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Fanny opened his eyes, which he’d shut tight upon being interrupted. “I was not ‘punked.’ Punked is when someone burns you and you just take it. Is Fanny taking it? No. Fanny is in action.

  “I saw Blondy after our team meeting. He’s not in the dorm like us. I followed him up to his hotel room, 634. It’s at the end of the hall. Fanny needs two lookouts—one in the stairwell, and one by the elevators. Then he needs someone to distract Blondy.”

  “Distractions,” Daniel suggested.

  “Distractions, whatever, while Fanny tapes this gift bag above the door handle. Then the next time Blondy comes out… Oh! He’s Fannied!”

  “What if we made a fake call so he actually leaves? I can do that.” Daniel raised his hand.

  “That’s the safest job,” Jalen said. “You stay here and can’t get caught.”

  “It’s lower risk, sure, but I’ve got the personality for it. Who thinks on his feet faster than me?” said Daniel. “I could tell him I’m one of the kid reporters for Time for Kids and we’ve heard about how progressive his team is, and that I’d like to interview him.”

  “And take his picture?” Gertzy suggested.

  “Right! Take his picture in the lobby in ten minutes. How’s that? Does Daniel do distraction or what?”

  “Oh, no,” Jalen said. “You’re not gonna start talking about yourself in the third person now too.”

  “What third person?”

  “When you say ‘Daniel did this’ or ‘Daniel wants that,’ you’re talking in the third person,” said Jalen.

  “How come I can’t?” Daniel looked insulted. “Fanny does it.”

  “Well, Fanny can make the argument that he’s not really ‘Fanny,’ ” Jalen said.

  “I never heard anything so absurd.” It was Fanny who’d taken offense. “Fanny would never… Who cares about grammar anyway? So, the elevator or the stairwell?”

  “Hey,” Gertzy put in. “How does Blondy swing a stay in the hotel instead of here in the dorms?”

  “Not only that,” Daniel said. “I found out that everyone on the team except Blondy is staying at the Holiday Inn nearby.”

  “So how does he swing that?” Gertzy demanded.

  “Money. Mega-money. His dad is a fertilizer billionaire.”

  “Wait a sec,” Jalen said. “His whole team, his coaches… they stay at a motel miles away and he stays at a sweet hotel?”

  “Not a team guy,” Gertzy said.

  “Actually, Blondy’s dad basically owns the team. He bankrolls it, and he built a clubhouse with a weight room, batting cages, and super-slo-mo cameras to video pitchers and hitters,” Daniel said.

  Fanny, emerging from deep thought with a mighty belch, followed up. “This’ll be really sweet. I never got a billionaire before. So what is it, the elevator or the stairwell?”

  Jalen figured the stairwell was the most dangerous because there was no reason to be there. Anyone could explain waiting by the elevator. You could just say you got off on the wrong floor.

  “I’ll take the elevator,” Gertzy said offhandedly. “I can’t risk missing this tournament. My dad would kill me if I got suspended.”

  That got Jalen’s attention. “Suspended?”

  Gertzy nodded. “Coach threatened as much before we left Bronxville.”

  Fanny laughed. “He won’t suspend his boy.”

  “I’m not his boy,” Jalen said.

  Fanny stood. “That’s a debate we won’t finish anytime this year, so let’s do this thing.”

  55

  DANIEL STAYED BEHIND, WAITING FOR Fanny to call.

  Fanny, Gertzy, and Jalen went over to the lobby of the Legacy Hotel. Fanny had the barf bag and a roll of athletic tape hidden under his shirt. They took three elevators to the sixth floor, then pressed every button below six, so there would be several minutes of delay for anyone trying to get to the sixth floor. Gertzy stayed near the elevators while Jalen and Fanny turned the corner and hurried down the hallway to room 634.

  Fanny, cradling the barf bag in the crook of one arm, dialed Daniel on his phone and covered his mouth. “Go, go, go.”

  Fanny put his ear to 634’s door, and Jalen eased open the stairwell door. Fanny signaled that the phone was ringing inside the room. Blondy answered. Fanny began taping the bag to the doorframe near the handle, with a little opening, so Jalen entered the stairwell, closed the door, and listened.

