When I See You Again - 5. Chapter 5

Saturday morning was eerily quiet, unlike most mornings before games, when the whole dorm was bustling with activity. While the teams that had been eliminated were allowed to stay for the duration of the World Series, a few kids had opted to go home, and most of the others were either off sightseeing, or taking part in pick-up games on the unused practice fields before the day's "big" games started -- the U.S. Championship and the International Championship. The winners of those two games would meet on Sunday in the final game -- the World Series.

I sat with Brennan, Tom and Rory, going over strategy. The rest of the team was eating quietly, and Mr. Bellinger was off scoping things out in preparation for the game. Ever since my fight with Dalton, he'd steered clear of me, and now that Rory had been hanging out with the rest of us, Dalton pretty much only hung out with Josh.

Much to my chagrin, David was nowhere to be seen. I'd been hoping that his teammates had been nicer to him, but considering they knew that he and I were friends -- and they pretty much hated me for striking them all out -- I somehow doubted that. In fact, I didn't make many friends with the guys on the teams that I'd pitched against. That didn't really bother me, though. I'd made plenty of new friends already.

The day before, the ESPN crew had been in The Grove, filming all of the kids goofing off, playing video games, and swimming. Surprisingly, I wasn't even nervous with all the cameras being around, although I might have been if they'd decided to try to interview me. Brennan was the star of the show, though. He'd had the balls to challenge Orestes Destrade to a game of ping pong, and ended up beating him on national television! Needless to say, I was pretty impressed, since "The Big O" was just that -- a big, strong guy, and having been a Major Leaguer and superstar in Japan as well, he had lightning-quick reflexes. But, he was a good sport about it, and really seemed to have a good time hanging out with us kids.

Our game was scheduled to begin at four o'clock, and Mr. Bellinger didn't want to work us too hard before the game, especially since the temperature was hovering close to 100 degrees. So, most of us ended up lounging around the pool, chatting with some of the players from the other teams that were still around, and mainly just doing our own thing for most of the morning.

After the difficulties Brennan and I had just been through -- the bruise on my cheek still serving as a stark reminder -- I wanted to stay as close to him as possible, even if that meant not joining Tom in the pool. Sure, I would've liked to have spent some more time with Tom, especially now that we seemed to be developing some kind of friendship. But, unlike with David, I knew I would still have plenty of chances to see Tom after the World Series -- like when we started our Fall baseball league -- so not hanging all over him didn't bother me too much. Plus, I still had a great view of him messing around in the pool from where I sat.

"You know, if we win today, that means you'll be pitching in the World Series game tomorrow," Brennan said, interrupting my not-so-innocent thoughts of Tom.

"Yeah, probably," I sighed, turning over on my deck chair to look at him. Yeah, I'd noticed that Tom looked really good ... but so did Brennan.

Spending so much time at the pool the past few days, Brennan had developed a really nice tan, and he was very clearly well on his way to becoming a full-fledged teenager. I had to force myself not to start having these thoughts about Brennan. It was one thing to look at David or Tom that way ... but Brennan was like my brother. I felt guilty and dirty when I found myself admiring his developing teenage body and handsome face. It was enough to make me sick to my stomach.

"You nervous?" he asked.

"Nah," I replied, shaking my head. "You'll be there, so I'll be fine."

It was hard to miss the large smile that quickly broke out across Brennan's face.

Around noon, several of us made our way over to Lamade Stadium to watch the International Championship game, which involved the teams from Chinese Taipei and Japan. Japan was heavily favored to win because of their power-hitting lineup, but I was rooting for my buddies from Chinese Taipei. One interesting twist from the Japan team, though, was that one of their players was a little blond-haired, blue-eyed boy. He looked out of place amongst the black-haired, almond-shaped eyes of the Japanese boys. Apparently, his dad worked as a businessman in Japan, and he'd gotten to join the local Little League team.

Before the game, I made it a point to pay a visit to my buddies from Chinese Taipei as they were putting their uniforms on and gathering their equipment. They certainly were a rambunctious bunch of little kids, and their enthusiasm was infectious. I'd noticed before that they all wore their pants hiked up way too high, so I showed Jacky how he was supposed to wear them, at least in my opinion, and he spread the word to his teammates. Their little butts were so tiny, though; I was surprised their pants didn't fall right off.

The game was a real nail-biter, and Chinese Taipei was leading by a score of 2-0 in the top of the sixth and final inning. Their defense and pitching were solid, and the Japanese team didn't seem to be able to get anything done. However, the coach made a critical mistake when he pulled his starting pitcher, who had only thrown 65 pitches, and replaced him with a second-string reliever. With the potent hitting skills that the Japanese team had shown throughout the tournament, it was not surprising when they were able to get to him quickly, and after four straight hits, had tied the game.

Another pitching change was ordered by the coach, and he pulled my little buddy, Jacky, from second base to go to the mound. Jacky looked terrified, and I was a little surprised by the move, since Jacky wasn't really much of a pitcher. He was a great infielder, with lightning-quick reflexes and blazing speed. But, he was just a little guy, and I didn't expect him to have much of an arm.

