These aren’t little rafts.
They’re big, like thirty-five
feet long, and they hold
fifteen people, plus all the gear.
You sit on these padded
pontoons, and down
the river you go.
There are lots of other
rivers in lots of different
places you can raft like this.
But the Grand Canyon
is really special.
And instead of looking
down into it,
you’re looking up
out of it toward the rim.
The water is beautiful.
Kind of turquoise and white.
The rapids are rowdy.
But there are quiet stretches, too.
The canyon walls are steep.
Red and gray and purple layers,
and locked in them are all kinds of fossils.
The more we learn
about the trip, the more
excited I get. But the more
I mention it, the more
Will withdraws.
I wish he’d get excited, too.
The Night Before
Our last Little League game,
I stay over at Bram’s.
His mom makes homemade
pizza, and I’m not talking
about the frozen kind.
We watch A League of Their Own
on TV, to get us in the mood.
Whole teams of girls playing
baseball! Bram’s dad says
it’s a fictional story, but
the women’s league was real.
“Can you believe it?” I ask.
It was only because of the war,
says Bram. When the soldiers
came home, they quit playing.
“I know. And it probably
wouldn’t happen today,
because girls can be soldiers,
too. I guess they can do
anything boys can, huh?”
Nah. They couldn’t wrestle
Jack Swagger, I bet.
Jack Swagger is a professional
wrestling superstar, and he’s huge.
“Okay, maybe not. So, almost anything.”
I don’t know about all girls.
Some of them are pretty useless.
I think about Leah and Sara
and Star, who seem kind of useless.
But I don’t really know them.
Maybe they could play baseball
if they wanted to. As if they would.
“Well, Cat isn’t. I kind of hope
Coach Tom starts her tomorrow.”
You mean pitching?
Don’t you want to start?
“When Cat’s on, she might
be better than me, and
we have to win tomorrow
to get into the playoffs.”
She’s not better than you.
Maybe just as good.
He laughs, but I already
knew he was kidding.
I wasn’t kidding, though.
She might just be better.
To Beat the Heat
The game begins at nine a.m.
We’re all glad about that,
because it’s pretty warm already.
Coach Tom starts me,
and I pitch well until my arm
starts to get tired.
Cat takes over then, and
she pitches like a champ, too.
It’s zero to zero
until the last inning.
Some people call games
like this “pitchers’ duels.”
Others call them boring
because there isn’t a lot
of action on the field.
It’s the bottom of the sixth,
and last, inning. The Pirates are up.
Cat throws a hard pitch.
Bram can’t keep it
in his catcher’s glove.
It bounces to the backstop,
and the batter goes to first
on a passed ball.
Our whole team groans.
You can feel the energy shift.
“Don’t give up!” I yell.
Here comes the next batter.
Cat throws a strike.
A ball.
Another strike.
The batter connects
with the fourth pitch,
but he doesn’t hit hard.
It should be an easy out,
but the third baseman
bobbles it, then throws
over the head of our second
baseman. The ball rolls
The Pirates score.
And that’s the game.
Not to mention
the playoffs.
Our team finishes
the year in second place.
Not bad.
Just not good enough.
Hopefully
Cat and I will be more
than good enough to ace
the Great Robotics Challenge,
which is the following Saturday.
It won’t be easy.
Students from all over Nevada
are traveling to Vegas
to participate.
That’s a whole lot of kids.
Not to mention robots.
In a way, maybe it’s okay
that we didn’t make
the Little League playoffs,
or we would’ve had to decide
between that and this.
It would’ve been impossible
to show up for both.
You’d think adults
could figure out stuff better.
I guess not all teachers
are Little League fans.
Doesn’t matter.
Not a problem this year.
Dad Drops Me Off
In front of the community
center at 9:45 a.m.
I’m so, so sorry I can’t stay
and watch. It’s just—
“I know. You have to make up
for those days you took off
for Will, and for our vacation.”
Exactly. When did you turn
into an adult, anyway?
“Dad, I’m twelve. Don’t rush me.”
Ha-ha. Okay. Someone will
take videos, though, right?
“Pretty sure everyone will.”
Will promised he’d pick you
up and keep his phone on.
Call him as soon as you know
when you’ll be finished.
“I will. And I’ll still have to wait.
But it’s okay. I’m used to it.
Oh, there’s Ms. Pérez, my science
teacher, and our group.
See you on the far side.”
I Join My Classmates
And we go inside.
Ms. Pérez and Mr. Banks,
our computer science
teacher, have already
transported our bots
and set up an area
for us to get organized.
Cat and I walk together,
dodging nervous kids
and overwhelmed teachers
and carts of equipment.
I didn’t think there’d be
so many people! says Cat.
“I did. Remember the YouTube
videos we watched about
&n
bsp; those other challenges?”
Yeah, but it’s different
for real, you know?
Good point. There’s so much
to see, your eyes don’t know
where to focus. A steady buzz of
talking and hundreds of feet
slapping fills the huge rooms
with noise. And there’s
an energy, almost like
electricity, bouncing around.
We get to the designated
RRCS “corral” and Ms. Pérez
goes over the schedule.
Different pairs, with their bots,
will participate in certain challenges
during the day, and when
we’re not competing, we need
to root for our teammates.
Cat and I, plus Strike ’Em Out,
will have two different
challenges. The first,
called the Brick Bash,
requires our bot to grab
projectiles, toss them
over a barrier, and knock
over a Lego wall. Head to
head with another robot,
the first to deconstruct
the wall wins the challenge.
You take lead on this one,
Cat tells me. I’ll be better
at Hit the Bullseye.
That’s our second challenge,
which is pretty much like
throwing baseball strikes,
only with smaller balls.
