Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  CHAPTER 1: PLAYGROUND DREAMS

  CHAPTER 2: ENTER THE MEGA-PLEX

  CHAPTER 3: LET THE TRYOUTS BEGIN

  CHAPTER 4: SWING, BATTER, SWING!

  CHAPTER 5: THE CALL

  CHAPTER 6: A TRAGIC TURN

  CHAPTER 7: FROM THE BENCH TO THE FIELD

  CHAPTER 8: GAME TIME

  CHAPTER 9: LOOK FOR THE SIGN

  CHAPTER 10: DOWN TO THE WIRE

  Author Bio

  Illustrator Bio

  Glossary

  Discussion Questions

  Writing Prompts

  Baseball Glossary

  Explore More

  Copyright

  Back Cover

  CHAPTER 1

  PLAYGROUND DREAMS

  Blake Easton was up to bat. He surveyed the infield, trying to find the right spot to advance the runner on third base and give his team the win.

  “Let’s go, Blake! You got this!” Franklin, Blake’s best friend, yelled from where he waited on third base.

  Blake grinned, then made eye contact with the pitcher, his other friend, Taylor. “I’m going to make it easy on you!” Blake shouted. “I’ll tell you exactly where the ball is going. I’m going to squeeze it right past second base, so you might want to shift your infield.”

  “You can’t scare me,” Taylor retorted from the pitcher’s mound. He turned to the infield. “We’ve got him this time. Last out is at bat!”

  Taylor signaled the catcher and wound up the pitch. Then he threw the ball over the plate as hard as he could.

  Blake shifted his batting stance and swung. BOP!

  Just as he’d predicted, the Wiffle ball blazed past second base. It soared into the outfield as Franklin raced home to score the winning run!

  “That’s the game, guys!” Blake shouted.

  Both teams shook hands. All the players congratulated each other after a well-played game at the park.

  “You called it!” Franklin exclaimed, giving Blake a high five.

  “Eh, I think he just got lucky,” Taylor teased, giving Blake a playful shoulder punch. “I’ll get him next time. I should’ve given him my Wiffle curveball. Nobody can touch that one!”

  “Maybe. We’ll see next weekend,” Blake said with a smile. “Hey, the Summit Ice Cream Shop has a two-for-one special. Who’s in?”

  Shouts of “Me!” rang across the diamond. Everyone grabbed their gear and started making their way out of the park.

  As they headed toward the exit, Franklin noticed a flyer taped to the park community board. He wandered over to see what it was.

  “Whoa! The Jefferson Mega-Middies—that traveling baseball team—are holding open tryouts!” Franklin announced. The other players quickly gathered around.

  “Can anyone try out?” Blake asked.

  “It says they’re looking for players from eleven to twelve years old,” Franklin replied. “Little League experience not necessary, but recommended.”

  Blake stared at the flyer. Should I go to the tryouts? he wondered.

  As much as he enjoyed playing Wiffle ball with his friends, his dream was to play in a baseball league—someplace where the games actually counted.

  Blake quickly snapped back to reality as Taylor looked directly at him.

  “Dude, you should totally try out for this!” Taylor said. He seemed to read Blake’s mind. “You don’t have to play in Little League to try out. You’d be awesome.”

  All of Blake’s friends knew how much he wanted to play organized baseball. But he’d never told them what held him back.

  What if the other players just see me as a backyard athlete? he worried. What if they don’t take me seriously?

  Blake shuffled his feet and sighed. “I don’t know . . .” he said. “Yeah, it’s open tryouts, but I’m sure the only ones who actually make the team will be all-stars or other Little Leaguers.”

  “You don’t know that for sure,” Taylor argued.

  “I just play Wiffle ball,” Blake said. “I probably wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “Are you kidding? You’re the best hitter and base runner here!” Franklin exclaimed. “And I see you fielding baseballs that you throw against your house all the time. Not to mention practicing your swing with that portable training station your parents got you for your birthday.”

  “I don’t know . . . ,” Blake said again.

  “Come on, man,” Franklin said. “It can’t hurt to try out.”

