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know that?” Jake asked.
    Adam jerked a thumb at Ryan. “When Ryan caught that fly ball in the first inning, I figured it was our lucky day.”
    “Just call me Babe Ruth,” Ryan said.

Chapter
8
    J ake stared at the back of his house. He took two steps forward and threw the tennis ball hard against it.
    Thwack!
The ball flew high in the air. Keeping his eye on the ball, Jake drifted back until he was almost at the back fence. The ball was headed into the next yard, but he ripped it from the air with a quick snap of his glove.
    “Nice catch. Are you trying to be our center fielder now?”
    Adam stood at the corner of the yard, a backpack slung over his shoulder.
    “Hey, what’s up?” Jake said.
    “I forgot my key,” Adam said with ashrug. “I can’t get into my house. Can I hang out here for a while?”
    “You’re always forgetting your key!” Jake said. “I’ll tell my dad.” He went inside and made his way downstairs to his father’s office. “Adam’s here,” he announced. “He forgot his keys. Again.”
    Mr. Daley raised one eyebrow. “You don’t sound too thrilled,” he said.
    “I don’t care. It’s just that he’s always coming over,” Jake said. “First he takes over the team and then he takes over my house.”
    Mr. Daley pushed back his desk chair and stood up. “Give Adam a break,” he said. “He’s new in town and new on the team. That’s not easy.”
    “I guess,” Jake said.
    “Come on,” Mr. Daley said, putting his arm around Jake. “Let’s go upstairs.”
    Jake and his dad went out into the yard. “Hi, Adam,” Mr. Daley said. “It’s nice to see you.”
    “I forgot my key,” Adam explained. “I just texted my mom. She’s going to leave work early and pick me up here, if that’s okay.”
    “That’s no problem,” Mr. Daley said. Then he turned to his son. “Right, Jake?” he asked. But it really wasn’t a question.
    “Um, sure,” Jake said.
    Jake watched his dad go back into the house. Then he looked at Adam. “So what do you want to do?”
    “What were you doing?” Adam said.
    “Practicing,” Jake answered. He tossed the tennis ball in the air and caught it. “Hey, let’s play Outs. We haven’t played that before.”
    “What’s Outs?”
    Jake began to explain the game as he walked around the backyard pointing. “Okay, one guy is in the field and the guy with the ball is the batter.”
    “Where’s the bat?” Adam asked, looking around.
    “No bat. The batter just throws the ball against the house, like when I practice grounders,” Jake said. He pretended to throw the ball at the house. “The fielder has to stand back here,” he went on, turning and walking farther into the yard. “Anygrounder that gets by the fielder is a single. Anything that lands in the yard past the bush is a double.”
    “What’s a triple?” Adam asked.
    “If it hits the fence on the fly,” Jake answered, pointing. “Anything over the fence is a home run.”
    “That’s real far,” Adam said, looking at the fence. “How can you get a home run?”
    “Oh, there are ways.” Jake smiled as he thought of a certain uneven spot on the house. “But I’m not telling you. That’s my home-field advantage.”
    “Come on,” Adam said. “You’ve already got a big advantage. I don’t even have my glove.”
    “We can share my glove. We only need one.” Jake flipped Adam the tennis ball. “You’re up first,” he said.
    The game was low scoring. Both boys were fast and good fielders. Not many “hits” got by them or fell onto the grass. Jake scored first when Adam bobbled a hot grounder.
    “That’s an error,” Jake said. “So I’m ahead, 1–0.”
    “It’s your lousy glove,” Adam said, smashinghis fist into the leather. “You should put some oil in the pocket. It’s too stiff.”
    “It wasn’t so stiff when you made that diving stop last inning,” Jake pointed out.
    Adam pulled ahead in the top of the last inning when the ball angled away from