  He froze for a moment because the thick fire door shut out any noise from the sixth floor, but there was noise. From his pocket. It was a text from Daniel.

  He’s coming out to meet me.

  Jalen’s insides turned to jelly at the thought of getting caught and having to face Coach Allen.

  He flung open the door and ran.

  Halfway down the hall he grabbed Fanny, who shook him off. “Let’s go! Let’s go!”

  Incredibly, Fanny kept working.

  “We gotta go, now!” Fanny wouldn’t budge until he finished taping, so Jalen took off and rounded the corner for the elevators.

  Breathing hard, he stabbed the buttons for up and down.

  Gertzy said, “What?”

  “Elevator! We need one!”

  Fanny swung around the corner and attacked the same buttons as Jalen. “They’re coming!”

  “Easy. Easy. You’ll break it.” Gertzy held up his hands to restore calm, then tilted his head. “Shh…”

  They all froze, hearing a door open and a kid’s voice howl, “Gee-ah-ugh!” Quickly the animal noises turned to curses and threats to some unseen attacker. “I’ll get you, you low-life crud. I’ll kill you.”

  “C’mon, c’mon,” Gertzy muttered urgently.

  The elevator dinged.

  Blondy raged louder. Closer.

  The elevator doors rumbled open.

  They dove on board.

  “Close, close, close.” Fanny attacked the close-door button. When Gertzy tried to get his hands on the buttons, Fanny boxed him out. “Come on!”

  Blondy was running toward them, shouting as he came.

  “Pick a floor, Fanny! Pick a floor!” Gertzy somehow snaked his arms through Fanny’s defenses and hit three.

  The doors began to close, but not fast enough.

  “Come back here!” Blondy shouted.

  Gertzy grabbed Jalen and yanked him over to his and Fanny’s side of the elevator. The doors were nearly closed when they heard a shout.

  “Stop!”

  Blondy thrust a puke-soaked hand into the crack.

  The instant the doors closed, the hand disappeared and its owner howled, even though his hand hadn’t been caught.

  The elevator began to go down.

  Fanny’s face was flushed, and he pumped his fist. “Yes! Did you see Fanny’s magic fingers?”

  They reached the third floor and broke for the stairwell. When they got down to the lobby, Jalen, Fanny, and Gertzy went in different directions, leaving the hotel separately. They met up with Daniel at the main entrance to their dormitory and headed for their rooms.

  “We got him good. Did you hear that howling?” Fanny bragged as they were all hustling down the hall.

  “I think we did,” said Jalen, nerves jangling.

  “We better hurry,” Daniel urged.

  They all high-fived before escaping into their rooms and closing their doors.

  Jalen quickly climbed up the ladder and sat on his bed facing Gertzy, both of them breathing hard.

  “Well, that wasn’t worth it.” Gertzy took off his shoes and sat back on his bed with the TV remote and his phone. “How about the new Star Wars movie?”

  Jalen shucked his shoes and sat back too. “Good by me.”

  Only a few minutes went by before they heard a gang moving through the hallway.

  Gertzy paused the movie and they sat silently, listening.

  The rowdy posse passed quickly by, probably just some players from another floor. But Jalen couldn’t help worrying that it was Blondy and a gang he had assembled. For the next hour or so he kept te
lling himself, At least four of the tournament teams are in this dorm. It could have been anybody who did it. And Blondy seems like the type who makes a lot of enemies. Yeah, he’ll never catch us.

  Gertzy was totally relaxed, but Jalen jumped when his phone buzzed. It was Cat, texting.

  Yr mom’s great. George 2.

  Jalen texted her back. Game at 5. Dinner at Steak ’n Shake?

  He’d seen one when they pulled off the exit for Lakeland.

  Cat called awhile later to say they were all in on Steak ’n Shake. “Your mom sure asked all kinds of questions about baseball. George knows more about the game than she does. But she’s proud of you, for sure. She said she’s using her positive thinking to send you good luck in the game.”

  “We’ll need all the luck we can get, Cat. I’m glad you’ll be in the dugout.”

  “Why?” Cat asked.

  “I need my baseball genius to kick in so I can help the team.” Jalen hesitated, then found some words. “You help me get it.”

