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  Benji set off with a whimper. Josh felt bad for him, but, like the rest of the team, he cracked to it with whatever Coach Swanson had them doing. Practice ran like what Josh imagined boot camp in the army would be. They never stopped moving. The whistle never seemed to stop blowing.

  Great at third baseman, Goldfarb was a slap hitter. He again showed the skill, drawing walks that put him near the top of the lineup.

  After every pitch during batting practice, Coach insisted the infield and the outfield send the ball around the horn, keeping everyone on their toes and working their arms until Josh felt like his own might drop off.

  Josh wanted to say something, but the sight of Benji circling the field and limping along now like a wounded elephant kept Josh from speaking his mind. He somehow knew that not only would it not do any good, but it wouldn’t be tolerated.

  After fifteen minutes of solid running, practice finally ended. Coach Swanson called them all in. Benji dragged himself into the back of the group. Coach Swanson flashed a look of disgust at Benji and put his hand on Jack Sheridan’s shoulder. “So, you’ve all seen what Jack can do. I wanted everyone to be clear so there’s no whining or complaining. The fact is—and some of you may have figured this out already—we can only carry eighteen on our roster. Those are league rules. We’ve got our first tournament this coming weekend.

  “Which means, with Jack joining us . . . someone has to go.”

  Josh looked over at Benji and felt a chill.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  COACH SWANSON HAD THEM bring it in for their chant. “No guts, no glory” took on a new meaning for Josh. Fall ball without Benji knotted his stomach. As nutty as Benji could be, they really were like ice cream and cake. Josh didn’t want to face fall ball—and the push for the home run derby—without him.

  Benji was so upset, he began muttering in the dugout about having his parents call Nike to lodge a complaint about their new coach.

  “Hey, your dad must know someone, right?” Benji asked Josh. “No way the new pitcher is thirteen.”

  Benji bent down to pick up his glove, and Josh saw that Sheridan was sitting at the end of the dugout, possibly listening. Josh tried to signal Benji to be quiet, but that was never easy.

  “What? A call from your dad, and I bet we can end this guy’s career with Nike. They don’t like age cheats.” Benji lowered his voice but not as much as Josh would have liked. Still, the new kid went about his business, and Josh felt like maybe he hadn’t heard Benji.

  They gathered their things and piled into Benji’s mom’s car.

  “What’s wrong, Benji?” Benji’s mom put the car into gear and pulled away.

  Benji shook his head. “I’m about ready to call Nike and have this guy fired.”

  Josh gave Jaden a look. She squeezed her lips tight.

  “He’s not a good coach?” Benji’s mom was instantly concerned.

  “He’s terrible. He thinks baseball is the Boston Marathon. Baseball is baseball. To win, you throw the ball, catch it, and hit.” Benji reached into his bag, pulled out a blue Gatorade, and chugged half of it down before stopping to burp. “Man, Josh, your dad really burned us.”

  “Well, he wanted to move up.” Josh felt odd defending his dad, but he meant it.

  “Yeah, but Swanson? He thinks he’s still in the marines. And what about Bricktown?” Benji chugged the rest of his Gatorade and graced them with another loud burp. “You can’t be loving that.”

  “What? Where did that come from? What does that have to do with baseball?” Suddenly, Josh didn’t feel so bad for Benji. “Lots of people live there, Benji. Shari Ann Harbaugh lives there, and she’s fine.”

  Benji chuckled. “Changed your tune? Okay by me. At least I won’t have to hold your hand and walk you to the bus when school starts next week; you’ll have Shari Ann to protect you.”

  Josh opened his mouth to say something mean, then realized that Benji just might know he was in trouble with the Titans and that maybe he was trying to distract himself and them from thinking about it by being difficult.

  “And how about that Sheridan kid, huh?” Benji crumpled the plastic bottle in his hand. “Tell me that kid is really thirteen, and I got some swampland I wanna sell you. Thirteen? C’mon. More like sixteen. Kid’s got a mustache, I swear.”

  “Coach Swanson’s not going to have someone who can’t qualify.” Jaden patted the folder she kept with the team paperwork in it.