It’s a Great Day
Not only for Strike ’Em Out,
who conquers both challenges,
but also for our entire team.
Out of all the schools here,
we finish in a three-way
tie for first place.
Go, Rainbow Ridge Charter!
It’s not like we win money
or anything, but we do get
a nice trophy, or we will
once the event makes two
more. They didn’t think
about ties, I guess.
I called Will about an hour
before I expected to be finished.
He didn’t pick up, so I left
a message in his voice mail
and as a text. I tried again
thirty minutes later.
Same results.
And now we’re finished.
Everything is packed up
and our teachers want
to go home.
Will’s not here.
No text. No call.
It’s nothing new.
Not a big surprise.
Just, I’m not sure what
I should do.
Try to call Dad?
Cat’s still here.
Standing right next to me.
Waiting here with me.
No Will, huh?
“Nope.”
Want a ride? Dad says
we can take you home.
He and Nicolás are standing
by the front doors, looking
a little impatient.
“Are you sure?”
Yeah. Come on.
I get to ride in Victor
Sánchez’s car! How cool
is that? Guess I’ll have to
thank Will for forgetting me.
As We Follow
Cat’s dad and brother
to the parking lot, I ask,
“Where’s your mom?”
Back in LA.
“For good?”
No. She’s getting the house
there ready to sell.
“So, she’s moving to Vegas?”
That’s the plan, yes.
“I’m glad.” I am, for Cat.
“I hope Mateo is okay, too.”
He’s not. He’ll be in jail
for a long time, Dad says.
“Maybe he could join the army
instead,” I joke, thinking about Mr. C.
She giggles. I don’t think
the army would want him.
“You never know.”
We hop into the back seat
of Victor Sánchez’s silver Lexus.
Unlike Becky the ’Vette’s
older leather, these seats
are super soft. I sink down
into the cushion for the comfy
ride home. I wish it was longer.
I still can’t believe I know
Victor Sánchez, let alone
that I’m friends with his daughter.
It’s like sports stars are real
people, too. And, I guess, rock
stars, since one is dating Mom.
“Turn right at the next road,
then take your second left.”
I direct him to our house.
Will’s car is parked in front.
Will you be okay?
“Yeah. Looks like my brother
is here. Thanks for the ride.”
No problem. You two did well
today. I’m proud of you both.
I see a lot of talent in you,
especially on the baseball field.
My face super-heats.
“Thank you!”
I Kind of Walk on Air
To the door,
though I’d rather
jump up and down.
I can’t believe Victor Sánchez
thinks I’ve got talent.
Wow!
Can’t wait to tell Dad and
Grandpa. And maybe brag
a little to Bram.
Hey. I can tell Will
right now.
He probably won’t care,
but trying would be
better than stuffing
this crazy-good feeling
inside, where it
just might explode.
“Hey, Will!”
I fling the door open.
“Guess what!”
No answer.
No “Be right there.”
Not even “Buzz off!”
No noise at all.
Usually, there’s music,
at least.
Maybe he’s in the kitchen?
Nope. Empty.
The bathroom?
Nope. Door’s wide open.
“Will?” I knock on
his bedroom door.
No answer.
I open it a crack.
Hear nothing.
But when I peek
around it, I can see
Will’s Nikes.
On his feet.
On his bed.
He’s asleep.
At four thirty in
the afternoon?
Something isn’t right.
“Will!”
He doesn’t even stir.
I cross the room
in three long steps,
and suddenly the vinegar
taste of fear fills my mouth.
I Shake My Brother
Softly at first, then harder.
He doesn’t open his eyes.
I can’t wake him.
His skin is gray.
He’s barely breathing,
and there’s a weird
rattling noise in his chest
when he tries.
I notice a pill bottle
on his nightstand.
Totally empty.
What do I do?
What do I do?
I grab my phon
e,
call 911. “Help!
I think my brother
took too many pills.
I think he’s dying!”
The lady asks me
some questions.
I sputter nonanswers.
She says the ambulance
is on the way.
But what if he needs
help sooner?
What do I do?
What do I do?
Call Dad, for one thing.
I leave an urgent message.
I go to the window
to look for the ambulance,
notice the lights on in
the house next door.
Mr. Cobb!
I run as fast as my legs
can go, ring his bell
over and over.
“Mr. Cobb! Help!”
The door opens right away.
Trace. What is it?
“Please hurry. Something’s
wrong with Will. I called
911 and they’re coming.”
He doesn’t say a word,
just dashes behind me.
I never knew he could
move so quickly.
We Leave the Front Door Open
For the paramedics.
Rush down the hallway
to Will’s room.
He still hasn’t moved.
“I think it was those.”
I point to the pill bottle.
Mr. Cobb ignores that,
puts an ear to Will’s chest.
I notice the gurgling noise
in there has stopped.
Keep talking to him, Trace.
Tell him to wake up now.
Mr. Cobb sticks a couple
of fingers into Will’s mouth,
and when he pulls them out,
some kind of thick liquid
comes with them.
“Wake up, Will. I want to tell
you about Strike ’Em Out.”
Now Mr. Cobb tilts Will’s head
backward. Pinches his nose.
“What are you doing?”
Rescue breathing.
That means mouth-to-mouth,
which means Will isn’t
breathing on this own.
I start to cry. I can’t help it.
But I tell Will about how
our bot threw ten perfect
bull’s-eye strikes in a row.
Mr. Cobb keeps filling
Will’s lungs with air.
When I hear voices in
the front room, I run
to show them the way.
“In here! In here!”
Two EMTs—one guy,
one girl—take over for
Mr. Cobb, who leads me
out of Will’s room.
Let them work. We don’t