  “No worries, Jalen,” Cat said. “You can do it.” They talked some more in that comfortable way they had before disconnecting.

  During the movie he got two more texts. The first was from his mom.

  I don’t want to disturb you, but I do want you to know that I love you and I’ll be cheering for you!

  Jalen felt a warm happiness rush through his body, until the notion of telling his father about her seeped in. He closed the text to keep the worry from boiling over.

  The second text was from Coach Allen.

  If you’re still up for it, Coach Miller and I would love to see if you can get your magic going. He’ll meet you in the lobby at 3:45 to go scout.

  That message stiffened Jalen’s neck muscles.

  K Jalen responded.

  When the movie ended, Gertzy suggested they try to “catch some z’s, a twenty-minute power nap” and shut out the lights. Jalen did his best, but soon Gertzy was snoring, and he could only lie there as the tightness spread like a snakebite, regretting that he’d ever opened his mouth.

  56

  BIG COACH MILLER RARELY SPOKE outside the brief instructions he growled at his players. But the players listened when he did speak, because he knew batting. Coach Miller and Coach Allen went way back. They had their own secret language, with expressions like “dirt pie,” “crab bucket,” and “califlubber.” Coach Allen would recount adventures he and Mills had with childhood characters like “Booger,” “Gumby,” and “Captain Underwear,” and Coach Miller would give a grunt or a knowing look.

  So, when Coach Miller saw Jalen and turned without a word, heading for the door, Jalen knew to follow. The late-day sun brought immediate beads of sweat to his forehead. He wiped it with the back of his hand before hiding his eyes behind sunglasses.

  At 3:52 they arrived at field one. The teams from the first game were shaking hands. The Lakeland Ascenders quickly filled the dugout with their gear, then took the field.

  From the top of the bleachers near home plate, Jalen sat with his coach, studying the two Lakeland pitchers as they warmed up, one on the mound and the other outside the third base line. Coach Miller took a program from his back pocket and unrolled it. He looked through the program before folding one against the grain and flattening it against his knee.

  Coach Miller pointed to the pitchers. “Number three, Jebidiah Hardy. Number eighteen, Hollis Vandertell.”

  The sight of Biruk Royal on first base diverted Jalen’s attention. He couldn’t help marveling at the size of the kid and the gunshot sound when the second baseman caught his throw. After a nudge from Coach Miller, he pried his eyes off the superstar and got back to the night’s pitchers.

  Jalen focused on Hardy because he was on the mound and the presumed starter, while Vandertell continued to warm up outside the third base line. Still, Jalen took in many of Vandertell’s pitches in between Hardy’s. As he began to get a feel for both players, he realized Vandertell was not only the better pitcher, but better by far. Blondy was right. Lakeland expected to steamroll the Bandits.

  It wasn’t that Hardy was bad. He wasn’t. Hardy could consistently put the ball over the plate, but he had very little heat, and no finish on his pitches, no late movement. His only other pitch was an unimpressive changeup. If Jalen could crack the code with Hardy, it would look like batting practice for the Bandits.

  Vandertell, on the other hand, was money. He was tall and lean and had plenty of heat, supported by both a changeup and a sinker.

  Jalen’s eyes darted from one player to the other in a determined quest to read their pitches, but that didn’t happen.

  “You okay?” Coach Miller growled, startling Jalen out of his trancelike concentration.

  Jalen jumped. “Yeah, fine.”

  “Not sleepy?”

  “No, no.” Jalen’s hands were clenched and sweating.

  Coach Miller grunted and stood.

  The rest of the Bandits had arrived and were filling the dugout below. At the bottom of the bleachers, Jalen turned the corner and walked right into his mom, George, Cat, and Mrs. H.

  57

  “HELLO!” THEY ALL SAID AT once.

  For some reason, Jalen felt embarrassed. He knew enough to introduce them all to Coach Miller, who surprised Jalen by shaking everyone’s hand and softly greeting each of them with the same four words. “Nice to meet you.”

  Once finished with that, the coach made excuses and melted away, leaving Jalen with a buzzing brain and a galloping heart.

  “Mom, I’m sorry, but I better—”

  His mom lightly touched a finger to his lips. “Don’t worry about using. We’re here for you. That’s all.”

