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  “Dad,” Josh said, part of him not wanting to talk, but the other part knowing that he wouldn’t be able to think about anything else unless he knew. “You said we could talk after practice.”

  “You call that practice?” His dad glared at him.

  “I know you’re not that mad at my batting,” Josh said quietly.

  His father’s face softened, and his shoulders sagged a bit.

  “No,” he said, speaking slow and deliberate. “You’re right. I’m not. I mean, I was mad at your batting. I meant what I said about having to be able to put your mind above the distractions. I’m serious, Josh. That’s critical. But I’m more mad about my life. Where I’ve been. Where I haven’t been.

  “Josh, I’m getting my own apartment. I’m moving out.”

  “Oh, Dad,” Josh said, tears spilling instantly down his cheeks. His father’s face blurred beyond recognition.

  When his father’s enormous hand clamped down on his shoulder and squeezed, Josh buried his face in his arm to stifle the sobs.

  CHAPTER TEN

  JOSH’S DAD DIDN’T STAY. He went upstairs and came down dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt. Under his arm was the briefcase he’d begun to carry around, stuffed with materials on home listings, tax maps, and builders’ marketing information. When Josh’s mom saw him, the spoon she’d been mixing with clattered into the sink. She hurried out the door, wiping her hands on her apron without looking back. Josh’s dad stared after her a second. He kissed Laurel—who was busy with a stack of blocks on the kitchen floor—then the top of Josh’s head.

  His dad wouldn’t meet Josh’s eyes. “I’ll be back later to pick up some things.”

  Josh watched him go without a word. The door shut and Laurel began to cry.

  “Don’t worry,” Josh said, scooping her up off the kitchen floor. “He’ll come back. You want to play cats and dogs?”

  Laurel bobbed her head vigorously and almost immediately stopped crying, trading her sobs for barking noises. Josh put her down, got on all fours, and began to meow. Then he let her chase him all around the house, nipping at his heels until she had him cornered and he turned on her, spitting and hissing, and used his cat’s claws to tickle her until she cried a different kind of tear. Josh laughed, too, infected by her silly glee.

  When he heard the back door open, Josh looked up from the living room floor and watched his mom come back in. Her red and swollen eyes stared dully at Josh. She crooked her finger at him, telling him to come to the kitchen. When he got there, his mom offered Laurel a Barney DVD along with her binkie, a pink silky blanket worn thin from love.

  After his mom set Laurel up in the TV room, she returned to the kitchen.

  “Sit down, honey,” she said.

  She slipped on a baking mitt and removed a warm-smelling tray of sugar cookies from the oven and laid it on the table. Each of the cookies stared up at him with a Cyclops raisin eye. His mom poured a tall, cold glass of milk and put it in front of him.

  “I’m not hungry, Mom,” Josh said.

  “Cookies make you feel better whether you’re hungry or not.” She sat down beside him. “Go ahead.”

  Josh picked one up, blew on it a bit, then ate out its eye.

  “These things happen,” his mom began. “People fight.”

  Josh hung his head.

  “You’re growing up,” she said. “You’re almost a man, Josh. Look at you. I don’t want this to spoil things for you. You have so much waiting, things your father and I never got to do.”

  Josh thought his tears had been spent, but he broke a new bank and they coursed down his cheeks as he looked up at her.

  “I’m going to win everything and give it all to you,” he said. “I’m going to buy you the biggest house on the planet and a Bentley. I’m going to buy you a three-hundred-foot yacht.”

  His mom tilted her head, looking even sadder. She reached over to take his hand and spoke softly to him.

  “I taught you better than that,” she said, “didn’t I? You know all those things aren’t what matters. No, don’t be ashamed. You’re young and your father, well, those things mean something to him, and you can’t help feeling that way. You’ve got a lot of your father in you, Josh, that hunger to be the best, and the baseball part, the arm and the eye and that awesome swing. But you’ve got me in you, too. The part that knows you don’t have to have money to watch the sunset drop like a cherry fireball, or to laugh like you just did with your little sister. Those things don’t cost money; you just have to be smart enough to know they’re there for you, and to enjoy them. Don’t be fooled because your father is running around talking about new homes and cars and clothes. I don’t need things. I just need you and Laurel.”