  “Yeah? Show me that kid’s birth certificate. Let’s see it.” Benji spun around in the front seat.

  Jaden dug into the file she kept for the team. She flipped through all the copies of birth certificates, then went through them again before she looked up. “I can’t find it.”

  “Because it’s not there.” Benji gave a short nod. “Like I said, that kid is not thirteen. No one on our roster’s going anywhere except Coach Swanson when my mom gets done reporting him.”

  Josh looked at Jaden. “Benji, just ’cause he’s big doesn’t mean Sheridan is older than us.”

  Benji just shook his head.

  “Report him to who?” Jaden asked.

  “That BARF or whatever they call that league we’re in.”

  “Whatever you need me to do, Benji.” Benji’s mom reached over and patted his knee.

  “It’s ‘Y-bell,’” Jaden said. “‘Y-B-E-L.’ Where’d you get BARF?”

  Benji waved his hand impatiently. “Whatever it is, Barf, Y-bell, High-bell, I don’t care. Why are you always getting bogged down in the details?”

  “Well, I’m a journalist,” Jaden said. “Details are important. And this could be exactly what I’ve been looking for.” Jaden clapped her hands and rubbed them together. “This could be perfect. You win your house, and I win the Young Journalist Award. College scholarship, here I come. If I can prove—with some serious investigative reporting—that Jack Sheridan is fourteen, I can’t miss. It’s my ticket, guys. It’s just perfect.”

  Benji nodded. “Women are devious. My dad told me.”

  Jaden frowned. “I think your dad got hit in the head too many times. You can’t just say women are devious.”

  “What about free speech?” Benji asked. “Miss Smarty-Pants journalist.”

  Josh looked at Jaden to see how she’d respond. He’d heard plenty of lectures from her about the freedom of speech.

  She twisted up her lips. “Yup. Free to say something, even if it’s totally nuts.”

  Benji fought back a victory smile. “And, while I know I said devious, I also gotta admit, you’re smart. Very smart.”

  “Glad you think I’m smart,” Jaden said.

  “You know I do. I just have to keep your head from getting overinflated,” Benji said. He turned to Josh. “Josh, ask your dad the best way to report a crazy coach with an illegal player to the league, will you?” Benji asked.

  “Before or after I tell him how you said he burned us?” Josh couldn’t help tossing out the barb.

  “Me and your dad are alpha males. We can take criticism from the pack. I don’t expect you to understand, buddy, but trust me. Me and your dad?” Benji thumped his chest. “We’re tight.”

  “You shouldn’t say ‘illegal player,’ Benji. You don’t know that at all,” Jaden said.

  Benji held out his hand. “Talk to the hand. My instincts are like a ninja’s.”

  Benji’s mom took the corner sharp enough to dump Benji in her lap. She patted his head. “You just tell me who to call.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  “HE WHAT?” JOSH’S DAD sounded tired.

  Josh knew his father was in Texas, in a roadside motel somewhere between Dallas and Austin, maybe a place called Golinda or Golando. He had already explained the situation with Benji possibly getting cut from the Titans. “Ran him all practice. Benji got sick, and the new kid’s crazy good, Dad.”

  “Yeah, but good doesn’t mean he’s not thirteen,” his father said. “You can’t go accusing a coach of something like that. He’d be banned f
rom YBEL for life if he did something like that, not to mention what Nike would do. Swanson’s supposed to be an up-and-comer. I doubt it, Josh. And just because he didn’t have the birth certificate in there with the others doesn’t mean he doesn’t have it somewhere. You said the kid just moved into town, so . . .”

  They were both silent for a moment.

  “How’s it going, Dad?” Josh hadn’t told him about Bricktown, and he didn’t want to. There was nothing his dad could do and no sense in making him miserable too. Josh knew his dad didn’t like bad news even in the best of times.

  “I’m tired, but I met some good prospects. A heck of a pitcher in this town. The parents seem to like me.”

  “Don’t you miss being here?” Josh asked.

  “I miss you and your sister.” Josh’s father’s voice changed. “But I’m doing what I love, Josh. Everything comes at a price. That’s life.”

