Perfect Game Page 2

  “Go, Rodney, go!” Liam and his teammates yelled.

  Ball hit glove a second after Rodney touched the bag.

  “Safe!” the umpire called.

  “Awesome!” the boys in the Ravenna dugout cheered.

  Liam was up next. He glanced at Coach Driscoll to see if he should bunt. The coach kept his arms at his sides. Liam stepped into the batter’s box, ready to hit away.

  “Move back! Move back!” the Wheaton catcher bellowed to his outfielders.

  The warning was music to Liam’s ears. He’s worried I’ll wallop it behind them!

  In the end, it didn’t matter where the outfielders stood. Liam sent the ball where no one could get it—over the fence for a home run!

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  Carter and Ash drove separately to the Pennsylvania State Tournament site. Carter was grateful to have the backseat of his parents’ sedan to himself. As much as he liked Ash, sometimes he welcomed a break from the catcher’s intensity.

  During the hour-long ride, he thumbed through a small book one of his good friends and former teammates had made for him. Rachel Warburton had been a last-minute addition to the Hawks roster. A few of the boys had been a little leery of having a girl on the team. But her easy smile, quirky sense of humor, and strong baseball skills soon won them over—even Ash, who had been the most concerned with her presence.

  Carter had always liked Rachel, in part because she reminded him of Liam. Like his cousin, Rachel recognized that Carter pitched better when he was relaxed. So she told stupid jokes or acted a little bit goofy in the dugout to make him laugh. And she reminded him that baseball was a game and that games are meant to be fun, not stressful.

  As Rachel had once said, “We play games; we don’t work them.”

  Rachel wasn’t on the All-Star team, but she was still making him laugh thanks to the book she’d made for him. The pages were filled with lame jokes accompanied by silly illustrations she’d drawn. He kept the book in his equipment bag and stole peeks at it during games whenever he felt the pressure mounting.

  “Hey, Carter,” his mother said, turning around from the passenger seat to smile at him, “looks like we made it!”

  “Just in time, too,” Mr. Jones added. “I think it’s going to start raining any second. Keep an eye out for your dormitory, okay?”

  Carter sat up straighter and looked out the car window. He had never been to this university campus before. The previous year’s State tournament had been at a different location. As they passed big brick buildings, he tried to read the names etched in stone above their doorways.

  He had just spotted his dorm when the first fat raindrops struck the windshield. “Right here, Dad,” he cried.

  Mr. Jones cut the wheel and pulled up to a small two-story structure. He grabbed Carter’s stuff out of the trunk, and they hurried inside.

  A cheerful woman holding a tablet computer met them at the door. “Welcome! I’m Mrs. Fullerton, Forest Park’s tournament hostess. You have any questions, just ask me,” she said. “And you are?”

  “Carter Jones.”

  Nodding, she moved her finger around the touch screen. “You’re in room 212. This way!”

  She led Carter and his parents up a flight of stairs and down a hallway. “Lucky you, your roomie isn’t here yet,” she observed as she opened the door. “That means you get to choose which bed you want.” Mrs. Fullerton pointed out the way to the bathroom, told him there was a recreation room in the basement, reminded him that the player banquet started at six o’clock sharp, and then left.

  Mr. Jones sat on one of the twin beds. “Not bad,” he said, bouncing on it a bit. “Maybe I’ll stay here instead of our bed-and-breakfast.”

  Carter grinned. “Sorry, Dad. Players only!”

  Mr. Jones stood up, pretending to be hurt. “Hmph. I know when I’m not wanted. Come on, dear.”

  Mrs. Jones gave Carter a quick peck on the cheek. Then she and her husband departed, shutting the door behind them with a soft click.

  Carter tossed his pillow and duffel bag onto the bed. He could hear muffled thuds, music, and laughter coming from nearby rooms. He knew that his teammates were the ones making the noise and that he ought to let them know he’d arrived. Instead, he decided to try Liam again.

  Before he could dial, however, someone called him. Charlie M., the caller ID reported.

  “Yo, get out here!” Forest Park’s outfielder cried when Carter answered. “It’s time to play.”