  “What about Dad?” Josh was still crying quietly. “Don’t you need him, too?”

  His mom covered her mouth and nodded sharply.

  “I do,” she said, nearly choking on her words. “But two out of three is better than a lot of people get, and you have to look at what you have, not what you’ve lost. Besides, you never know what’s going to happen.

  “Listen, enough about me. I want to talk about you. Now, with everything going on, I need to stay here and look for a job, but I want you to go to this tournament in Albany and have fun. I mean it. Play baseball. Forget about all this and enjoy being twelve and an all-star. Believe me, it’s the best thing you can do for me.”

  Josh looked at her and said, “I’ll try, Mom. I don’t know if I can, but I’ll try.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  JOSH WAS RELIEVED WHEN Jaden and her dad invited him and Benji to spend Sunday with them out on Skaneateles Lake. Jaden’s dad—a doctor in residence at St. Joseph’s Hospital—had rented a party boat at the Skaneateles Marina for the day. The summer sun baked the earth, water, and sky, but out on the boat with a gentle breeze and a cooler full of sodas and iced teas and the water just a leap away, the day was like heaven. Jaden’s dad took them into the town for lunch, mooring the boat at the public docks. They walked around, looking into the shops before eating thick, juicy hamburgers at Johnny Angel’s Heavenly Hamburgers, then polishing off their meals with triple ice-cream cones from the Blue Water Chill.

  Jaden’s dad told them he’d meet them at the boat, and the three of them watched a colony of martins swooping and shrieking, picking bugs out of the air before landing on an ancient white birdhouse to feed their young. When Jaden’s father returned, he had two boxes of donuts from the Skaneateles Bakery under his arm and a cappuccino in his hand.

  “You’ll thank me later,” he said, setting the boxes down on the seat before unmooring the boat.

  They stayed until the sun winked away over the rolling hills of farmland, thankful for the donuts that kept Benji breathing until they could stop for fish sandwiches at Doug’s Fish Fry on their way back through town. By the time he got back, Josh was too exhausted to fret over his parents, and the sight of his mom sitting alone reading a book in her chair left only a dull ache in his chest. He kissed her and hugged her tight without a word, then climbed into bed, falling asleep instantly.

  Monday morning Josh’s alarm didn’t go off, and he had to scramble to get ready. His father pulled into the driveway, picked Josh up, and dropped him off at the middle school with nothing more than a gruff “Good luck.” Josh stepped up into the bus, taking the seat just behind Coach Q, where Benji waited. Benji asked him what was wrong, but Josh waved him off, said he had a stomachache, and shut his eyes tight, pretending to sleep. The bus geared up and headed east on the thruway.

  Ten miles before Albany, Coach Q announced that when they got to the hotel, their keys would be waiting for them in envelopes with their names on them on a table inside the door. They should each get unpacked and meet, ready to go get warmed up for their first game, a half hour after they arrived. Josh’s being out of sorts hadn’t dampened Benji’s spirits at all. When they pulled up in front of the Holiday Inn Express, Benji called dibs on using the bathroom first and bolted off the
bus, telling Josh he’d see him in the room.

  Josh grabbed his bags from the underbelly of the bus, found the envelope with his key, and went to the room. He didn’t bother unpacking but simply tossed the big duffel bag on top of the dresser and flopped down on the bed by the window, covering his eyes with his arm and trying not to think about the mess he’d left behind him. More than anything, he wanted to get out onto the field and play. Just play, and forget about it all.

  The doorknob rattled.

  “Couldn’t make it to the bathroom in the room, huh?” Josh said from beneath the crook in his arm as the door burst open and crashed into the wall. “Take it easy, Lido, we’re here all week.”

  “Whatever you say, chicken livers. But this is my crib, too, and you ain’t my momma. Let’s get that straight right off.”

  “Chicken what?” Josh said, sitting up.

