pitch was coming.
Carter, still bearing a grudge against Phillip, had sat on the information for a few days. But his conscience got the better of him, and he explained the discovery to Liam. Liam had told Phillip—only to find out that Phillip did the face-wipe intentionally as a superstitious ritual. Since the cat was out of the bag, however, he and Liam had come up with a new plan. Instead of actually doing the move, Phillip just imagined himself going through the motions. Fortunately, it seemed to work.
“He could have used my ‘tell’ to his advantage,” Phillip murmured now.
“He’d never do that,” Liam said. “That’s not the kind of guy he is.”
“I wish I’d said something last night.”
“You’ll have another chance,” Liam assured him.
“Batter up!”
Dom headed toward the plate. As usual, he hopped over the foul line, believing that stepping on it was bad luck. He needed more than luck to get a hit, though. Carter mowed him down with three straight fastballs.
“Oooo-kay,” Dom said, looking dazed as he reentered the dugout. “Those weren’t regular fastballs. They were lightning-fast fastballs.”
Phillip picked up his bat. “I’ll handle ’em,” he said confidently.
He might have, too, except Carter didn’t serve him any. Instead, he got Phillip out on changeups.
That brought up Matt. Easily the most muscular player on the team, Matt channeled his strength into solid hits whenever he connected. This time, though, he didn’t connect. Like Dom and Phillip, he went down swinging.
As Liam strapped on his catcher’s gear, Coach Driscoll approached him with Mid-Atlantic’s lineup in his hand. “I thought you should see who’s batting this inning.” The coach showed him the order.
First up was Charlie M. Then it was Carter’s turn. Liam’s heart started pounding. His palms turned sweaty and his mouth turned dry. He’d known he’d be behind the plate when Carter came up to bat, just as he’d known he’d face Carter’s pitches. He thought he was prepared for it. He wasn’t.
What should I do? he thought as he hurried to his spot behind the plate. Should I look at him? Not look at him? Smile? Not smile?
He pushed the concerns from his mind when Charlie M. got into his batting stance. Charlie knocked Phillip’s third pitch to Dom at shortstop. Dom threw him out at first.
Now Carter stepped into the batter’s box at the right side of the plate. Their eyes met briefly. Then Carter turned to the mound and lifted the bat over his shoulder.
In that instant, Liam’s game brain took over. He remembered that Carter, a lefty, used to pull the ball to the right whenever he hit it.
I should have told Coach Driscoll about that! he thought. If the coach knew, he might have repositioned the outfielders a few steps to the right.
But Liam hadn’t told him, and maybe it wouldn’t matter. After all, Carter could have learned how to send the ball the other way in the past few months, and if he didn’t pull the ball, the West players would be out of position.
Carter’s getting a hit was a distinct possibility as Phillip had not been pitching his best. Liam hoped that it was just nerves and that Phillip had worked them out by now.
He hadn’t. Liam signaled for a fastball, but what Phillip threw was anything but.
Pow! Carter connected. Sure enough, the ball pulled to the right as it soared past first base and into the outfield. Applause thundered down as Carter sprinted down the base path. Liam appraised his progress.
He’s faster than he was last year, he thought with a flicker of unease. Almost Charlie Murray fast!
But it wouldn’t have mattered if Carter had been the fastest boy on the planet. Rodney caught the fly ball, and Carter was out.
A small boy—Liam thought his name was Raj—came up to bat. He barely moved as three straight pitches sailed wide of the strike zone. He let the fourth go by for a called strike and got a free ticket to first when Phillip misfired the fifth.
“Shake it off, man, shake it off!” Liam called out as he threw the ball back to Phillip.
Allen looked the first two pitches into the mitt. He swung at the third, bouncing it toward Cole. Cole fielded it cleanly and threw to Nate at second. Raj was out, and the top of the inning was over.
West hurried off as Mid-Atlantic took the field. Liam saw Carter’s head turn in his direction and then quickly snap forward. That was okay; the last thing Liam wanted was to distract Carter.
In the dugout, he looked for Phillip, who usually helped him with his catcher’s gear. This time the pitcher just sat down heavily on the bench.
Coach Driscoll hurried over. “Phillip, everything all right?”
Phillip rubbed his hands over his face. “I think you should take me out, Coach.”
Coach Driscoll chuckled. “Because you struck out and gave up a walk last inning? I hardly think that qualifies as not playing well.” He turned serious. “What would is the regret you’d feel later if you gave up on yourself now.”
“You know what stinks?” Liam put in as he shed the rest of his gear, put on a helmet, and grabbed a bat. “Thinking that you have to carry the whole game yourself. You don’t. We’re all in this together!”
“I know something else that stinks,” Dom called from across the dugout. “Dog poo. Oh, and Matt’s breath after he eats buffalo chicken.”
“Say what?” Matt said, swiveling his head in Dom’s direction.
“It’s the truth, and you know it,” Dom scoffed.
“Hello?” Rodney, up first, was about to leave the dugout. “What would really stink is if you guys kept talking instead of cheering for me!”