  Carter was startled. “But the tourney doesn’t start until—”

  “Just get out here!” Charlie barked. Then he hung up.

  Mystified, Carter opened his door to find Charlie Murray, Charlie Santiago, and Peter Molina waiting for him in the hall. Eyes twinkling with mischief, Charlie M. held out a Ping-Pong paddle. “Like I said, it’s time to play. You and me against these two. Let’s go!”

  Carter laughed and followed the threesome to the dorm rec room. It was a sizable space, with a pool table, comfortable couches in front of a flat-screen television, and an old-fashioned pinball game in one corner, as well as the Ping-Pong table. They had the place to themselves now, but Carter was sure it would be overrun with Little Leaguers after the banquet that night.

  Thanks to lots of time spent playing Liam in his basement, Carter was a decent Ping-Pong player. Or, at least, he had been. He’d picked up a paddle only a handful of times since Liam moved away.

  “I might be a little rusty,” he confessed to the others.

  His muscles soon remembered what to do, however. He and Charlie M. won the first game. Peter and Charlie S. took the second.

  They were midway through a tiebreaking third when Peter suddenly gave a shout. “Holy cow, is that the time?” He pointed at a wall clock behind Carter.

  “The banquet’s starting in half an hour!” Charlie S. cried.

  “Why didn’t anyone call us?” Charlie M. pulled his cell phone from his pocket and groaned. “No signal!”

  “Maybe it’s blocked by these concrete walls,” Peter guessed.

  “Who cares about that?” Carter said. “We gotta get going or we’ll be late!”

  They thundered up the two flights of stairs at lightning speed and hurried off to their rooms. Carter threw open the door to number 212—and almost ran smack into Ash.

  “Where’ve you been?” Ash asked, his voice full of exasperation. “I called you, like, twenty times!”

  “Sorry, sorry!” Carter tried to explain about the concrete interfering with the signal, but Ash cut him off.

  “Just get ready, will you? We’re supposed to meet downstairs in five minutes.”

  As Carter changed into appropriate attire—collared shirt, khaki pants, decent shoes—he checked his phone. Sure enough, the tiny screen reported several missed calls. Five were from Ash. A sixth, he saw with frustration, was from Liam, who had also texted him.

  Yo, dork! the message read. We won! Call later.

  Carter wanted to call then and there, but he didn’t. Or rather, he couldn’t, because at that moment his phone signaled that its battery was low. “Rats,” he muttered as he dug through his belongings.

  “Let’s go, Carter!” Ash called impatiently from the hallway. “Everybody’s waiting for you!”

  “On my way!”

  Carter found the charger, plugged in his phone, and left to join his teammates for the banquet.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  After he sent Carter the text about Ravenna’s win, Liam gave his phone back to his mother and hurried over to Sean and Rodney. The brothers were goofing around by the bleachers while their father had a brief chat with one of the tournament officials.

  “A homer, a single, and a ribbie in three trips to the plate? Man, you were on fire today!” Sean complimented Liam enthusiastically. “Oh, and I guess you did okay, too,” he added, giving his brother a playful punch in the gut. “When you weren’t doing gymnastics in the outfield, that is.”

 
“Permission to include that somersault in my best-of-Rodney blooper reel?”

  The request was from Liam’s sister, Melanie, who joined them near the bleachers. As always, she had her video camera with her. She watched most of his games on its small screen as she recorded them, even though—as Liam often pointed out—the action was taking place right in front of her.

  Rodney groaned. “Just how many of those bloopers do you have now, anyway?”

  “Tons. But there’s always room for one more!” Melanie patted her camera contentedly.

  “Don’t worry,” Sean stage-whispered to Rodney, “if you give me ten bucks, I’ll swipe it from her next game when she’s not looking.”

  “You do, and I’ll swipe you,” Melanie warned.

  “Yikes! Deal’s off, bro!” Sean said, jumping away from Rodney in pretend panic. “I could still use that money, though, for the concession stand tomorrow.” He sidled up to Melanie. “I bet I could get some footage of Rodney doing something stupid when we get back home. If I do, want to buy it from me for, say, ten bucks?”