  The face that grinned back at him wasn’t Benji’s.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING here? Who are you?” Josh asked.

  The kid from outside of Vito Quatropanni’s house grinned. “I’m your new roomie, Roomie.”

  “Yeah, I doubt that,” Josh said. “Lido’s my roomie. It’s in my contract, slob.”

  “Well, my mom does all the contracts for this circus and she’s the one who put me with you, so your credibility with me is already in the crapper. You’ll have to earn my trust back, that’s all.”

  “Dude.” Josh stood up. “I’m so serious. Who the heck are you?”

  The kid bowed dramatically. “I am the Great Zamboni. Feel the power.”

  Josh’s mouth fell open. “The Great…Zamboni? Your mom’s the real estate lady?”

  Zamboni shoved Josh’s duffel bag off the edge of the dresser top to make room for his own.

  “That’s my stuff,” Josh said.

  “Yeah,” Zamboni said, “on my dresser. You can use the one over there by the window.”

  “Okay.” Josh bit the inside of his mouth and clenched his fists. “We’re not going to have to worry about this because there is no way this is happening.”

  He stormed out of the room and took the stairs down to the lobby, where he found Coach Q.

  “Coach,” he said, trying to stay calm, “there’s a mistake with my room. I’m supposed to be with Lido, Benji, my friend.”

  Coach Q wore his purple Lyncourt cap and a gray uniform with matching purple trim that stretched over his big gut. He looked up from his clipboard, removed his aviator sunglasses, and squinted at Josh.

  “Look, Josh,” he said. “I know we all scrambled to get you here, and we’re pumped up to have you. We can win this thing with you on the roster. But do you really want to act like this? I mean, your friend had to be on the team, fine. He’s not terrible. But now you want to start rearranging the rooming list half an hour before we leave for our first game? Like you’re king of the castle here? Really? What do you think your dad would say?”

  Coach Q stared at Josh. Josh felt his insides melt into a puddle of shame. He hung his head.

  “No, Coach,” he said. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “If you didn’t mean it like that, then I guess you’ll figure a way to just get along with Marcus, right?”

  “Marcus?”

  “Cross.”

  “He calls himself Zamboni,” Josh said.

  Coach Q winced and looked around. “You don’t want to call him that around the mom. He’s Marcus to me and the coaches. That’s it, and you’ll save everybody a lot of headache if you remember.”

  “But he calls himself that,” Josh said.

  Coach Q raised his hands in surrender and shook his head. “Please.”

  “Fine,” Josh said.

  “Thanks, Josh. Go get changed.”

  Josh didn’t feel like taking the stairs, so he pushed the button and waited for the elevator. When it slid open, Benji stood there with Vito Quatropanni, sharing a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos.

  “Hey, Josh,” Benji said, “what’s up?”

  “You two are rooming together?” Josh asked.

  “Yeah,” Benji said, grinning and raising the bag of chips. “Vito’s loaded up with junk. I guess I’m the perfect guy to help him out, you know?”

  Josh pushed past them on his way into the elevator. Benji turned as he got off.

  “Hey,” Benji said cheerfully, “what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Josh said as the doors began to close. “Don’t choke on your chips. I’ll see you on the bus.”

  As the doors waggled closed, Benji told Vito, “He gets moody sometimes, but it’s a good thing. That’s how he was when we took the national title.”

  Back in the room, Zamboni lay on the bed fully dressed for the game, his cleats hanging off the edge of the covers, hat on his head.

  “Back, huh?” Zamboni said, smacking a mouthful of gum.

  “Guess so,” Josh said, hauling his bag up from the floor and resting it atop the dresser by the window before changing into his uniform.

  The window was open, and a breeze wafted the curtains. As he changed, Josh sniffed the air.

  “Did you smoke a cigarette or something?” Josh asked.

  “Can it, Scarface,” Zamboni said.