Unfortunately, I was right. His first pitch was thrown right down the middle, clocked at only 50 mph on the stadium's radar gun, and the heavyset first baseman from Curacao drove a line drive right over the center field fence, grazing the bust of Howard J. Lamade, for whom the stadium was named. The final score was 5-2.

My little Chinese friends all broke down crying right where they stood on the field. I couldn't blame them; it had been a very emotional game, and they had worked so hard, traveling thousands of miles to be here. I wanted to run out there and hug them, tell them that they had nothing to be ashamed of. But, unfortunately, just at that moment, Coach Penney, Josh's portly father, came to round us up and get us ready for our own game.

We went back to The Grove to change into our uniforms and gather up our gear. We were running a little late because of the game we had just been watching, so I was trying to hurry as I pulled on my pants, buttoned my shirt, and adjusted my jock strap and cup.

"Looks like your kit is getting a little small there," chirped Tom from behind me.

I quickly turned around and glared at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Tom blushed and quickly looked away. "I mean your uniform ... it looks like it's getting a little small."

I immediately felt bad that I'd snapped at him. I thought "kit" was some sort of British slang for my dick!

"I'm sorry, Tom," I apologized. "I thought you were talking about something else."

Tom looked puzzled for a brief moment, and then his frown quickly turned into a mischievous grin. "Ahhh, I get it!"

It was now my turn to blush.

I realized, though, that my uniform had, in fact, gotten a little tighter. My new Little League World Series uniform was the same size I'd always worn, but I guess I started a growth spurt. It's about damn time! I thought to myself.

I'd always loved wearing my baseball uniform. I also realized how much I liked looking at other boys wearing their uniforms, the way they fit their bodies like a snug glove, tightly hugging their slender hips and round butts. To me, it was even nicer to look at than a boy wearing a Speedo ... or nothing. It left just enough to the imagination ...

As I was thinking all of this, I realized that I was staring at Tom ... and then realized that he was watching me staring at him.

Shit! I thought to myself, and quickly looked away. I was too scared to look back at him to try to gauge his reaction. Getting caught staring the day before by Brennan, and now by Tom, I really needed to keep myself in check. Fortunately, I already had my cup on, so no one would be able to see my little pricklet sticking out.

**************************************************

By the time we got to the field, the clouds had moved in, and rain was on the horizon. Everyone was worried about the game getting rained out. As we headed out to the field to dance with "Dugout," the mascot of the Little League World Series, before the game, I searched the stands for David, but couldn't spot him. Even though I wasn't pitching this game, I was still hoping he'd be there.

Rory's nerves had seemed much better that morning, and he pitched really well for the first two innings. The team from Hawaii that we were playing for the U.S. Championship hadn't been favored to win coming into the tournament, but had ended up with a surprising 3-0 record during pool play. Their offense, which had been almost non-existent during their regional tournament, had come alive, and they had outscored their opponents 24-4. Their pitching was also formidable, led by their ace, Kenny Tokugawa, a tall and wiry boy of Japanese ancestry who threw a decent fastball, slider, and a knee-buckling curve ball.

We were ahead 2-0 at the top of the third inning, until Rory's control started to falter. After walking three straight batters to load the bases, and then giving up a double to the opposing team's pitcher, the game was tied.

As Rory stormed back into the dugout, tossing his glove against the wall, it was like a bad case of déjà vu. This time, though, it was Brennan who plopped down on the bench next to him, draped an arm across his shoulders, and tried to settle him down. I was glad, because it really wasn't my place. Today, Brennan was his catcher, and he needed to be his friend, too. Brennan had always been cold to Rory because of how nasty he'd been to me, but I'd gotten over it, and I was glad Brennan seemed to be cool with him as well. We had to work together as a team if we were going to win, and I thought this was at least a good start.

In the next inning, we managed to move into the lead again after Josh hit a triple, and then scored on a wild pitch. In the next half of the inning, Rory returned to the mound, hopefully reinvigorated by Brennan's and Coach's pep talks. All seemed to be going well, as their first batter struck out, and the next one hit a grounder to me at first, which I carried over myself to tag the bag and make the out.

The next at-bat didn't go so smoothly, though. Our catcher set up on the outside of the plate, but Rory ended up throwing the ball right down the middle, about six inches off the target, and the ball was driven into the gap in left-center field. Conner made a great throw to Dalton, which kept the runner from making a run for third. That didn't really matter, though, when the next batter drove the ball over the right-field fence for a two-run homer, putting Hawaii into the lead for the first time.

Apparently, that was more than Rory could handle, and he broke down crying right there on the mound. As if on cue, Coach ran out from the dugout, along with Brennan and the entire infield. Rory complained that his elbow was sore and he couldn't continue pitching. I think we all knew he wasn't telling the truth -- he was giving up. Coach wasn't about to argue with him, though, and told Tom to start warming up.

After a shaky start, walking his first batter and then hitting the next one flush on the ass, Tom settled down and got a strike out for the third and final out of the inning, fooling the hitter entirely with an awesome palm ball that barely hit 50 mph.

It was now our last chance to win this game. We had one more at-bat, and if we managed to pull into the lead, we would still have to face the Hawaii team's hitters one last time. Conner led off the inning with a walk, and made it to second base on a wild pitch (something which seemed to happen quite often in Little League baseball). Tom then hit a soft grounder to first, and while he got thrown out, it moved Conner over to third, and we were now just sixty feet away from tying the game.

