Dugout Rivals by Fred Bowen

Chapter
1
    J ake Daley and Ryan Duckett stood at the edge of a large field to watch dozens of players try out for the Woodside Baseball League. Jake and Ryan had brought their baseball gloves to the park even though they weren’t trying out. The two friends were already on the Red Sox. They were spending this cool spring Saturday morning on the lookout for good players who might help their team.
    Together they scanned the players at the four different stations: running, batting, pitching, and fielding. Jake’s eyes settled on ten kids getting ready for a 30-yard dash at the running station. At the sound of the whistle, the runners took off. Oneboy pulled ahead quickly and flashed across the finish line two full strides ahead of the pack.
    “Hey, who’s that kid?” Jake asked.
    Ryan had seen him too. “I don’t know,” he said. “But he sure is fast. He won that race easy.”
    Jake watched the boy pick up his glove and move to the pitching station. He was tall and slender with long arms and legs. His dark hair was tucked under a blue baseball cap.
    “I think I’ve seen that kid around,” Jake said, squinting into the sun. “He looks familiar.”
    Ryan shrugged. “I’ve never seen him.”
    “He might be a guy who could really help us,” Jake said. “Let’s go talk to him.”
    Jake and Ryan moved toward the line of players where the mystery kid was waiting to pitch. As Jake got closer to the line, he noticed the red
B
for Boston on the boy’s baseball hat.
    “Hey, nice hat!” Jake called out.
    The boy turned and smiled. “Yeah, my mom’s a big Red Sox fan,” he said.
    “My dad is too,” Jake said, tapping the same red
B
on his own hat. “I’m Jake. Jake Daley.” He turned and pointed his thumb at Ryan. “This is Ryan Duckett. We’re both on the Red Sox. Hey, maybe you’ll make our team.”
    “Yeah, that would be cool,” the boy said as he looked at the pitching hopefuls waiting in line. “But I just want to make
a
team. I really don’t care which one.”
    “What’s your name?” asked Jake.
    “Oh yeah. I’m Adam Hull.”
    Jake took the baseball out of his glove and held it up. “You want to warm up?” he asked Adam.
    “Yeah, but I don’t want to lose my place in line.”
    “I’ll hold your spot,” Ryan said.
    Adam stepped out of line and jogged a few yards away from Jake. The two boys started throwing the ball back and forth, softly at first and then harder as they moved farther away from each other.
    “Do you go to Whitman?” Jake asked.
    “Yeah,” Adam answered. “I just started last month.”
    “I thought I’d seen you around.”
    “Probably. You live on Warren Street, right?” Adam asked.
    “Yeah, 17 Warren.” Jake threw the ball harder.
    Adam caught it easily. “My mom lives on Lewis. I’ve seen you on the bus in the morning. You’re a couple of stops after mine.” He went into his easy pitching motion and uncorked a fastball.
Ssssssmack!
The ball sizzled through the air and whacked into Jake’s glove.
    “Watch out,” Jake warned. “You don’t want to throw too hard so early in the season. You’ll hurt your arm.”
    “You mean I’ll hurt
your
hand!” Adam laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not throwing that hard.”
    Not throwing that hard?
Jake tried not to notice the stinging in his hand. Ignoring his own advice, Jake threw his hardest fastball to Adam. With a casual flick of his glove, Adam caught the ball inches from his left ear.
    Wow, my best fastball didn’t even faze this guy,
Jake thought.
    Ryan waved from the front of the pitching station line. “You’d better get over here,” he called.
    “Gotta go,” Adam said, flipping the ball to Jake. “Thanks.”
    “Good luck,” Jake said. “See you on the bus. Or maybe on the Red Sox.”
    Jake and Ryan moved to the side of the field and sat down in the cool grass. “That Adam guy looks pretty good,” Ryan said.
    “
Pretty good?
” Jake blurted out. “He’s great. He can throw … and catch