One minute he had stopped in the Orioles’ dugout for a quick drink of Gatorade, the next minute he was practically spitting a stream of the stuff across the cement floor, like people did on the sitcoms when they were startled. “Why do you talk to your bat?” Marty repeated. The Orioles were warming up now, getting ready to play the Blue Jays at Eddie Murray Field on a damp evening that was unusually chilly for late May. Nevertheless, Cody could feel his face getting hot from embarrassment. “Is it for, like, good luck or something?” Marty pressed. Cody was relieved to see there was no one else in the dugout. He glanced up at Marty to see if the kid was messing with him. But Marty seemed genuinely curious. Cody tried to think of the right thing to say. After he had flipped out on Dante, there had been whispers in school that Cody might be a head case. Luckily, the rumors had stopped by now—Jordy, Willie, and Connor had spread the word that it was all an act designed to get Dante to leave him alone.