Our luck continued when Brennan hit a line drive into the gap in right-center field, scoring Conner, and making it to second base. Dalton was our next hitter, but he struck out swinging, leaving it all up to Josh, our pudgy second baseman. With the game now tied, even if we didn't manage to score again in this inning, if we could keep Hawaii from scoring again in the bottom half of the inning, we'd at least make it to extra innings and still have a chance to win the game.

Josh, though, apparently had other ideas, and wasn't satisfied with a tie game. He hit the first pitch down the first base line, with authority, scoring Brennan from second base, only to be tagged out at second while trying to stretch his hit into a double. If it had been any other player, it would have been an easy double, but Josh wasn't the fastest runner on our team, and he should have known it. It didn't really matter, though, since we were now in the lead once again.

Now, in the bottom half of the sixth and final inning, it all came down to Tom and his pitching abilities. We were all still hopeful, though. Next to me, Tom was our best shot at staying in this. Unfortunately, that hopefulness was quickly dashed when Tom's first pitch was driven deep into center field, hitting the top of the wall, and barely staying in the park. By the time Conner got to it and threw it in to Rory, who was now playing third base in place of Tom, the runner was safe. Hawaii was now back within striking range.

I don't think anyone dared to take a breath during the next two at-bats, but Tom was quickly back to form, getting back-to-back strikeouts. It now all came down to Hawaii's pitcher, who had shown himself to be quite the formidable hitter as well. Tom threw him everything but the proverbial kitchen sink, and the lanky Hawaiian managed to foul off every pitch. It was a nail-biter of mammoth proportions. With each foul ball, a collective groan broke out from the crowds in the stands. As I scanned the field in between each pitch, I could see the tension and intensity written across the faces of my teammates. We all wanted this so badly.

As Tom picked up the rosin bag and tossed it around in his hand, I quickly ran out to the mound.

"Hey there," Tom sighed. He looked as nervous as I'd ever seen him.

"Have you ever tried a knuckleball?" I whispered, holding my glove in front of my face, lest the opposing team be able to read my lips.

"Well, no," he replied, eyeing me curiously. "Can't say that I have."

Even now, the game of our lives on the line, my stomach was still doing somersaults, hearing his cute little British accent.

Hiding the ball with my glove, I quickly showed him how to grip a knuckleball. I'd only thrown one a few times before, and it was probably the most difficult pitch to throw, but since Tom had pretty much already shown the hitter everything he had, we didn't have much of a choice. We had to keep him off-balance.

Tom nodded his understanding and I trotted quickly back to a spot between first and second base. If the ball was hit toward right field, I'd have a chance to stop a base hit. But, if it was hit down the baseline, we'd be shit out of luck.

Mr. Bellinger signaled that any ground ball would need to be thrown home to prevent the tying run from scoring, and we all crouched down in preparation. I could feel droplets of sweat dribbling down my face, and my palms were damp with perspiration.

It seemed like time was moving in slow motion as Tom kicked at the dirt around the pitching rubber. The silence in the stadium was deafening.

Tom went into his windup and hurled the ball. His follow-through was clumsy, no doubt from being uncomfortable with the different grip he was using. The ball lumbered toward the plate, zigzagging in an awkward motion, the mark of a well-thrown knuckleball.

The batter shifted his weight onto his rear leg and prepared to take a mighty swing. Considering the low velocity of the pitch, I was sure now that he was going to smack it out of the park.

I was surprised, though, when the bottom suddenly dropped out of the ball, and he barely hit the top of it, sending a weak groundball up the third base line, not much harder than a poorly hit bunt. Immediately, Brennan ripped off his mask and charged toward the ball as the runner on third bounded down the baseline toward home plate, with Tom running in from the mound to cover.

I was frozen where I stood, holding my breath as the nerve-wracking scene played out in front of my eyes, with nothing I could do to help this time.

I heard a gasp from the crowd as Brennan bare-handed the ball and chucked it awkwardly to home plate. Tom made a fantastic catch and hurled himself in front of the runner, blocking his path. As the runner barreled into Tom at full speed, he went flying back. I was silently praying to myself that he would somehow manage to hold on to the ball.

As he slammed into the ground, he managed to hold up his glove to show the umpire that he still had control of the ball. Pausing for a brief two seconds, the umpire made his call.

"You're out!!!" he bellowed.

Immediately, everyone started running in from the field, whooping and cheering. We did it, we'd won! We were going to be playing in the World Championship game!

My excitement was short-lived, though, when I realized that Tom wasn't getting up. He was still laying there by home plate, curled up into a little ball. The rest of the team seemed oblivious, too happy at the outcome of the most intense game of our season.

I rushed over to Tom and was on my knees beside him as Mr. Bellinger and our team trainer ran out from the dugout.

The good news was that Tom was crying, which meant it couldn't have been all that bad. But, the bad news was that ... well, Tom was crying.

Mr. Bellinger and the trainer managed to get Tom up to his feet. He was clutching his arm tightly, but was at least able to walk away under his own power. I wanted to stay with him to make sure he was alright, but we were lining up to shake the hands of the other team in a show of good sportsmanship, which was a hallmark of the Little League World Series.