  “But what if I don’t make it?” Blake muttered.

  “You’ll never know unless you try,” Taylor said. “If you make it, we’ll be there cheering you on. If you don’t, you’ve always got a spot on Wiffle Saturdays.”

  Blake stared at the flyer again. He turned to look at his friends, then turned back to look at the flyer. Taking a deep breath, he said, “All right, I’ll give it a shot. Now, let’s go get some ice cream!”

  CHAPTER 2

  ENTER THE MEGA-PLEX

  The following weekend, Blake hopped out of his parents’ car and raced toward the Jefferson Baseball Mega-Plex. His heart was thumping. It was the first day of Mega-Middies tryouts.

  Blake had spent practically the whole week practicing in his backyard, trying to keep his nerves from getting the best of him ahead of tryouts. It hadn’t entirely worked.

  Still anxious, he’d made sure to arrive early today. He wanted to have enough time to warm up and prepare for what was to come.

  “Blake! Don’t forget your glove!” his dad yelled from the car window.

  Blake ran back to get his glove. “Thanks, Dad,” he said. “It’d be hard to play without that. I think I have everything else in my bag, so I should be set. I’ll text you when tryouts are done.”

  “Good luck and have fun,” his dad said with a smile.

  Blake gave his dad a nervous smile, then sprinted toward the Mega-Plex. “This is the real thing,” he muttered to himself as he entered the building.

  The sounds of baseballs smacking against leather gloves and the tapping of cleats echoed. Blake began to look for Diamond Two, where the Mega-Middies tryouts would take place.

  After finding the correct field, Blake sat on the metal bleachers, pulled his cleats out of his bag, and started lacing them up. He glanced around to see what kind of competition he would be up against.

  As expected, there were lots of kids he didn’t recognize. They’re probably from the local Little League, Blake thought. But he was relieved to also recognize some classmates from school who, like him, had never played any organized sports.

  At least I won’t be the only newbie on the field today, thought Blake.

  Blake finished tying his shoes, took a deep breath, and whispered, “I’ve got this.” Ready to warm up, he placed his bat bag with the others and grabbed his glove and a ball.

  Now he just had to find someone to warm up with. Thankfully he didn’t have to look far.

  “Hey, are you here for the Mega-Middies tryouts?” a kid asked. “Need to warm up?”

  “Yeah and yeah,” Blake said, tossing the ball. “I’m Blake. Blake Easton.”

  “Austin Tavares,” the boy replied. “What league do you play in? I’ve never seen you before.” He tossed the ball back to Blake.

  “I’ve never played in any league,” Blake admitted. “I mostly just play with my friends. But I’ve been wanting to play organized baseball for a long time. I figured I’d give it a shot. Hopefully I won’t embarrass myself.”

  Blake threw the ball to Austin, still warming up his arm. “How about you? What league do you play in?” he asked.

  “Usually the city league,” Austin replied, tossing the ball back. “I’ve been on the Mega-Middies for the past two years as a bench player, though. Hopefully I get to start this time around.”

  “Oh,” Blake said. Hearing that, his nerves kicked into high gear. Austin had way more experience than he did.

  “You’ll do fine,” Austin assured him. “If you have questions, ask me. We’re all here to bring out the best in each other and help one another. Better teammates make for a better team.” He smiled.

  “Thanks,” Blake replied. He smiled gratefully, feeling better about his decision to try out.

  Just then an older man who Blake assumed was the coach appeared. He blew his whistle to signal everyone to bring it in.

  Austin threw Blake one final warm-up toss. “If you can make it through today’s tryouts, you’ve got a good shot to make the team,” he said. “But Coach Sweatt can be tough. It’s not going to be easy.”

  CHAPTER 3

  LET THE TRYOUTS BEGIN

  Coach Sweatt’s whistle echoed. “Circle up, boys!” he shouted.

  The hopeful Mega-Middies recruits huddled up.

  “I’m glad to see so many eager faces here today,” the coach began. “But here’s the deal: there are thirty-five of you and only fifteen roster spots. If you want to make this team, you gotta have heart, hustle, determination, and proper conditioning. Let’s get started!”