  Josh touched the scar on his face from a surgery he’d had to repair a broken eye socket so he could play in the Hall of Fame National Championship. It was still a raised, angry red line beneath his eye, but most people didn’t mention it. Josh glared for a moment at Zamboni, then shook his head. As he pulled off his T-shirt, Josh heard a soft thwack against the mirror. When his head popped out through the collar, the sight of a thick and blood-streaked booger on the glass made his stomach heave. Retching, Josh dashed for the bathroom, aware of Zamboni’s explosion of laughter from the bed.

  Josh splashed cold water on his face and let his stomach settle. As he stood leaning over the sink, he heard the sound of Zamboni laughing as he left the room, leaving the door wide-open. Benji, who was passing by with Vito, popped into the room to see what was so funny.

  “It’s one of the sickest things I’ve ever seen,” Josh said from the bathroom. “Right on the mirror in there.”

  Josh heard Benji come in, then hoot with laughter before he said, “Vito, come check this out. Man, this thing is, like, out of a horror movie. It’s like an alien or something. I think it’s got a pulse. How awesome is that?”

  “Man,” Vito said, “don’t touch it, Benji.”

  “He touched it?” Josh said half to himself as he peered around the corner to see Benji poking the specimen stuck to the mirror.

  Josh bolted back to the sink and dry heaved. Benji howled even harder and patted Josh on the back before he headed out with Vito. Josh heard their chatter fade as they made their way down the hall, Benji obviously unaware that Josh was mad at him.

  Josh spit in the sink and looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, wondering what he was doing there, and, even if they could make it all the way to the World Series, if it could possibly be worth it.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  JOSH GOT OFF THE bus without waiting for Benji. He carried his bat bag into the dugout. He leaned his bat against the wall and pulled the mitt onto his hand. The feel and smell of the leather comforted him and put a lift in his step as he hopped out onto the field.

  He breathed in the smell of grass and dirt and pressed his glove against his nose, inhaling deeply. On the adjacent field, the sounds of another game already in progress floated his way: the crack of a bat, the smack of a ball thrown from third to first, the bellow of a coach, and cheers from the crowd.

  Josh watched his teammates during warm-ups, making mental notes on small things his father would point out if he was the coach. In the bright sunshine, he began to feel better. Coach Q peppered the ball around the infield, calling out situations and looking for the correct reactions as he prepped his team.

  “Man on second,” Coach Q shouted, smashing a grounder between Josh and third.r />
  Josh scrambled and snatched up the ball, pausing for a moment and looking pointedly at second before firing the ball to first.

  “You gotta get it there, LeBlanc,” Coach Q hollered. “Come on, you’re supposed to be our superstar.”

  Josh opened his mouth to remind the coach that he’d said a runner was on second and that Josh needed to check that runner to keep him from advancing before he made the throw to first. But he remembered the coach’s words at the hotel about reporting Josh to his dad, so he kept quiet. It made him feel like more bad things were yet to come.

  “Hey,” Benji said, sliding in behind him in line to run bases. “I’m sorry about the Doritos. I should have offered you some.”

  “You think I’m mad about the Doritos?” Josh asked.

  “You aren’t?”

  “I thought we’d be rooming together. Doesn’t it bother you?”

  “Well,” Benji said, “sure, but I didn’t want to make Vito feel bad. He’s okay.”

  “If he’s okay, he wouldn’t be hanging around with that Zamboni.”

  “Marcus?”

  “Whatever you want to call him. He’s no one I want to room with. Did you know he smokes?”

  “I asked Vito about him,” Benji said. “He said Marcus is a little wacko. They’re not really friends. His mom just dumps him off sometimes. She wants him to have friends. That’s what Vito told me. Vito’s okay.”

  “You already told me what a swell guy Vito is,” Josh said, annoyed.

  “Oh. Right. Well,” Benji said, quickly stringing his words together. “Hey, we can still hang together, right? I mean, it’s you and me. Franchise material. Champs. Pride of Syracuse. All that. Hey, it’s game time, brother.”

  Josh couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah,” he said. “Me and you. Let’s do this thing. I’m tired of all the drama. I want to play some doggone baseball. You know what I mean, Benji?”