I was very worried about Tom, but at the same time, I couldn't help but feel ecstatic about our win, and the knowledge that I would be pitching in the final game.

**************************************************

Back at The Grove, we were treated to a luau, hosted by the Hawaii team. They'd roasted a whole pig, had racks of ribs, burgers, hot dogs ... the works. They also treated us to some traditional Hawaiian dancing, and I had to admit that the way some of those boys were prancing around, shaking their slender hips and pert little butts, some of them still wearing their tight baseball pants ... well, it was quite the sight.

All in all, we had a fantastic time, and it was a great show of sportsmanship on the part of the team we had just beaten to clinch the U.S. championship. It didn't go unnoticed, though, that Tom wasn't with us. He'd been driven to the local hospital in Williamsport to have his arm looked at, and I was really worried about him.

The next day would probably be the toughest game of our young lives, playing the highly-praised Japanese team, but at that moment, that was the furthest thing from our minds as we partied the rest of the day away in the pool and the game room with the other teams that had been cheering for us -- even the ones we had beaten. I think that was one of the great things about the Little League World Series. For the most part, within thirty minutes of every game, everyone was back at The Grove, hanging out together and having a good time, even with the teams that had lost. We were rambunctious, twelve-year-old boys, and we had short attention spans. I did get the cold shoulder from a few players who I had pitched against, but for the most part, everyone was friends.

A couple of hours later, Mr. Bellinger and Tom returned. The wind quickly went out of my sails when I saw that Tom was wearing a cast.

"Dude, are you okay?" I asked, running up to him.

"Yeah, but I'm done," he sighed. "I can't play tomorrow, and I have to wear this thing for the next six weeks, at least."

"Tom's got a pretty badly broken arm," Mr. Bellinger piped in. "But, he's lucky it wasn't worse. That was a really nasty hit he took out there."

"Man, that really sucks. But, I'm glad you're okay ... I was really worried about you," I said, blushing at my own admission.

Tom smiled back and gave me a fist bump with his good arm. Mr. Bellinger was right, though -- it could have been a lot worse.

By that time, the rest of the team had gathered around, and were already lining up to sign Tom's cast. Like me, though, I could tell that he wasn't really fond of all the attention.

Within a few minutes, everyone's attention had turned back to the ongoing games of ping pong, foosball, and a very heated game of Guitar Hero, which Tom seemed to really enjoy, despite his broken arm.

As I watched everyone hanging out and having a good time, I realized that I hadn't seen David all day. He wasn't at breakfast, he didn't show up at the game, and he wasn't down here hanging out with everyone else. In fact, I didn't notice anyone else from his team, either.

I noticed the Alabama team's "Uncle," flirting with one of the "Aunts" over by the soda machines, so I tentatively made my way over, clearing my throat to get their attention.

They both looked mildly annoyed at my intrusion. "Can we help you, son?"

"Uh, yeah, I ummm ... I uhhh," I stammered. I was sweating profusely, and momentarily thought about just walking away. But, I needed to find out where David was. I needed his encouragement before my big game.

And, maybe a hug or three, I thought to myself.

"Come on now, out with it," barked the "Uncle". His prospective "date" just rolled her eyes, which made me feel even more nervous.

"Sorry, sir, but I was wondering where the Alabama team was," I finally managed to blurt out. "I haven't seen them all day."

"Sorry, son," he said, his voice softening slightly. "They left to go back home early this morning."

I was stunned. How could they already be gone? David hadn't even come to say good-bye to me!

I managed to mumble a quick 'thank you' to the creepy old "Uncle," and immediately headed toward the door. I needed to get some air, and I didn't really feel like being around all of the other kids at the moment.

I felt sick to my stomach as I walked along the paved pathway that led toward the stadium area. It was a beautiful night, the sound of crickets the only sound in the cool night air. But, I didn't pause to enjoy it. I was devastated. I couldn't understand how they could leave so quickly, and without even saying good-bye to me. David had my cell phone number, so he could have called. It didn't make any sense. I was so looking forward to him cheering for me at our biggest game, and now he wouldn't be there. What was I going to do now? Would I choke like I did at the other game where I thought David hadn't come to see me? How would I be able to face my teammates if I spoiled the biggest game of our lives because I was a pathetic, emotional wreck?

With each step, I felt worse and worse. Part of me wanted to just leave, try to hitchhike my way back home to Michigan. I couldn't let my team down, though. I had to at least get out there and try. Suddenly, though, I didn't have much confidence in myself anymore. So, I decided to head on over to the spot where I had first met David. Maybe sitting there, looking out over the amazing baseball field here in Williamsport would help me to gather my thoughts.

Just as I rounded the bend that led past the concession stands and the trailers where the ESPN crew had set up shop, I saw a solitary figure walking briskly through the shadows. It only took me a moment to recognize him -- I'd seen him hundreds of times on ESPN and on baseball cards. It was Orel Hershiser, one of the best pitchers of the 1980s and 1990s, who pitched a record 59 scoreless innings in 1988 with the Dodgers, and also won a Cy Young Award and was named the World Series MVP in that same year. Known for his fierce and competitive spirit, his manager, the great Tommy Lasorda, had given him the nickname "The Bulldog."

