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  Adler doesn’t want to do that.

  “Okay, so we’re waiting here.” I take out my phone. “Adler is an unusual name for a dog. Do you know what your name means? My name, Jeremiah, means ‘exalted of God,’ which is a lot to live with. Let’s see. Adler . . .” I’m scrolling through names. Aaron, Abner . . .

  You’ve got to be kidding. I look at this dog. “Adler, in German your name means ‘eagle.’ This is deep. Do you understand? You’re one of us!”

  Adler wags his tail, and now Franny walks out her door, dressed like she’s going for a run.

  I wave. “Can I talk to you, Franny?”

  She jogs over.

  “I need to tell you something.”

  “What?”

  Last night Walt told me he thought we’d be here through June seventh, which is not a lot of time. “But,” he told me seriously, “I’m hoping that will change.”

  “Me too, Walt. Is there anything you—”

  “It’s complicated, Jer. I don’t mean to be mysterious.”

  This is not like my dad, but when you’re not sure how many days you have left in a place, you have to decide to not let things stop you.

  So I tell her. About the snack room, and Walt finding me, and my mother leaving the baby eagle for me to gnaw on.

  “You’re kidding.” She sits on the grass.

  I tell her about the note on my baby chair. My heart transplant. I tell her almost everything, except the fact that I almost died and that my new heart is named Alice.

  She sits there looking at me.

  “And I don’t know, Franny. I’ve always thought something hard, maybe not like that exactly, might have happened to you.”

  She sighs deeply and folds her arms tight across her chest. “Something did happen.”

  I wait for her to tell me and she doesn’t. I don’t think this is fair.

  “I told you close to everything about my life, Franny.”

  “What did you leave out?”

  “Unimportant, random stuff.”

  “Like what?” She’s waiting.

  Okay, you asked for it.

  “My favorite color: gold. Favorite food: barbecue.”

  She leans back on her elbows.

  “Favorite baseball player: Jackie Robinson. Second favorite: Lou Gehrig. Third favorite: Roberto Clemente. Is this boring you?”

  She laughs. “A little!”

  “Then tell me what happened to you or I won’t stop.”

  She shakes her head.

  “Favorite cereal: Cheerios.”

  “Cheerios?”

  “Everyone loves Cheerios. Favorite small, adorable animal: brown bunny.”

  “Awww . . .”

  “Favorite large, ugly animal: rhinoceros.”

  “Baby rhinos are cute!”

  “Favorite arthropod: centipede. Favorite punctuation mark: semicolon. Favorite scientific fact: stars die but keep shining.”

  “They do?”

  “Favorite cookie: potato chip. You crush a whole bag of chips to make them. Favorite seven-word joke: A duck walks into a bar. Ouch.” That always broke Uncle Jack up.

  She doesn’t laugh.

  I’m speeding through. “Favorite superhero: Iron Man. Favorite eagle: golden. Favorite city: Toronto. Favorite pizza: meatball. Favorite flavor: coffee. Favorite life moment: when Walt found me. Favorite word—”

  “Baseball,” she says.

  I shake my head. “Soar.”

  “Soar?”

  “It’s what eagles do more than other birds. They wait for the right air current and they ride it higher than the clouds.”

  She looks at me. “I’ve never met a boy like you, Jeremiah.”

  “Good. I try to be memorable.” I lean back, exhausted.

  “My dad left,” she says.

  I sit up.

  “Four years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Mrs. Prim is on her porch, trying to listen.

  “I don’t want to talk about it here, Jeremiah.”

  “Let’s walk. Adler, we’ll be back. Good dog.”

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  We are walking through the Peaceful Lutheran Church parking lot, which is a very interesting place, beginning with the sign: LORD, MAKE ME AN INSTRUMENT OF YOUR PEACE.

  “I’ve never seen that in a parking lot before, Franny.”

  “They don’t have enough parking spaces on Sunday. People get pretty worked up.”