  The players cheered as Coach Sweatt blew his whistle again.

  “Let’s run some laps!” Coach shouted. “Everyone line up at home plate. When I blow the whistle, run the perimeter of the entire field until I tell you to stop!”

  Blake and Austin gathered with the others at home plate.

  “This is where Coach finds out who’s serious about being a part of the team. Just keep a steady pace with me, OK?” Austin said as they tapped gloves.
  “OK.” Blake nodded.

  Just then one of the other players in the huddle walked over. “You out here trying to help the newbies?” the boy said to Austin. He looked over at Blake and sneered. “I’ve seen you at the park playing Wiffle ball. You might be a backyard all-star, but you don’t stand a chance here. Especially not with me around.”

  “Whatever, Kyle,” Austin scoffed. “Maybe you should just worry about not having another ‘leg cramp’ during conditioning drills like last year.” Austin made air quotes when he said “leg cramp.”

  “Maybe you should worry about eating my dust!” Kyle sneered, walking away.

  “He seems pleasant,” Blake said sarcastically.

  Austin rolled his eyes. “That’s Kyle. His dad’s the third-base coach, so he thinks he can do whatever he wants,” he said. “He’s a good player, but he’s annoying.”

  PHWEEEEEEEET!

  “Let’s go, get those laps in! Go!” Coach Sweatt yelled.

  The players started running. Blake kept pace with Austin as they ran past first base, around the outfield, and down the third-base line with the others.

  After the third lap, some kids started slowing down. After the fifth lap, a few staggered off the field in defeat. After the eighth lap, two more quit. Blake continued to run next to Austin.

  After the tenth lap, Coach Sweatt let out another PHWEEEEEEEET! from his whistle. “All right, that’s enough!” he called. “Bring it in.”

  The remaining players jogged slowly in and caught their breath. Coach did a quick head count.

  “Started with thirty-five, and now we’re down to twenty-five. Making this team isn’t easy. Go take a water break, and then we’ll start with infield and outfield drills,” Coach said.

  After their break, the remaining players were separated into groups. One coach took the pitchers, another took the outfielders, and Coach Sweatt was left with the infielders—including Austin, Blake, and Kyle.

  “Austin to shortstop, Kyle to third, Tracy to first,” Coach said. “You, what’s your name?” He pointed straight at Blake.

  Blake tried to look—and sound—confident. “Blake Easton, Coach.”

  “Can you play second, Blake?” the coach asked.

  “I’ll play anywhere, Coach,” Blake replied. “I just want a chance to play.”

  Coach Sweatt smiled. “I like your attitude, kid. Take second.”

  “Hey!” Kyle exclaimed. “That’s my position! Why are you putting him there, Coach? I bet he doesn’t even know the position!” Kyle glared at Blake.

  “Worry about playing third, Kyle. You’ll get your chance,” Coach Sweatt said sternly.

  Without waiting for a reply, Coach headed for home plate. The players all hurried to their assigned positions.

  Coach Sweatt picked up a bat in one hand and a ball in the other. “OK, we’ve got a runner at first and no outs. Here we go!” he shouted.

  Crack!

  The ball whizzed toward second base. Blake quickly snatched it in his glove and tossed it to Austin. Austin winged it to first to turn it into a double play.

  “Nice play!” Austin yelled as he and Blake tapped gloves.

  “He got lucky,” grumbled Kyle, just loudly enough for Blake to hear.

  Coach grabbed another ball, ready to hit it to the infield again. Crack!

  This time the ball bounced off the pitcher’s mound. Austin misjudged it, and the ball flew by, but Blake was there as backup. He snagged the ball before it left the infield.

  “Way to back up your teammate, Blake! That’s how you look out for each other on the field!” Coach Sweatt hollered.

  Blake grinned, feeling glad that he’d made the decision to try out. Maybe he’d make the Mega-Middies after all.

  CHAPTER 4

  SWING, BATTER, SWING!

  After a brutal first day of tryouts, only eighteen hopeful players remained, including Blake. Knowing Austin had his back had made it easier for Blake to keep up with the rest of the players and handle the defensive and base-running drills.