Seeing such an amazing opportunity to get a much-needed boost before my big game, I decided to momentarily push my depression aside and approach the baseball legend. Even though I'd met him briefly right before the tournament started, I doubted he'd remember me. After all, I was just one kid amongst hundreds.

"Uhhh, Mr. Hershiser ... ummm, hi ... my name's Grady Davis, I pitch for the Michigan team," I blurted out as I approached him.

He stopped and looked over at me. "Yes, I know who you are. You're quite the pitcher, young man."

He stuck his hand out for me to shake, and the sincerity I saw in his smile helped to settle my frazzled nerves.

"Do you have any tips for the game tomorrow?" I asked. I was afraid I might be pushing my luck at this point, but I'd never forgive myself if I chickened out.

"The Bulldog" crossed his arms over his chest and studied me closely for a few moments, appearing as if he was thinking something over. I figured he was probably trying to think of a way to brush me off without being rude. I just stood there shaking like a leaf, waiting for the inevitable "I'm really busy right now," or even worse, something patronizing like, "I'm sure you'll do just fine, kid."

Needless to say, his response surprised the hell out of me.

"Tell you what, kid. Meet me down at the field down there," he said, pointing down the hill to the closest practice field, which happened to still be lit. "Go grab your glove and your catcher, and we'll go over a few things."

I yelped for joy, and was ready to bound off back to The Grove to grab my glove -- and Brennan, of course -- when he stopped me.

"Do me a favor, though, bud? Don't tell anyone about this, except for your catcher. Don't even tell your coach. I really shouldn't be doing this. I don't want it to seem like anyone is getting some kind of advantage or special attention. Just keep it between us, okay?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Bull ... errr, Mr. Hershiser," I agreed. "I'll see ya in a few!"

I ran at top speed back to The Grove, and found Brennan immersed in a heated foosball game with Jacky, my buddy from the Chinese Taipei team. I'd meant to talk to Jacky, maybe even give him a hug or two to console him after their tough loss, but there was no time for that now.

"Brennan, ya gotta come with me, man!" I said, tugging at his arm in a near state of panic. I was terrified that Orel Hershiser would give up and leave if we took too long to get back there.

"What's wrong with you, Grady? I'm in the middle of a game, dude," he said, looking over his shoulder, obviously annoyed with me for interrupting him.

"Please don't ask any questions. I'll tell you in a minute," I replied, exasperated.

"What the fuck is up with you, man?" he asked, looking more and more aggravated by the minute. By this time, several other guys had started to gather around, including Mr. Bellinger.

"What's going on here, Grady?" Coach jumped in. "Is something wrong?"

I sighed. "I just wanna go out with Brennan and toss a few balls around, work on a few pitches before the game tomorrow."

It wasn't exactly a lie, but it wasn't the total truth either. I kind of left out the part about a famous Major League pitcher coaching me!

"I don't want you tiring out your arm, son," he continued. "I need to have you at 100% tomorrow."

"I'll be fine, I promise," I assured him.

"Okay, go on then, but be back by curfew, boys."

Brennan still looked irritated as I grabbed him by the hand and practically dragged him out the door. Right before he unleashed a stream of profanities at me, though, I cut him off.

"Brennan, you're my best friend in the whole world, and I love you more than anything else. Please, just trust me," I begged. We'd already been through so much over the past few days. I couldn't afford to have him angry at me again.

Brennan just shrugged his shoulders and continued following me down to the practice field.

As soon as we arrived, and Brennan saw who was standing there by the mound, holding his glove and appearing somewhat impatient, I was sure that he was about ready to shit all over his little tighty-whiteys.

"Oh my fucking God!" he practically shouted. "He's going to play with us?!"

Orel Hershiser arched an eyebrow as Brennan just stood there gawking.

"Uhhh, sorry, sir ... I didn't mean to curse," Brennan said, blushing fiercely as he realized his faux pas.

"No sweat, kid," Orel responded with a grin. "Just get back there behind the plate and let's see what your friend's got."

I didn't waste any time, and ran right out to the mound. Brennan took up his position behind the plate, and I started hurling a combination of fastballs, change-ups and curveballs. After a good twenty or so pitches, Orel walked out to the mound.

"Your delivery is pretty good," he began. "You've definitely got a good heater, and your curve ball breaks nicely. There are a couple of small things you can work on mechanically, though."

I nodded as Orel Hershiser continued with his tutorial session. He showed me how to dig a small ditch in front of the pitching rubber, plant my foot inside, and then use the rubber to push off from to give my pitches more power. He also showed me how to synchronize the torque of my hips, torso and shoulder, likewise providing more power, and to kick my leg a bit higher during my windup, which he explained would be a bit more deceptive to the hitters. Finally, he warned me that eventually, as I moved along in my baseball "career," the batters would start to catch up to my fastball, so I had to learn to mix up my pitching strategy a little more and not rely entirely on my 80 mph heater. Personally, I thought I already had a good change-up and curve ball, although I figured it probably wouldn't hurt my future prospects to work in a decent slider as well.