  We’re about to sit on a bench. It reads: THE WAGES OF SIN IS DEATH.

  I’m sure that’s true, but I don’t want to sit on it.

  The bench in front of the fountain has this:

  BE STRONG AND VERY COURAGEOUS.

  Much better. We sit on that.

  And she tells me . . .

  “My dad up and left four years ago and never came back. He left a good-bye note saying he was sorry; he couldn’t be part of our family anymore. Bo found the note when he came down for breakfast. It was on the kitchen table.” She starts to sway a little. “I don’t know why he left. I wonder if it was something about me.”

  “No,” I tell her. “It was about him.”

  “You didn’t know him.”

  “But I know about this.”

  It’s like a faucet turns on. “He left most of the money and the car. He took his clothes.” She’s looking at the ground, rocking back and forth. “We were in shock. Benny’s mom found out and she came over and cooked for us and helped me and Bo with homework. She helped Mom get out of the house. She was amazing . . . I would do anything for her.”

  That’s why you take care of Benny, I bet.

  “And I don’t know why, Jeremiah, but I don’t remember much about my dad. I can’t remember his voice or what we were doing around the time he left, or even what he liked to do. I mean, I know he played baseball. He was on a minor league team. He never made it big. El Grande says he went through life being disappointed.” She closes her eyes. “And I don’t want to be like that!”

  “You’re not.”

  She shakes her head. “Mom got an investigator to try to find him to pay child support. There was some talk he’d been seen in Canada . . .”

  Canada. Okay . . . now I get it.

  We sit here on the BE STRONG AND VERY COURAGEOUS bench.

  “Did you ever get your dad’s trunk open? The one Bo found in—”

  “Yes. We opened it.”

  I wait. “What was inside?”

  “Baseball stuff.” She’s rocking again. “And a map of Canada. That might not mean anything.”

  Or it might. I wish I had a trunk. A clue.

  It starts to rain. “You want to be my best friend in this town?” I ask her.

  She looks at the fountain. “Yeah. I think I do.”

  Chapter

  34

  WE CAN HEAR the thunder pounding outside. It’s supposed to rain for three days, soaking the baseball fields. But inside the batting cages, all is dry.

  I convinced Franny to come with the team to practice—it wasn’t easy. Benny doesn’t come because the sound hurts his ears.

  “This pitching machine can be your best friend,” I tell them, “or it can beat you bloody. Fast, slow, medium.” Every one of the Eagles picks slow. “We’ll start there. I want you to keep your eye on the ball, and remember, these will keep coming at you.”

  Four guys are in four cages.

  Four guys swing hard and miss most of the pitches.

  Danny in cage three falls down, shouting he’s getting attacked by baseballs.

  Donald, Terrell, Alvin, and Handro are next. And Donald is on this. He’s swinging through, not hitting everything, but he’s hitting some. There’s a big smile on his face.

  “Yes!” I shout to him.


  He keeps swinging. “I think I figured out what I’m doing wrong.” He turns to me and gets attacked by balls.

  “Shut off the machine, Donald!”

  Franny is standing there. “I want you to do this,” I tell her.

  Terrell gets hit by a ball and comes out of the cage rubbing his arm. “Good luck, girl.”

  She goes inside the cage.

  “You turn on the—”

  “I know what to do.” She turns on the machine to “medium” and stands there, knees bent, bat ready. First pitch, she nails it. Second, again. Third, fourth, fifth—this girl doesn’t miss. She’s focusing in.

  Wham.

  Some of the guys are gathering around.

  Logo says, “She’s good for a girl.”

  Those words hang there.

  “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, I swear!”

  Franny glares at him. She turns the machine to “fast.” Ball after ball.

  Wham.

  Crack.

  Connect.

  Hit after hit.

  “That’s a homer right there!” I shout. “We win!”

  The guy who runs the place comes by. “That’s better than yesterday, Franny.”

