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and hard, and that’s how he went after batters. He’d never been able to develop any other kind of reliable pitch. Most of the kids in their league feared his arm, but the ones with real skill—the ones who could connect—could knock his pitches over the fence.
    That’s what Price did.
    Bang.
    Second pitch.
    Over the fence, and just like that the Blue Jays were down 1–0.
    â€œCome on, Joey. Focus.” Butch Barrett’s voice rang out clearly, but Joey wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of even turning around.
    The rest of the Pirates didn’t fare as well against Joey’s arm. The cleanup batter, a kid named Wells, nearly got on. He protected the plate, nicking foul balls on a 3–2 count that cost Joey ten pitches before he struck him out.
    They changed sides with Coach Barrett slapping Joey on the back and telling him what a good job he did. He didn’t spend long in the dugout. Price put the Blue Jays next three batters down, but then Joey did the same to the Pirates. The third inning began with a single, then three more strikeouts for Price.
    Since the Blue Jays would start the next inning at the top of the order, Joey had an added incentive to focus on his pitching. He wanted revenge at the plate. He sat the first two Pirates down before he felt it.
    A twinge in his arm signaled that it was about to fade. He knew what would happen next. It was always the same. It felt like a little toothache in his elbow. Once it started, there was no turning it back, and, once it happened, his pitching quickly fell apart.
    Joey signaled Coach Barrett to take a time-out and come to the edge of the mound.
    â€œMy arm’s going, Coach.”
    Barrett glanced at the Pirates dugout. “Okay, but you gotta get us through this inning, Joey. We’re at the bottom of their order, so you should be fine. Just lob them over the plate. Our defense can handle these guys, even if they hit it.”
    Joey glanced at Leah and then at his parents in the stands. He didn’t want to look bad lobbing in pitches for kids to hit, but he wasn’t the kind of player to argue with his coach, so he winced and nodded and took the mound. He needed only one more out, so he tried to throw through the discomfort and give the next batter some heat, but the pain in his elbow made his throws wild and he walked the kid.
    Joey took a deep breath and started trying to lob them in like Coach said, but that didn’t work either. He walked a second batter. He grew so frustrated and overanxious that he walked a third man.
    â€œCome on, Joey Riordon. You can do it!” It was the coach’s son, yelling to him from second. Butch Barrett trying to coach him was worse to Joey than if his own mother had booed him from behind the backstop.
    Joey looked up into the stands, a big mistake. Leah caught his eye and looked away, embarrassed for him.
    Embarrassed? How awful was that? It didn’t get any worse. He had to get an out, get through this inning, and do his thing on first base.
    Full-out panic set in. His mouth went dry as cotton. With the bases loaded, he walked one in— walked one in— it was humiliating, especially with Butch Barrett shouting that he could do it.
    â€œJust focus , Joey!” the coach’s son shouted.
    There was only one way out of this nightmare. He had to put the next batter down. He couldn’t give up another run. He might already have cost them the game, but he had to finish this inning.
    His eyes strayed to the next batter. Price. His mind did a quick calculation of what would be worse—giving up a grand-slam home run or being yanked from the game. Why couldn’t Coach just let him off the mound when he felt his arm going and he was still on top? He looked good four batters ago. Joey wanted to scream, but now, he knew, it was all or nothing. He’d certainly rather give up the grand slam than get yanked like a panic-stricken loser.
    Joey looked