By the time he was done explaining everything to me, and demonstrating a few things himself -- Brennan couldn't believe he was catching pitches thrown by the great Orel Hershiser! -- I was worn out, perhaps more emotionally than physically.

By the time we said our good-byes and made our way back to the dorm, Brennan was bubbling over with excitement. He insisted that the only thing cooler would have been to hang out with Ivan "Pudge" Rodriguez, perhaps the best catcher of all time. It took a lot of convincing on my part, but I explained to him the importance of keeping quiet about our little workout.

Back in our room, everyone was getting ready for bed. I gathered up my toiletries and headed for the shower room. As soon as I walked in, I stopped dead in my tracks -- Tom was standing under the shower head furthest from the door, facing away from me, and obviously having a tough time washing himself with only one arm. Obviously, I'd been fantasizing about seeing Tom like this for days now, but now, faced with my fantasy in real life, I suddenly felt like I was going to faint.

It was the most beautiful vision I had ever seen in my entire life. I was dumbstruck, watching the water trickle down his muscular back, all the way down his small, firm butt cheeks, that seemed just as tanned as the rest of his body. As he struggled with the soap, I noticed his muscles flexing, and my own pricklet -- which by this time was raging hard -- seemed to pulse in time with the rippling of his taut teenage muscles.

I knew I had to get out of there. I could save my own shower for the morning when there would be less of a ..... err, distraction. I started to leave, but it was too late.

"Hey, you!" I heard him call, his voice as chipper as usual.

I turned back around and saw him looking at me over his shoulder, his familiar smile appearing as though he was glad to see me. I was a little amazed at how quickly our friendship had been developing. It wasn't like I didn't know him before -- after all, we were teammates. But, we were probably the two shyest guys on the team, and we'd never really seemed to hit it off. Not to mention, even though we lived in the same town, he went to a private Episcopalian school, not the public school like most of us. Also, I'd always been too wrapped up in my friendship with Brennan to really notice Tom. Now, I was glad that I had, but a little scared as well. What he said to me next didn't help that at all, either.

"Could you do me a favor?" he asked.

I just stood there looking at him dumbly, thanking God that he hadn't turned around completely, or I probably really would have fainted. As it was, I was already trembling, and I could literally feel those "raging hormones" that I'd heard so much about, surging throughout my body. I was willing myself not to throw up right then and there.

He furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at me through the stream of water. "Grady? Are you okay?"

"Uhhh, yeah ... sure, I'm fine," I stammered. "Need me to get you a towel or something?"

"Errr, no," he replied, now blushing. "Do you think maybe you could help me wash me back? It's a little hard to do with only one arm."

Immediately, flashes of stories I'd read online burst into my already confused mind. This was how it always started, I thought to myself. One boy asks another to help him wash in the shower, and then BAM! It would all be downhill from there ... things could happen! I really had to get out of there!

"Please, Grady?"

Shit, he was practically begging now!

"I ... I can't ... I'm sorry!" I shouted, surprising myself with the forcefulness of my response.

Without waiting for a response, I ran out of the shower room and back to our dorm. I was sure Tom was confused by my reaction, but I didn't care. I was terrified. I hated the way I'd been looking at Tom, the way he was making me feel. I'd been dealing with these feelings ever since we got here, and I was sick and fucking tired of it! Part of me wished we'd never come to this damn tournament at all.

"Grady?" I heard Tom's small voice behind me. Then I felt his hand rest softly on my shoulder.

"Don't touch me, you perv!" I shouted, turning around and violently swatting his hand away. "Just leave me the fuck alone!"

I could already feel the tears in my eyes, and saw the confusion -- and fear -- in Tom's.

I headed immediately for Coach's room. It was the only place I could think of to get away at this time of night. I knocked on the door, and thankfully he answered. He was still wet from his own shower.

"What's wrong, Grady?" he asked, a look of concern coming over his face. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Can I sleep in here tonight, Coach?" I asked feebly. "I'm not gonna be able to sleep in there tonight. I need some peace and quiet."

I was hoping that my pathetic excuse would work and that he wouldn't ask any questions. I didn't know how I would be able to answer them. My brain was already too fried to be able to put together anything coherent.

"Uhhh, yeah, I guess," he replied, looking even more bewildered now. "I suppose I can sleep on your bed in the other room."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Coach."

"No sweat, bud," he said, patting me gently on the shoulder. "Try to get a good night's sleep, and don't get yourself too worked up. Everything will be fine tomorrow."

I was so relieved as I got myself tucked into bed. I had at least one more night that I could avoid things. If I could just make it one more night without exploding ...

Just as I turned off the light, I heard a soft knock at the door, shuddering at the thought that it was probably Tom, coming to tempt me some more.

What the fuck did he want from me?! I thought.

My hands were shaking as I opened the door, but fortunately, it was just Brennan.

I breathed a sigh of relief and nearly collapsed into his arms.

"What's wrong, man?" he asked, looking as worried and bewildered as his dad had looked just a few minutes before. "Did something happen with Tom? He's all upset now, and he won't talk to me."

Shit! I thought to myself. Upsetting Tom was the last thing I'd wanted. He hadn't really done anything wrong. It was all me ... I was the fucked up pervert!

"No, nothing's wrong," I mumbled. "I'm just a little worked up about tomorrow, that's all."