  I look at her. “You were here yesterday?”

  The guy laughs. “She’s been here every day for two weeks. She’s a serious hitter.”

  She shrugs. “Okay, so I’d like to be an Eagle.”

  “You already are one.”

  The guys cheer.

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Batting practice.

  Not in a cage.

  Walt gets off at four o’clock to come and give us some pointers. He shows us what a fastball looks like coming at you. A curve. A junk ball. One that’s going in the dirt.

  “Get used to what they look like,” Walt says, “and you’ll know when to swing and when not to.”

  Not swinging isn’t one of our specialties.

  “Here’s a curveball,” Walt shouts, “that will not be a strike. Don’t swing at this. Watch.”

  Walt throws and Sky the pitcher watches it whiz by in the dirt.

  “Patience is one of the biggest lessons a batter has to learn,” Walt explains. “Only swing at the good pitches.” Donald is listening to this like his life depends on it. “Make the pitcher throw strikes. You stand there and ignore the junk. Come on, Donald. Batter up.” Donald gets in place, waiting. Walt gets ready to throw again. “This is going to be high. You don’t bother with this. Watch . . .”

  Donald stands there and doesn’t swing as the junk ball comes in.

  “Okay?”

  “Yeah, Mr. Lopper. Okay.”

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Warm-ups. Sidesteps. Crossovers. Skipping. Walking backward.

  El Grande has the team doing it all.

  He and I practice signals—and these get weird. Ear tugging, one nose tap, two nose taps, chest pats, left arm up, right arm up, tug your earlobe.

  Benny is very good at copying this. He’ll stand next to me and tap his nose and raise his hand exactly right. He’s loving the walking backward and the running, too.

  “Benny,” I say, “you’re a good runner.”

  Benny grins and runs away from me when I say it. He’s kind of our mascot and ball boy and statistician rolled into one. Benny’s dad, Mr. Lewis, sits with him now that Franny is playing.

  A few people come to watch us practice. Hargie’s dad comes and sits with Mr. Lewis, but doesn’t stay long. “I appreciate what you’re doing!” he shouts to us.

  Rabbi Tova comes with her little daughter, Hannah, who wants to play first base for the Red Sox. She asks Franny for her autograph. Franny signs it, Girls on First.

  Mr. Hazard has the team walk onto the stage at assembly as the Hillcrest Middle School marching band plays “We Will Rock You” really badly.

  We haven’t rocked anybody yet.

  Or maybe we have.

  Mr. Hazard shows up wearing an eagle costume and starts dancing by our bus. He says he’s been looking for an eagle costume since we changed our name. “Most of them looked like chickens,” he tells us. “And I wasn’t going there.” He’s a very different man when he’s in this outfit.

  We’ve got a new name, a mascot, and a rabbi. Now all we have to do is win.

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Winning keeps not happening.

  We play badly against the Falcons, and eagles should beat falcons with one wing tied behind their backs. Danny injures his throwing arm in that game—he can’t play. Franny takes first base, and Benchant replaces Danny on third.

  Our pitching falls apart, too.

  We almost win against St. Catherine’s, but Logo bobbles the ball on a close play at home plate and we lose, 4–3.

  Danny comes to practice in a cast. “I can’t play, but I can cheer!” He sits with Benny and they yell, “Go Eagles!”

  Yeah, that’s us now. But something else is happening. El Grande says it: “A few weeks ago, I would have said you weren’t good enough to win, but now you are.”

  There is something about those words that sends a whoosh through the Eagles, like an air current lifting us higher. We are so ready for our next game against the Tornadoes—we played them before, and now we’ll get another shot. But we get rained out! Sky screams that he can pitch in the rain.

  “Save that energy for the next game,” El Grande tells him.

  Chapter

  35

  WALT AND DR. DUGAN are eating a lot of fish together. I go to a couple of those dinners, and I need to warn any kid: do not go on a date with your father.