  He didn’t hear if she wanted to or not—he was too busy running away from his brother.

  “The way they act, you’d never know they weren’t related by blood,” Melanie commented. Then she and Liam cracked up, because anyone who looked at the Driscoll brothers would see they weren’t blood relatives. Rodney was dark-skinned with curly black hair and deep brown eyes. Redheaded Sean was almost the complete opposite: His fair skin was covered with freckles and his eyes were a clear blue. Both had been foster kids until they were seven; that’s when Coach Driscoll adopted them.

  Liam and Melanie met up with their parents in the parking lot a few minutes later. Mr. and Mrs. McGrath congratulated Liam again heartily and then said they’d like to invite his teammates and their families to their house for a celebratory cookout later that evening. The tournament site was close to their hometown, so pulling together a last-minute gathering wasn’t difficult.

  “Nothing fancy, though,” Mrs. McGrath warned, “just burgers and hot dogs, chips and watermelon!”

  That menu worked for everyone, particularly the parents who said they were happy to contribute store-bought items if it meant they wouldn’t have to cook.

  “See you all later!” Liam called to the other Ravenna players as the McGraths pulled out of the lot. An hour and one hot shower later, Liam was organizing paper goods for the cookout when he realized his cell phone wasn’t in his pocket. After a moment of panic, he remembered he’d left it on his bedside table instead of bringing it with him to the ball field. He ran up to his room to get it.

  That’s when he saw he had missed a call from Carter. He felt a slight pang of guilt. He’d practically hung up on his cousin two days ago and hadn’t been in touch since.

  He glanced at the clock. It was two thirty. If I call now, I might catch him before the banquet, he thought. But Carter didn’t answer. So Liam sent a text to tell him that Ravenna had won. Then he stuck the phone into his shorts pocket and returned to the kitchen.

  People began to arrive a few hours later; by seven o’clock the backyard bash was in full swing. All the burgers and hot dogs had been eaten, but there was still plenty of food. Everyone had brought something—soda, juice, fruit, cupcakes, and one of Liam’s favorite summertime treats: ice-cream sandwiches. Liam was polishing off his second one when he felt his phone vibrate. It was a reply from Carter: Call me when you get this!

  Liam glanced at the crowd. I’ll only be gone a few minutes, he thought. They won’t miss me. But he’d gone only a few steps toward the house when someone called his name.

  “Liam!” James Thrasher hurried over to him. He held up a small yellow water balloon for Liam to see. “Check it out! Cole brought two coolers full of these babies. C’mon, we’re choosing sides for a massive battle!”

  Liam hesitated. The California sun was still shining bright and hot. Getting soaked by water balloons sounded heavenly.

  Then he looked at his phone. “Can you ask the guys to wait, like, five minutes? I just have to make a quick call.”

  James shrugged. “I’ll try, but something tells me this war may start without you.”

  Liam watched as James went back to the party. Then he stepped inside the house and headed to the kitchen. Looking out the window to the backyard, he saw that the water balloon fight was about to begin. Once it did, he suspected it wouldn’t last more than a minute. He sighed. Then he dialed Carter’s number.

  His cousin picked up on the first ring. “Hey, doofus! Congrats on your win!”

  When he heard Carter’s voice, Liam grinned. Suddenly, he didn’t care about missing the water balloon fight. Some things were more important. He turned away from the window and replied, “Thanks, dork. So what’s up?”

  Liam didn’t know what he expected Carter to say, but it certainly wasn’t what he heard.

  “I found out something about Phillip.”

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  The rain had passed and the sun had set during the Pennsylvania State Little League banquet, leaving behind a clear night sky dotted with stars and a crescent moon. Phone pressed to his ear, Carter shifted uncomfortably on the concrete steps outside his dormitory. Above him, moths and other insects battered themselves against the entrance light. Countless others whined and hummed in the distance. To Carter, their sounds seemed amplified by Liam’s silence.