  When he got home that afternoon, Blake texted Franklin and his Wiffle ball friends to let them know he’d survived day one. They were all excited for him, but Blake wasn’t quite ready to celebrate. He wasn’t a lock to make the team just yet.

  It was now day two, and the coaches wanted to see all the players bat before tryouts came to a close.

  In the dugout, Blake grabbed his bat. Austin pulled him to the side. “This pitcher has a great curveball,” he said. “Be patient, and wait for the ball to break.”

  Blake nodded. “Thanks,” he said.

  “Blake, you’re up!” Coach Sweatt called.

  Blake adjusted his batting gloves as he walked to the batter’s box. He got into a proper batting stance, surveyed the field, and looked back at the pitcher. These next at-bats could make or break his chance at becoming one of the Mega-Middies.

  From second base, Kyle yelled, “Hey, the newbie is up! Infield in! There’s no way he can hit Ramon. He’s our best pitcher!”

  Blake gripped his bat and awaited the pitch. I can do this, he told himself. It’s just like Wiffle ball—except a lot more pressure.

  Ramon began his windup. Blake’s eyes widened as the fastball sped toward him.

  Crack! he swung and connected. The ball shot over the third baseman’s head and bounced into the outfield for a blooper single.

  “Not bad, but let’s switch it up a bit,” Coach Sweatt said. He signaled to Ramon for a different pitch.

  Blake waited in the batter’s box, ready to swing. Ramon threw another pitch. It was the curveball Austin had warned him about. Blake completely whiffed on the pitch.

  “See, I told you he’s just a backyard superstar!” Kyle jeered. “Give him that pitch again, Ramon. He can’t hit it!”

  Ramon threw another curveball. Blake was late swinging but connected for a foul ball.

  “Remember what I told you!” Austin shouted from the dugout.

  Blake nodded and waited for the pitch. Another curveball, directly in the strike zone.

  This time Blake kept his eye on the ball. He knew where the pitch was going to break and squared up the bat, making direct contact with the ball.

  Crack-kow! The ball blazed down the first-base line, sending a mean line drive down the field!

  “Well done, Blake!” Coach Sweatt said, smiling. “All right, let’s call it a day. All of you hustled hard and did great today. I wish we could keep all of you, but unfortunately that’s not possible. I’ll be calling you tomorrow to let you know if you’ve made the team. Thanks for your hard work, and good luck!”

  CHAPTER 5

  THE CALL

  The following afternoon, Blake paced nervously back and forth across his living room. He still hadn’t heard a word from Coach Sweatt, and it was almost the end of the day.

  “Keep it up and you’re going to wear ruts in the carpet,” Blake’s dad said.

  Blake paused. “Sorry, Dad,” he said. “I’m just nervous about this call from Coach. I want to make the team so badly. I’m scared it’s not going to happen.”

  Blake’s mom smiled. “If you gave it your all and did your best, then that’s all you can do,” she told him. “No matter what happens, we’re proud of you.”

  Dad handed Blake his baseball glove. “Why don’t the two of you go outside and toss the ball a little bit?” he suggested. “I’ll let you know if Coach calls.”

  Mom pulled her glove out from the closet. “That’s a good idea,” she agreed.

  For the next twenty minutes, Blake and his mom tossed the ball back and forth. After a particularly hard throw, Blake paused.

  “Too much heat for ya?” his mom asked, laughing.

  “You’re just trying to break the webbing in my glove.” Blake chuckled. “Thanks for coming out here to throw with me. I needed the distraction.”

  Just then, the screen door creaked loudly. Blake and his mom both turned toward the porch.

  “Son, Coach Sweatt is on the phone for you!” Dad hollered.

  Blake raced inside, almost knocking his dad over in his hurry. “Hey, Coach!” he said, picking up the phone.

  “Good evening, Blake. How are you doing?” asked Coach Sweatt.

  Blake’s nerves were starting to get the best of him. What if he’s calling to say I didn’t make the team? he worried. But he tried to play it cool. “I’m OK,” he replied.

 

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