  Jalen didn’t think he could love her more than he did in that moment. He hugged her and said, “Thanks, Mom.”

  He turned to Cat. “You coming?”

  “Yup.” She followed him to the dugout.

  Coach Allen greeted Cat warmly and handed her a Bandits cap along with the stats book.

  “Fits perfect. Thanks, Coach.” Cat tugged the cap on backward.

  Coach Allen turned to Jalen. “How’d it go?”

  Jalen gave the coach his scouting report, which he knew was no more or better than Coach Miller’s.

  Coach scratched his chin. “Can you read Hardy’s pitches?”

  “Not yet, but he’s not throwing at game velocity,” Jalen said defensively.

  “Is that the way it works? You can only predict pitches thrown in a game? Or do you need a batter in the box? Or…?”

  “I don’t know, Coach,” Jalen admitted. “I’ve never thought about how it works. It just works or it doesn’t.”

  Coach scratched his chin again, took off his cap, and looked inside as if expecting he’d find something written there. “Well, let’s go after this Hardy kid the old-fashioned way for now. Let’s do some damage.”

  The Bandits warmed up while people trickled into the stands. There was more Lakeland white and blue than Bronxville red, and other team colors worn by coaches doubling as advance scouts. Jalen suspected every team came to see what the number one team looked like in action.

  The Bandits were just easy targets for Lakeland.

  After infielder drills, the Bandits shortstop, Damon LaClair, tugged on Jalen’s sleeve. “Hey, Jalen, are you up for this? I keep hearing Lakeland is the number one team in the country.”

  “Yeah,” Jalen said. “I keep hearing that too.” He heard defeat in his voice and remembered telling Coach he’d help deliver an upset with his baseball genius. Squaring his shoulders and looking Damon straight in the eyes, he said, “They won’t know what hit them.”

  When warm-ups ended, Coach Allen huddled with them in the dugout. He cast his serious look all around. “I know a lot of you have been talking, and yes, it’s true. You know how the tournament works. Now stop getting all wound up about it. Getting wound up will beat you faster than Lakeland.”

  Coach stopped scowling and smiled. “Guys, we have an exceptional team,
and we have surprise on our side. They have no idea how good we are. Heck, I don’t know if we even know how good we are. And I know they’re looking past us. They have a monster pitcher who’s playing first base today. We think we’re gonna see the bottom of their rotation, a kid who throws only strikes, puts them right down the pike with not much heat. Our baseball genius tells me he’s also got a changeup. If Jalen knows the pitch, he’ll give you a signal. Jalen?”

  Jalen showed the team his signals: four fingers for a fastball, two thumbs-up for the changeup.

  Coach wrapped it up by saying, “That is it, gentlemen, so get your hands in here and let’s smack the smiles right off their faces.

  “C’mon, ‘win’ on three! One, two, three—”

  “WIN!”

  58

  THE WIND PICKED UP. HOT air, now like an invisible fat river, bullied grit and wrappers as it flowed. The dark hair poking from beneath the back of Gunner Petty’s cap rose and fell as he approached the box. Jalen sat between Daniel and Cat, but he focused on nothing but Hardy, the Lakeland pitcher.

  After a long foul ball, Gunner took a look at a pitch low, out of the zone, but the ump called it a strike, and that caused Coach Miller to strike his own hand with a fist.

  “C’mon, Gunner!” Jalen hollered. “He’s coming right down the middle! You got this!”

  The next pitch was a middle-middle fastball, a batting practice pitch.

  Gunner smoked a line drive in the gap between center and left field. He stood on second and shouted, “Hey, Damon, dive right in, the water’s fine!”

  The Bronxville shortstop went down swinging in three. Damon trudged into the dugout, but Coach patted him on the backside and said, “You’ll get him next time. It’s early days.”

  Fanny was up next and looked nervous. He kept patting his own backside and swinging the bat one-handed. When he did step to the plate, he immediately put up a hand and stepped back to tighten the Velcro on his shiny batting gloves again.

  “C’mon, son,” said the ump, “before breakfast.”

  Fanny frowned, but stepped in.

  Hardy sent one belt-high and inside. Fanny sprang back like he was dodging a knife. “Strike!” bellowed the ump.