  “I guess.” Josh looked around his room. It was late, and he had most of his things in boxes. Only the trophies on his dresser top waited to be packed. He took down one of the big ones and protected it with the bubble wrap his mom must have brought just for that since it was sitting on his dresser.

  “Well.” His father sighed. “I best be getting some sleep. Early start tomorrow. Headed to Laredo, and I gotta meet a high school coach for breakfast. Looks like a four a.m. departure for me.”

  “So, what if Mrs. Lido wants to call anyway. Can she?” Josh rolled up some underwear from his drawer and packed it around the big trophy.

  “It’s a free country,” his dad said, “but you better kill the king.”

  “What’s that mean?” Josh let another pair of underwear dangle from his fingers.

  “It means, if Mrs. Lido goes after the coach, she better make sure she’s gonna get rid of him. If you go after the king and you don’t kill him, you’re in for a world of hurt.”

  “I don’t think Benji has much to lose.”

  “Well, I can’t believe Swanson’s really thinking about letting Benji go,” Josh’s dad said. “He was one of our better players. He’s got the arm for an outfielder and moves better than you’d think. Also, he gets you a home run every so often. But if she really is determined to pressure Swanson, tell Mrs. Lido to give Ty Rylander at Nike a call. Nike has more resources and will get more uptight about this than anyone, and if something is amiss, they can fix it without making a mess you can’t fix with the league. Trust me, but you stay out of it, all right?”

  “I will.” Josh wasn’t going to tell his dad why. He didn’t want to say he was going to keep trouble free because he planned on getting to the Home Run Derby and winning his mom that house. He just wanted to do it. He recalled his session at the batting cages when he’d been really banging them. He wasn’t certain they were real home runs, but they were solid hits for sure. And he knew it was very different when you were hitting against a live pitcher instead of a machine, but he was confident he’d get those twenty homers to qualify and then . . . in Houston? Why couldn’t he plunk one into that bathtub?

  As soon as Josh hung up the phone, his mom came into his room. Josh wondered if she’d been listening at the door.

  “I see you’re mostly packed. Good work.” His mom took one of the trophies off the shelf and packed it alongside the other one, snugging it up next to the bank of rolled underwear.

  “Yeah. Well . . .” Josh took another one down and laid it in.

  “Everything’s going to work out, Josh.” His mom touched his cheek. “We have each other.”

  Josh wanted to brush her hand away but didn’t. “Okay.”

  “I mean it.”

  “Fine.” He tried to sound pleasant, like he believed it.

  When everything was packed, Josh texted Jaden, who had dropped her idea to write about concussions because the idea of exposing age-related cheating in youth baseball was something she said she could sink her teeth into. And, with a possible example of it on the Syracuse Titans, she was certain she could get it published in the Post-Standard. Then he texted Benji Ty Rylander’s name and said he was at Nike and that his dad said he was the best person to file a complaint with. Benji texted him back, asking if Josh had the guy’s number.

  Josh sighed, sitting alone on his bed, texting and talking aloud to himself. “Really, Benji? Can’t you Google it? It’s Nike. Call the main office, right?”

  Benji texted back that their internet was down, and his mom wasn’t doing searches because she was out of data for the month.

  “Fine,” Josh said aloud, dialing his father again.

  He got no answer and figured his dad had shut off his phone. Josh sent him a text, then texted Benji back that he’d have to wait until the morning when his dad was up. Benji wanted to know why Josh’s dad was in bed so early. Josh didn’t reply and instead shut off his phone. He climbed into bed and lay awake. Even with his eyes closed, he could see himself taking that perfect swing and connecting, could see the ball clear the fence as he ran down the first-base line, slowing into his home run trot. Home runs. He’d get his first crack at them this weekend. He knew he could get twenty.

  He had to.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  THE NEXT DAY WAS Thursday. Friday they’d travel to their first YBEL tournament at Harvard University in Cambridge. Josh’s mom got a couple of guys who’d worked at her old job to help load up a U-Haul truck. Josh pitched in, even though he was dying to get back to the batting cage. He couldn’t let his mom do it alone, especially because Laurel was buzzing around like a bee. The whole thing to her was a wonderful game because she was going to get to share a bedroom with her mom.