  I mean, the looks on their faces. The arm around the shoulder. The lowered voices.

  Can’t you guys just talk in regular voices?

  Plus they laugh at things too long that are only a little funny. Walt is trimming his beard more, too. There are little beard hairs in the sink every day as opposed to once a month.

  And every time I see Dr. Dugan, I feel I should be getting some kind of examination. I can’t call her Sarah. I would never call Dr. Feinberg Irving!

  Walt is testing a gray SARB on the kitchen floor. It’s moving around Jerwal and then Adler really well.

  I stagger across the floor like I’ve been shot. I’m groaning a little, whispering, “Help. Help.” The SARB rolls up to me and completely shuts down.

  I know it takes time to get used to me, but come on!

  “What happened?” Walt checks his computer, checks the robot. “Why are you choking?” The SARB gives no clues. Walt picks it up. “You know, little guy, I can relate. I’ve got something I need to do, and I keep shutting down, too.”

  I don’t know what that is.

  “I’ve got to make a phone call, Jer.”

  Walt makes the call in his room with the door shut. That means he’s probably calling Dr. Dugan.

  “Something tells me this is deep, Jerwal.” Jerwal and the gray SARB follow me. I try to listen at the door.

  Walt shouts, “This is private, Jer.”

  I have a feeling this is going to affect me, too. Back to the kitchen with the robots. At least I’ve got company.

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  “Why are you choking out there, Alvin?”

  “I’m not getting to the ball in time . . .”

  “You’re there in time,” I tell him.

  He shrugs.

  “Are you telling yourself you can’t catch it?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe . . .”

  Last night I was reading about sports psychology. I will need to get a degree in this. “You know what causes people to choke, Alvin?”

  “Swallowing a chicken bone?”

  He’s serious.

  “Not that kind of choking; the kind that causes you to not do something you can do.”

 
Alvin shrugs.

  I put my hands in my pockets. “We don’t have to talk about this.” I start walking away.

  “Wait, Jeremiah. What’s the choking thing about?”

  I turn around. Give him what I learned.

  “You don’t tell yourself anything except ‘I’m going to catch this ball that’s coming at me and not run into my brother.’”

  “I’m going to catch this ball that’s coming at me and not run into my brother,” Alvin repeats.

  “That’s it.” I walk away, but I hear him say it again.

  “I’m going to catch this ball that’s coming at me . . .”

  I tell Franny to hit some poppers to Alvin, and you know what? He catches three out of four.

  “What happened with that last one?” I shout.

  He looks embarrassed. “I didn’t tell myself I could catch it.”

  “Talk to yourself out there, Alvin. Be a little crazy.”

  He smiles. “Okay, Coach.”

  Twice now!

  Twice I’ve been called Coach!

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  The Eagles are getting a good rep in town—not for winning, but for being the kind of team that people want to cheer for. I think it’s because we love the game and we’re good losers. We’ll take all the support we can get.

  The Brownie Bakery gives us free samples and has a GO EAGLES sign in their window. A bus from the Hillcrest Senior Citizens Center comes to watch us practice. These people have opinions.

  I don’t think he should be swinging that soon. Doesn’t it look like he’s swinging too soon, Harold?

  That girl out there needs to smile more.

  They should have better seats. More people would come if there were better seats.

  Pay attention, young man. You’re dropping too many balls!

  Mr. Hazard puts on his eagle costume, puts his arm around the old ladies, and shakes his wings. Everyone has a good time. That’s what we’re about. Come cheer for us—we’ll do our best to win, and we promise you’ll have fun.

  But not everyone in town cares about that.

  The team is having pizza at Junk Ball to celebrate that we’re getting better. Chip Gunther of Chip Gunther’s Sports is at a nearby table with his friends. He looks over at us, shakes his head like we’re morons, and says loudly so everybody can hear, “When that middle school team stops playing like turkeys, I’ll support them.”