"Dude, we just had the best day of our lives! You were all excited just a few minutes ago, and now you're all freaking out on me. What's going on with you lately? You've been acting weird ever since we got here."

I felt completely embarrassed as Brennan chastised me. All I could do was stare at my feet and listen. I had been acting like a freak. I went totally nutso over David, I'd intentionally beaned Dalton with a baseball, and alienated Brennan with my fucked up behavior. Now, I'd fucked up yet again.

Brennan's voice softened, and he placed a hand on my shoulder. "I know this is a lot of pressure, and I know I haven't been as good a friend as I should have been ... but something else is going on, man. You've gotta talk to me."

I knew I needed to talk to someone, and if I was going to, Brennan would be that person, especially now that David was gone. For some reason, I thought he would understand. I wanted so badly to get all of this off my chest ... but now wasn't the right time.

"I'll tell you, Brennan," I whispered. "Just not now."

"Let me help you, Grady," he said, his voice sounding more tender and gentle than I'd ever heard. "Whatever it is, we'll figure it out. It kills me to see you like this."

"Stay with me tonight, Brennan," I asked, forcing myself to look him in the eyes. The love and concern I saw there was enough to melt even the coldest of hearts.

Brennan just nodded, took my hand, and led me over to the bed, crawling in behind me and wrapping his arms tightly around me. I felt safe again ... for at least one more night.

"Promise you'll never let go of me," I whispered.

"You know I won't," he answered, placing a soft kiss on the back of my head.

**************************************************

A good night's sleep had been what I needed. I woke up feeling refreshed, and although thoughts of the previous night's drama were still lingering, I felt better prepared to brush it off for now, at least until we finished our game. This was, of course, if I could hold myself together enough to pitch. It would have been nice to have a day off between the U.S. Championship and World Championship games, but as the old saying goes, there's no rest for the wicked.

That morning at breakfast, everyone was pumped up ... except for Tom. He sat by himself in the dining hall, picking at the toast on his plate. I winced as I thought about what I was doing to him, and at how much of a hypocrite I was -- even if I didn't know what that word meant yet.

I didn't have much time to dwell on that, though, as my teammates were all trying to get me psyched up for the game, as well as a few players from the other teams that were still hanging around, encouraging me to strike out every player on the Japanese team and win the championship for the U.S.

Breakfast was a quick affair, since Coach wanted us to go out to the batting cages to take a few practice swings and get warmed up. As I walked into our room to get changed into my uniform, I heard my cell phone ringing. I wasn't sure who it could be, as the only person who ever really called me was Brennan, or occasionally one of the other guys from our team. But, they were all here with me now.

"Hello?" I answered, hesitantly.

"Hey, Grady!" I heard the familiar voice on the other end.

"Oh my God, David!" I practically shouted. "Where are you?!"

"I'm so sorry for not saying good-bye to you, Grady. Things were so crazy, and a couple of my teammates got into a fight, so Coach was trying to get out of there as soon as possible."

I walked out of the room into the hallway, hoping to get a little privacy.

"I've really missed you," I whispered, fighting to hold back my tears. "Things have been sooo fucked up since you left."

"What's wrong?" he asked.

I still wasn't ready to tell him everything, but I had to at least get some of it off my chest. So, I told him what had happened with Tom the night before. I didn't elaborate much on what I was feeling, but I think I gave him the gist of it. And it did feel good to tell someone.

"Do you like Tom?" he asked, suddenly.

"Uhhh, yeah ... sure I do," I answered. "He's my friend, and he's a great ball player."

"That's not what I meant, Grady," he said.

Yeah, I know, I thought to myself. I liked Tom. I knew that now. But, I couldn't say it ... not to David, not to Brennan, not to Tom, and certainly not to myself!

"Look," he continued. "Don't worry about that right now. Just go out there and pitch. I'll be watching on TV, I promise. But you need to work things out after the game."

I sighed. "I know ... I just can't do it yet. I don't know what to say to him ... or Brennan. And I hate keeping stuff from him. He's my best friend in the whole world."

David didn't say anything for a few moments, and I didn't know what else I could say.

"You know, Grady," he said, breaking the silence. "I'm your friend, too. You can talk to me any time you need to."

"Thanks, David."

"And ... even if it doesn't work out ... with Tom and all ... well, you know I like you, right?"

"I like you, too, David," I admitted. "A lot."

That was the closest I'd gotten yet to really admitting what I was feeling to someone. Somehow, it felt like such a huge relief, and I was a little surprised that the sky didn't come crashing down with my confession. Unfortunately, it wouldn't do me much good, what with him living hundreds and hundreds of miles away in bum-fuck Alabama.

He hesitated a moment before continuing. "And if we didn't live so far apart, things would be ... different between us, right?"

"Yeah, they would," I whispered. "I really like you."

"Now, go out there and mow 'em down, Grady. I'll be watching."

And with that, we said our good-byes and hung up. I was upset that he wouldn't be there to see me play, but knowing that he would still be watching made me feel better. And now I knew how he felt, and how I felt. And, even though it was too late to do anything about that, it still somehow felt good.