  She had no idea.

  “We gonna put pink ribbons on the walls, Joshy! And we gonna hang Baby Bop and Barney from the ceiling so they can watch over us if we get scareded at night.”

  Josh reached over to tickle her. Laurel squealed and danced around the kitchen table before the two men picked it up, turned it sideways, and carried it out. Much of their furniture was staying. His mom was having a house sale over the weekend before she handed the keys to the bank. Josh was glad he’d miss it.

  The day outside was promising sunshine and a blue sky. Inside, Josh was the exact opposite, pure gloom. His mom oversaw the two men loading up the first of the two runs they’d need to get everything while Josh watched Laurel. She wanted to play on the swings in the backyard. Josh got a text from his dad with the number for Ty Rylander. He was just about to forward it to Benji when a shadow fell across his phone. Josh blinked and looked up.

  “Coach? What are you doing here?”

  Coach Swanson gripped the swing set’s frame, leaning against it with one hand. “Hey, LeBlanc. Your mom was on her way out, but she told me you were in the backyard. I came by to talk. That okay?”

  Something about the coach’s face made Josh close his fingers around the phone. He slipped it into his pocket. “Sure.”

  Coach Swanson looked up at the sun and smiled at Laurel.

  “I can swing high!” she hooted.

  “You sure can.” Coach Swanson laughed, but it sounded forced to Josh. “This your little sister, Josh?”

  “Yeah. She’s three.”

  “And a half.” Laurel giggled.

  “Nice.” Coach Swanson’s smile dropped from his face as he turned to Josh. “LeBlanc, I need to ask you . . .”

  “Sure, Coach.” Josh felt his stomach tightening.

  “This business about Jack Sheridan.”

  Josh remembered Benji’s big mouth talking about getting Coach fired. He thought about Jack Sheridan being in the dugout with them, maybe listening, and he felt the sudden urge to run.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  JOSH COULDN’T RUN. HIS little sister was swinging in the sunshine, and he was supposed to watch her. It was an effort, though, to keep his legs from carrying him away. He’d leap the fence and just keep going down the street without stopping until he reached Jaden’s house. She’d know how to handle this situation. Josh sure didn’t.

>   “Uh . . . Sheridan?” he said.

  “Yeah.” Josh thought he saw a slight pulse in the coach’s scalp, just below the scar. “He’s gonna help us win this season. I know you want that.”

  “I do.”

  Coach Swanson nodded. “I noticed a sofa out by the curb. You getting rid of your sofa?”

  “Well.” Josh felt relieved to be off the Jack Sheridan subject. “We’re moving.”

  “Ahh. I saw the sign. Thus your eagerness to win that derby, right? It’s kind of coming together for me now.”

  Josh felt as if he were standing there in his underwear, ashamed and helpless.

  “I’m watching my sister. My mom will be right back.”

  “Good. Hey, I was wondering,” said the coach, “did you ever meet Ty Rylander when your dad was coaching?”

  “Ty Rylander?” Josh stuttered.

  Coach Swanson studied Josh. “He’s the Nike brand manager for baseball. You know, sometimes people think someone on a Nike team is cheating or something. Maybe using pine tar on the ball, or Vaseline, something like that. The man they call is Ty Rylander. He runs it down. Nike wants everything good . . . for the brand.”

  Josh tried to look surprised. “They have a guy who just does that?”

  “Your dad never told you about him? You guys never had someone complaining when your dad ran the team? Even when you ripped through that national championship?” Coach Swanson looked up at the sun for a moment as if listening. “People are always griping about something or other when you’re on top. It’s jealousy mostly.”

  “Well, if they did, I guess my dad didn’t say much about it.”

  “Nice. Well, I wanted to point out to you that if anyone started making a stink with Ty Rylander, complaining, you know, about . . . I don’t know—anything—well, they might just shut the team down. Bang!” Coach Swanson snapped his fingers like a firecracker, and Josh jumped. “Just like that, it’s over. The whole fall ball, and that’d be a shame for your home run derby plans, right?”