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think in the majors they would have scored that as a base hit.”
    After the win at Maranatha, the Rockies dropped a pair of road games, and Coach Lathrop quit talking about getting a win in postseason play. In fact, he quit talking about much of anything.
    In the second road loss, the Rockies faced the Braves again. This time their pitcher was Rollins, a lefty with devastating stuff. He repeatedly handcuffed Pork Chop with a wicked backdoor slider and shut down the rest of the Rockies with a missile of a fastball. For good measure, he plunked Cody squarely in the ribs during his last at bat.
    Great, Cody thought as he trotted gingerly to first base. The only thing I’m going to lead the team in is bruises.

Chapter 4
Scared to Death

    C ody studied the calendar on his bedroom wall, marveling at how fast baseball season was whizzing by—just like a Madison fastball. August 3 was only three days away. Even under normal circumstances, he would have dreaded the date. After all, Lincoln was coming to town. But it also marked one year since his mom spent her last day on earth.
    “It’s just a day,” he muttered to himself. “Why be so afraid of it? I mean, why not worry about August second or fourth? What is it about the one-year mark that has me so freaked out?”
    He stared at the calendar some more. He thought about finding a black marker and completely filling in the square for that day. “Yeah,” he whispered sarcastically, “like that’s really going to help.”
    He grabbed the phone from his nightstand. “Blake,” he said when he heard the voice on the other end of the line, “I gotta see you, because I must be trippin’. I’m scared of my own calendar!”
    “Code,” Blake said, putting down his legal pad and stepping from behind his desk, “tell me what’s going on with you and your calendar. I know something’s wrong. You look like you just ate cat food or something.”
    Cody drew in a deep breath. “It’s just that I’m dreading something.”
    “What?”
    “This Saturday.”
    “What—you got a big game coming up?”
    Cody gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. Please, God, he prayed. No more crying. It just takes too much out of me.
    Blake was saying something. Cody had missed the first part of it, but now he heard, “I’m sorry, Cody. I just realized. About Saturday. It’s August third. That’s what’s bothering you.”
    Cody stared at the ceiling. “Yeah. The one-year anniversary of Mom’s death. I’ve been dreading it for, like, months. ’Cuz I know it’s all going to come back—all the emotions. Especially the sadness I felt when she died. The kind that seems like it’ll totally crush me sometimes. And I know I’ll remember how awkward and painful it was to be around the team, even the people at church.”
    Blake smiled sadly. “They treated you differently.”
    “Some of them did. It was like I had leprosy or something. Then, with the guys on the team—they didn’t know what to say. I remember Alston and Gage joking around in the van on the way back from this tournament in the Springs. And I’m thinking, How can you be laughing and joking around, you idiots? My mom’s dead! Dead! I wasn’t just mad at them. I was mad at the sun for shining and the birds for singing. I wanted to smack anybody who was smiling.”
    Blake nodded. “When my dad died of the heart attack, I wanted to puke every time some bubbly pop song came on the radio. And for the first time in my life, I noticed how fake those laugh tracks on old TV reruns sound. The truth is, I was mad at life simply for going on. I just wanted everything to stop—at least for a while. What I needed was a National Month of Mourning.”
    Cody plopped down in a metal folding chair and looked up at Blake. “You know, you’re, like, the only one who seems to understand the way I feel.”
    Blake shrugged. “I try.”
    “So, it’s been two years since your dad died.”
    “Yes.”
    “Why are you smiling,