  “Listen, dork,” Liam finally said, “I don’t know what you found out about Phillip, but—”

  “Just hear me out, will you?” Carter interrupted.

  “Fine,” Liam replied. “What?”

  “Okay, so you know that video Melanie sent me the other day?”

  Liam let out an impatient breath. “Yeah, but what does my blooper reel have to do with Phillip?”

  Carter blinked in confusion. “Blooper reel?” he echoed. “What blooper—hang on.” Realization suddenly dawned on him. “That’s what you think she sent me? Clips of you being a doofus? Because that is not what I got.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No! I got a bunch of footage of Phillip pitching.” With that, Carter explained everything. “So I just thought you should know about the face-wipe so you could tell him,” he finished.

  Liam was quiet for a long moment afterward. “Who else knows about it? Besides Ashley, I mean, because obviously he was there.”

  “Come on, Liam, call him Ash. You know he hates to be called Ashley,” Carter admonished. “And besides, you have him to thank. He’s the one who saw the ‘tell’ first.”

  “Whatever. So are you the only two who saw the video?”

  Carter squirmed on the steps again. His discomfort this time came from knowing Liam wasn’t going to like his reply.

  He had been the last Forest Park player to reach the dorm lobby before the banquet. Mr. Harrison, the team manager, was off to one side, conversing with his assistant coaches, Mr. Filbert and Mr. Walker. His teammates were talking together, too—or rather, they were listening to Ash talk.

  “Not just now and then,” Carter heard the catcher say, “but every time.” Then Ash did a perfect imitation of Phillip wiping his face on his shoulder.

  Carter didn’t say anything then, but he pulled Ash aside as the boys walked to the banquet. “Why’d you tell them about Phillip?” he demanded to know.

  Ash gave him a look. “What’s the big deal, since you’re going to tell Liam anyway? Chances are if we ever face Ravenna, Phillip will have stopped doing it. So…” He shrugged.

  Carter figured Ash was right. “Still, I wish you’d let me talk to Liam first,” he had muttered.

  Now he took a deep breath and told Liam the truth. “No one else saw it. But the guys on the team all heard about it.”

  Liam groaned. “Oh, great, so now—”

  Whatever he was going to say was drowned out by a shout of laughter loud enough to travel the phone line from California to Pennsylvania. Then someone yelled, “Dude, c’mon. We need our number o
ne hitter out back!”

  When Liam came back, he sounded different. “Hey, yeah, um, listen, I gotta get going, okay? We’re hosting a cookout to celebrate Ravenna’s win, and someone just came in to find me for a game of Wiffle ball. So catch you later!”

  Before Carter could reply, the line went dead.

  He hunched forward, elbows on knees, and stared at the CALL ENDED notification on his phone’s screen without really seeing it.

  Liam hadn’t named the “someone,” but Carter would have recognized Phillip’s voice anywhere. Hearing him say “number one” sent Carter rocketing two years back in time, to Little League Baseball Camp and the humiliation he’d felt every time Phillip had called him Number One Fan. Then he fast-forwarded to the present, to a picture of Liam and Phillip laughing and playing ball together.

  For a brief moment, he wished he’d listened to Ash and kept his mouth shut.

  It’s too late now, he thought, pushing himself up from the steps. If we do ever meet Ravenna, we’ll have to beat them fair and square.

  The sound of Phillip’s laughter echoed in his head as he climbed the stairs to his and Ash’s room. Not beat them, he amended. Crush them.

  He went to bed that night with a newfound sense of determination. There was only one place Forest Park could meet Ravenna, and that was at the Little League Baseball World Series. Getting there meant winning States and then Regionals. That journey started the next evening with their first game of States.

  He rolled over and looked at the figure in the other bed. “Hey, Ash, you awake?” he whispered.

  Ash murmured a sleepy reply. “Sort of. Why?”

  “You think we can win tomorrow?”

  “Think?” Ash sounded more alert now. He sounded confident, too. “Carter, I don’t think we can, I know we can. Because we’ve got a fantastic team and awesome coaches. And we have something I bet no other team has.”

  “Yeah? What?”