CHAPTER 1

Megan O’Shea adjusted her oversized batting helmet and stepped into the batter’s box. She dug her spikes into the dirt, waiting for the pitch. She shifted her weight onto her back foot. She was ready to hit.

Coach Muldoon started his wind-up. Megan gripped the bat tightly. She watched the swing of his arm, then saw the ball speed toward the plate. It was a fastball. She could hear it coming. It sounded like a swarm of bumble bees heading straight for her head.

She dropped the bat and fell backward out of the batter’s box.

“Steee-rike,” yelled Richie Sax.

Richie fished the ball out of his catcher’s mitt. “Right down the middle, Mugs,” he said as he tossed the ball back to Coach Muldoon.

Megan was sure that fastball had been aimed at her head. She couldn’t just stand there and let it hit her.

Megan picked herself up as Coach Muldoon walked toward the plate.

“That’s okay, Mugs,” he said. “It’s hard to hang in there when you see the baseball coming at you. So here’s what we’ll do. I’ll throw you the exact same pitch, only slower. I want you to keep your back foot in the box. Don’t bail out. Keep the bat on your shoulder and watch the pitch until it hits Richie’s glove. Don’t swing, just watch.”

Megan nodded her head. She would try.

Coach Muldoon took his position on the mound. He wound up and threw the pitch. Megan watched the ball. She saw it leave his hand. It looked like a white bullet, streaking from the pitcher’s mound toward Richie’s glove. Here it comes, she thought, I’m dead.

Thwack.

Megan heard the ball slam into Richie’s glove. She survived. She stood her ground.

“Way to hang in there,” shouted Timmy Anderson from his shortstop position.

“Good job, Mugs,” Richie said through his catcher’s mask.

Megan stepped out of the box and took off her batting helmet. Hitting was hard.

“Okay Mugs, watch this one carefully. This is your pitch,”

Coach Muldoon said.

Megan dug in.

On the pitcher’s mound, Coach Muldoon started his wind-up. She saw his long arm come over the top and release the ball. She watched the ball speed toward the plate. She closed her eyes and began to swing the bat.

Crack.

Her hands stung from the vibration as the ball sliced into the first base dugout.

“Nice hit,” Coach Muldoon exclaimed. “You see, Mugs, you can hit.”

Richie scampered over to retrieve the baseball, then tossed it to Coach Muldoon.

Coach Muldoon walked up to the plate.

“Good job. You showed courage and that’s the secret to hitting.” He turned and faced the outfield where the rest of the Wilson Foods team members were scattered.

“HAS EVERYBODY BATTED?” he shouted.

“Yeah. Yes, sir. Uh huh,” they answered from all positions.

“Okay,” he said, “let’s pick up the field.”

They collected the stray baseballs, the bases, the pitching rubber, and the bats, stuffing them into the green equipment bag. They sat on the bench, waiting for Coach Muldoon to address them as he did after every practice. The Coach walked around to the outside of the dugout and rested his arms against the top of the fence. He kicked some dirt and then looked at the team.

“Today, we’re starting over. I want you all to think of the second half as a brand new season. Forget about the first seven games. We had some tough breaks, but we played hard. We learned from our mistakes. We’ve come a long way in a short amount of time,” he said, pausing to size up the mood of the players.

“But we didn’t win a game, Coach,” Angela Stone reminded him as she tugged at the laces of her oversized outfielder’s mitt.

“Statistically, that’s true,” Coach Muldoon answered. “But remember, we lost to Barr’s Five and Dime by only one run. We lost to Farber Optical by two runs, and Fealty Realty took us by only four runs. We’re really close to breaking through. Winning is right around the corner.”

Last Friday, when the Evanston Economist was delivered, they could open it to the Sports section and see their 0–7 record at the bottom of the standings. Coach Muldoon was happy that the start of the second half would erase those numbers from the newspaper. According to league rules, the season was divided into two halves. The winner of the first half played the winner of the second half for the championship. Every team started the second half with a record of 0–0.

“Well, I’ll tell you what’s going to happen,” Coach Muldoon said, continuing his pep talk. “This team is going to win in the second half. We have as good a chance as any other team to make it to the playoff game. Today, we all have the same record. We’re all tied for first place. Isn’t that true? Starting tomorrow, we need to play well and stay on top,” he argued.

“What about Evanston Trust, Coach?” Arnie Katz, the third baseman, asked. “They haven’t lost a game yet. No one can beat ‘em. They have all the good players.”

Coach Muldoon thought about Arnie’s question for a few seconds before he spoke.

He couldn’t deny the fact that Evanston Trust finished the first half with a perfect record of 7–0. They beat every other team in the league easily.

“Arnie, the important thing is not to let them beat us before we take the field. We’ve got to believe we can win. Yes, they’re good, but they’re not the New York Yankees.”

