“What?” Coop and I both ask.
“Turns out, the Rockies owner doesn’t like Kayla Carville’s style, and it’s a contract year for both the Mudflaps and the Firebirds’ Triple-A team. So Kayla proposed a swap … as long as the Fischer bros were part of the deal,” Logan says.
“WHAT?” I almost scream.
“That’s right,” Lucas says. “She said she wanted the Fischer bros, and she managed to convince the Rockies that theydon’twant to be in the Mudflaps business and the Firebirds that theydo. Oh, and we’ve been placed on the Firebirds’ extended roster!”
“AAAHHH!” I jump up and hug my brothers, stomping my feet excitedly and squeezing them for dear life. “I’m so happy for you guys!”
When I let go, I give Coop a shocked look, and he just smiles. Lucas grabs a handful of nuts and bolts and throws them in his mouth while he sits back down at the table.
But Coop’s eyes move to Logan’s.
“What do you think, Logan?” he asks. “Are you upset?”
“No, I’m worried,” he says. “I’m worried I’m not there yet.”
“You’ll get there,” Coop says.
“You said I telegraph my pitches.”
“You do.”
“I’ve watched tape on myself. What do you see that I don’t?”
“It’s your curveball.”
“I have one of the best curveballs in the minors.”
“Yeah, but you pause when your left knee is up during windup. You’re probably checking your grip, or something, but it’s just long enough. And minor leagues don’t have pitch readers on staff, but the majors do. A pitch reader will be able to call that out every time.”
Logan sniffs, and Lucas laughs at him. “You pause.”
“Ipause?” Logan asks. “Coop … would you … mind … helping … me?”
Coop laughs. “Was that really so painful?”
“Yes,” Logan says.
“I’m happy to,” Coop says.
Logan looks relieved, but Lucas is still snorting.
“Yuk it up,” Logan says, getting back to his gingerbread house. “He said webothtelegraph our pitches.”
Lucas sits straighter. “What? What do I do?”
“I told you this last season,” I say. “You raise your glove too high on your slider.”
“And you keep your glove at your chest on your changeup,” Coop says. “It’s a dead giveaway to anyone who can read a pitch.”
“If it’s so obvious, how come no one has ever mentioned this?” Lucas says.
“I said it!” I protest. “You just didn’t believe me. You guysneverbelieve me when it comes to baseball.”
Logan frowns, putting a Skittle on his poorly frosted roof. “We believe you, we just …” The tweebs look at each other. “Mom told us we needed to look out foryou. She made us promise that we wouldn’t let you spend all your time behind a desk or computer screen mapping out our futures,” Lucas says.
She what? My tone softens as I think of my mom thinking ofme. “So why wouldn’t you believe me?”