"Brennan, language," we heard Mr. Bellinger warn from somewhere behind us. Brennan's only response was to look at me and roll his eyes, the huge grin never leaving his face. He hadn't calmed down one bit, and I was starting to wonder if I'd have to knock him over the head with a baseball bat to get him to go to sleep on the bus.

After packing up our things, we'd barely had time to say good-bye to everyone at The Grove. We all exchanged e-mail addresses and phone numbers with the new friends we'd made, and received plenty of congratulations, even from the teams we'd defeated. I also managed to get a good-bye hug (and a kiss on the cheek!) from my buddy, Jacky. I was really going to miss that cute little guy, and despite the language barrier, I hoped we'd be able to stay in touch.

Making our way to the parking lot, we were swarmed by tons of kids, all wanting to get our autographs. It was kind of a surreal experience; I'd never seen anything like it. After I got past the initial shock of why anyone would want my autograph (I was just a twelve-year-old kid, for chrissakes!), I did my best to sign everyone's programs and baseballs, and probably bumped fists with more kids in those ten or fifteen minutes than I had all year.

As we finally got ready to board the bus, Brennan pulled me aside. He looked very serious -- a stark contrast from just a few minutes before.

"Grady, I was thinkin'," he began, looking slightly hesitant. "Maybe it would be a good idea if you sat with Tom for a while, at least for part of the ride back."

Tom.

I hadn't thought about him at all during our rushed celebrations. In fact, I hadn't even noticed him until I looked up into the bus and saw him putting his things down on one of the seats toward the middle of the bus. Everyone else was packing themselves into the last few rows as we always had, trying to put as much distance between us and the chaperones.

"Why, man? I wanna sit with the rest of the guys!" I argued.

Well, not really, I thought. I'd never been a big fan of hanging out in the back of the bus with the rest of the guys, being all loud and obnoxious, with their farting contests and endless talk about girls' tits. Plus, the last time I'd been in the back of the bus with them ... well, the "truth or dare" game from the trip down here was still fresh in my mind. But, that was still better than being forced to confront Tom. It wasn't that I didn't like Tom; obviously, the problem was that I did like Tom, and after my conversation with David, I was now starting to understand what that actually meant.

"C'mon, dude," Brennan insisted. "The whole time we were celebrating, he was just sorta standing there, moping around. I know it's because of the fight you two had, and it'd really suck if the whole thing got ruined for him. You two need to kiss and make up."

I didn't exactly like the way Brennan had phrased that, but he did have a point. I hadn't noticed that Tom looked upset, but Brennan wouldn't lie to me about something like that. It certainly wasn't fair that this whole experience be ruined for him because of something I did. Yes, I could admit it ... I was completely at fault for what had happened. Mr. Bellinger had always told us how we were now becoming young men and we needed to act like it ... I needed to act like it and apologize to Tom for being such an ass and freaking out. I was the one who had wanted to be friends with him, and just as we were really starting to become good friends, I had to go and ruin it.

I sighed and gave Brennan a quick fist bump. "Sure, I'll do it."

I tried to sound confident, but I sure wasn't feeling that way.

As I walked up the steps of the bus and started down the aisle, carrying my pillow, blanket and overnight bag, I saw Tom sitting by himself, staring out the window at the now nearly empty parking lot. The bus was dark, but the lights from outside cast a pale glow on the inside of the bus and illuminated Tom's face just enough to see the unmistakable sign of tear stains on his cheeks.

"Tom, can I sit here?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

He jerked his head to look at me, and I was afraid he was going to bite my head off for being such a dick to him.

But, instead, he just smiled wanly. "Yeah, if you want."

I shoved my bag under the seat and plopped down beside him. We sat there in silence for a few minutes as the rest of the team filed past us and got situated, and Mr. Bellinger gave us one more congratulatory speech.

Soon enough, though, the bus quieted down. It had been a very long and exciting day and it was well past our bedtime. However, I was still wide awake, and I saw that Tom was, too.

"Hey," I said, finally turning to look at him.

"Hey."

"You okay?" I asked.

He nodded, never taking his eyes off of me. His steady stare was unnerving, but as uncomfortable as I felt right then, as much as I wanted to look away, I couldn't.

"Tom, I .....," I began. But, I couldn't get the words out. I wasn't even sure what I was trying to say. That I was sorry? That I was feeling something for him, but wasn't quite sure what?

"We'd probably better get to sleep," he finally said, breaking the awkward silence.

I sighed and nodded, frustrated at myself. Maybe a good night's sleep would help ... well, as much as sleeping on a bumpy bus ride could be called a "good night's sleep."

I leaned my chair back, propped up my pillow, and offered some of my blanket to Tom, which he pulled up around himself.

My eyes had only been closed for a few moments when I heard his small voice. "Can we maybe have a little cuddle?"

I felt the same wave of fear that I'd felt the day before in the shower room course through me, but I quickly forced it down. I wasn't going to run away this time, not if it meant hurting Tom again.

"Sure," I said, as I shifted around in my seat so we could both lie down on the seats. I spooned up behind him and wrapped my arm around his small frame, nuzzling my face into the nape of his neck.

As I began to drift off to sleep to the rhythm of Tom's gentle breathing, I couldn't remember ever feeling so comfortable before.

End of Part 1