Coach Muldoon remembered their 27–0 loss to Evanston Trust in the first half. He would give anything to erase that memory.

“Gang, let’s not get down on ourselves. We can win, and we will win. But more than that, our goal should be to play good baseball. Winning will come if we play well,” Coach Muldoon said, pausing to let that thought sink in.

The players thought he was finished talking and stood up to leave the dugout.

“Wait a minute, I have a couple of announcements. Most of you already know, but Joe and Mike Koebel will not be playing with the team in the second half. The Koebels will be vacationing at Yellowstone National Park. Also, I’m afraid we lost Anita Davis to ballet camp.” Coach Muldoon paused again.

“But there is some good news. Our team is getting a new boy who just moved here from San Diego. His name is...” Coach Muldoon pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket.

“His name is John Denaro. Because he’s new in town, you’ll be his first friends, so I hope you all make an extra effort to welcome him to the team. Now, unless there are more questions, everyone go home. I’ll see you at noon tomorrow at Maple Park, the east diamond.”

Once again, the team rose to leave except Alex Harris, who sat on the bench with his hand raised.

“Hold on everybody, Alex has a question. Alex, what do you need to know?”

“Well,” Alex said tentatively, “Don’t they play baseball year-around in San Diego?”

“Yes, they could if they wanted to,” Coach Muldoon responded.

“Then the new guy must be pretty good,” Alex reasoned.

“Well I can’t really say. But what I do know is that we’re a better team now than we were in the first half. So let’s start our winning streak against Russell’s Steakhouse. Now go home, eat a good dinner, get some rest, and be ready to play baseball. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Coach Muldoon waved his arm and the dugout emptied.

CHAPTER 2

Megan hooked her mitt on the handlebars of her bike and headed for home. She stopped at the drinking fountain and leaned over the arching water. As she drank, she heard the Evanston Trust team practicing on the north diamond.

Crack.

She looked up and saw a grass stained baseball fly over the leftfielder’s head. She could hear the distant voices of the players congratulating the batter on his home run shot.

Megan leaned over, but before her lips touched the water it happened again.

Crack.

This time she didn’t look up.

“Over the centerfielder’s head,” Ed Neverowski said as he parked his bike next to Megan.

Megan finished drinking and rolled her bicycle aside to let Ed have his turn. Ed leaned over and took a long drink of cold water.

Crack.

Ed didn’t look up.

“In the gap between left and centerfield. Easy home run,” Megan reported. Ed finished drinking and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“Mugs, do you want to ride over there and take a closer look,” he asked, nodding toward the north diamond. “Coach Muldoon is always saying we should scout the other teams. You know, learn their weaknesses.”

“Okay. But I can’t stay very long,” Megan said as they pedaled toward the north diamond.

Crack.

They heard the sound but they didn’t look. When they reached the north diamond, they leaned their bicycles against the old wooden grandstands and climbed to the top row.

Looking across the field, they could see the Evanston Trust team laughing, joking, and throwing the practice baseballs around with confidence. Up at home plate, the batter was driving every pitch.

“They’re good,” Ed whispered.

“They’re a million times better than us,” Megan added. They sat in silence for a minute, watching the Evanston Trust team practice.

“Do you think we can learn anything by studying them?” Ed asked.

“Well, we know one thing for sure. They play like the New York Yankees,” Megan answered.

“Maybe they are the New York Yankees,” Ed added.

“They can’t be. They don’t have moustaches,” Megan joked.

“I don’t know, Mugs. Check out Greg Adams,” Ed said.

They both looked at Greg Adams, Evanston Trust’s all-star pitcher and shortstop. At ten years old, Greg Adams was a foot taller than anyone else in the league. He was big, strong, mean, and above his upper lip was the dirty outline of a moustache.

Crack.

The ball was hit toward third base. It bounced off the third baseman’s outstretched glove and rolled toward leftfield. But before it reached the outfield grass, Greg Adams cut it off. In a single motion, he grabbed the ball and fired it to first base. The ball snapped into the first baseman’s glove with a loud thwack.

“Out,” Megan and Ed said at the same time, shaking their heads.

“Do you think we could beat Evanston Trust if they didn’t have Greg Adams?” Megan asked, remembering the terror of facing a Greg Adams fastball.

Ed thought about it for a moment.

“I dunno. They’re all good. Don’t forget about Shiela Price. She throws almost as hard.”

“Yeah, but I’ve seen other teams score runs off Shiela Price,” Megan answered.

“Cheap runs, though,” Ed countered. “Stelton Motors scored a run on a wild pitch. Farber Optical scored on a suicide squeeze bunt.”

“Well at least it’s possible,” Megan argued.

“I dunno,” Ed responded. “Every player they put on the field is good.”

“Yeah, and they practice a lot too,” Megan added, thinking it was time to head for home. “I gotta go.”

“Me too,” Ed said, climbing onto his bicycle.

“See you tomorrow,” Megan yelled as she pedaled away from the north diamond.

She raced home, knowing that she was late. She parked her bike in the garage and ran into the house.

“Megan, where have you been? I have a house to show at six o’clock.” Megan’s mother had the table set, which was Megan’s job. Her younger brother Tommy was sitting in his usual seat, fork in hand.

“Your father will be home in five minutes, and then I have to leave immediately.”

“Sorry, Mom.” Megan sat down at the table next to her brother.

“Wash up first,” Mrs. O’Shea said before Megan could unfold her napkin.

“Okay,” she said getting up. “Mom, can you come to the game tomorrow?” Megan asked.

“Honey, I can’t. I have an open house tomorrow during your game, but your father and Tommy will be there,” she said.

As Megan washed her hands in the kitchen sink, her father walked through the front door.

“Jim, I have to go right now. Can you take care of dinner?” Mrs. O’Shea asked in a hurried voice.

“Sure. Good luck with the showing,” he added.

“Thanks,” she said. She grabbed her car keys and ran out the door.

“Well, let’s eat,” Megan’s father said, putting down his briefcase and picking up an oven mitt.

CHAPTER 3

At noon, the Wilson Foods players were scattered across the outfield, playing catch.

“Gordon, Richie, start warming up,” Coach Muldoon called to his starting pitcher and catcher. The boys stopped playing catch and walked together to the dugout. Richie put on his catcher’s gear.

“How d’you feel today, Gordo?” Coach Muldoon asked Gordon.

“Okay I guess,” Gordon responded.

Coach Muldoon smiled. He knew that Gordon was feeling miserable.

“Gord, this is like a new season for us. Forget about the first half.”

“Yes, sir,” Gordon responded without conviction.

“Gord, you have one of the best arms in the league. Isn’t that right, Richie?”

“Yup,” Richie answered.

“The problem is your confidence,” Coach Muldoon continued “You’re afraid to let opposing batters hit the ball. You’re walking too many hitters. When you get out on the mound today, I want you to forget that there’s a hitter up there. Just play catch with Richie. Throw strikes.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good. Remember, it’s only a game, and we should be having fun,” Coach Muldoon encouraged, yanking the bill of Gordon’s cap to let him know that he shouldn’t be so nervous.

The boys left the dugout to loosen up. Coach Muldoon watched Gordon throw until he saw a dark-haired boy behind the backstop. The boy was watching the Wilson Foods players loosen up. He was wearing a clean Wilson Foods uniform.

Coach Muldoon walked over to introduce himself.

“Welcome, John, I’m Coach Muldoon, manager of the team. Glad you could make it.”

“Glad to be here,” John Denaro answered.

“Good. Are your parents here?” Coach Muldoon asked, looking around the stands.

“No. They couldn’t make it,” the boy answered, glancing at his brand new mountain bike.

“On your own today. Well, that’s okay. Did you have any trouble finding the park?” Coach Muldoon asked.

“No. I used to live here before I moved to California,” the boy answered.

“Good. I’m glad you know your way around.” Coach Muldoon looked at John Denaro’s sparkling white uniform. “How does the uniform fit?”

“It fits fine,” John Denaro answered, pulling at the top button nervously.

“It was the only one we had left. You know, no one wants to wear number 13,” Coach Muldoon said, smiling at the thought that a uniform number could change the way a player performed on the field.

“I don’t mind wearing it,” John answered.

“So tell me, what position do you play?” Coach Muldoon asked.

“Pitcher.”

“Good. We really need another pitcher. Do you feel like throwing a few innings today?”

“Sure,” John answered.

“Great. Let’s go meet the rest of the team.” Coach Muldoon led the way to the dugout. “John, do you prefer to be introduced as John or Johnny?”

“My friends call me Johnny-D.”

“Okay. On this team, you’re Johnny-D,” Coach Muldoon said, stepping into the dugout with Johnny-D.

“LET’S BRING IT IN,” Coach Muldoon shouted. The players ran off the field and assembled in the dugout.

“Gang, I’d like to introduce our new player, John Denaro. He goes by the name, Johnny-D. He’s gonna do some pitching for us later in the game today.”

Coach Muldoon stood outside the dugout, facing the team.

“Okay, here’s the line-up for today’s game.” He opened the score book and read the batting order.

“Batting first and playing center, Alex Harris. Batting second and playing second, Maria Garcia. Batting third and playing short, Timmy Anderson. Batting fourth and pitching, Gordon James. Batting fifth and playing third, Arnie Katz. Batting sixth and catching, Richie Sax. Batting seventh and playing left, Angela Stone. Batting eighth and playing first, Ed Neverowski. Batting ninth and playing right, Megan O’Shea.” Coach Muldoon closed the score book and looked at the players.