her house right now.”
He took off a couple of hours ago.
I hold my breath,
waiting
for Will
to explode.
But Nope
Oh. That’s cool.
“I thought you’d be mad.”
Why? He works hard.
He deserves a little fun.
My jaw drops.
I’m, like, stunned.
What’s wrong?
“Don’t you think it’s messed
up that he can make time for
a girlfriend, but us, not so much?”
Will’s mouth trembles.
If his face worked right,
that would be a huge grin.
Nope. In fact, if he’s busy with her,
that means less chance of him
sticking his nose in my business.
Oh. Right.
I get it now.
He doesn’t care
about Dad. Or me.
Will is only worried
about himself.
And So
I’m surprised
when he actually decides
to come to my game.
In fact, he drives me.
Last weekend of spring break
and people are everywhere.
The sidewalks are crowded.
The bike paths are crowded.
The parks are crowded.
I bet the pools and lakes
are crowded, too.
“Hey, Will? Remember
that spring break when
we camped at Lake Mead?”
He nods. It was critical that year.
Hot, I mean. We stayed in
the water most of the time.
“And we had ‘hold your breath
as long as you can’ contests.”
That’s right. We did.
“You won all of them.”
Yeah, but you kept trying.
“Can you still hold your
breath for a long time?”
I don’t know. I haven’t tried.
Why? He sounds irritated.
I shrug. “Sometimes I wonder
about how much you changed.
Like, how your body works
and stuff. Is that bad?”
What difference does it make?
“I’m just interested.”
What do you want to know?
“Well . . . um . . . does
your head hurt?”
Not most of the time, but
I do get hellacious headaches.
“What about your face,
like when you try to smile?”
Does that hurt? No, but
it’s totally frustrating.
“That could still get
better, though, right?”
He’s Quiet So Long
I wonder if he’s zoned out.
I guess he has, in a way,
working on what to say.
Anything’s possible, Trace.
That’s what my doctors say.
Sure. It’s possible alien mystics
will visit Earth and heal the planet,
including me. But I doubt it.
“Well, I’m going with
your doctors. I know it
will. I believe it will.”
You still believe in Santa, too.
“I. Do. Not.”
Wait, that was a joke.
“I don’t believe in Santa,
Will, but I do believe
in you.”
Good luck with that.
We both fall silent.
But I don’t want this
conversation to end.
It’s the best one we’ve had in . . .
forever.
Mostly Because
It’s the only one
we’ve had in, like,
forever.
So I ask, “Hey, Will?
What do you believe in?”
Dumb question.
“No it’s not.”
He sighs. I believe in facts,
the stone-cold truth.
Not hypotheticals, fantasies,
maybes, or what I’d prefer.
I believe in what I see
in the mirror, in what
that means to my future.
I believe what I hear
when people say cruel things.
I believe my life will be short,
so why not live epically today?
I try to let all that sink in.
“Will, are you okay?”
Depends on the moment.
I wanted to feel better. I don’t.
We Arrive
At my game a half hour
early for warm-ups.
Will goes to find
a shady place on the grass
while I play some catch
and do stretches.
Coach Hal calls us over
to give us the starting lineup.
I’m pitching.
Bram’s catching.
Cat’s on first base.
The Padres (that’s us!)
are the home team,
so we take our places
on the field while
the Tigers get ready to bat.
From the mound,
I can see where Will’s sitting,
looking at his phone.
But by the time I throw
the first pitch, Dad and Lily
still haven’t shown up.
So they miss watching me
strike out one batter
pitch another into a pop-up out
put a guy on base
force their best batter into a ground out.
That’s pretty good,
if I say so myself.
Coach Tom agrees. Super-
duper pitching, Trace!
Super-duper. Yeesh.
Now it’s our turn to bat.
I notice Will’s still alone,
and when he sees me look
his way, he shoots a thumbs-up.
Guess he was paying attention.
I wish he would more often.
Dad and Lily miss watching
our entire batting order.
Shawn strikes out.
Bram walks to first.
I get a decent base hit.
That puts me on first,
moves Bram to second.
And batting cleanup . . .
Cat Comes to the Plate
The crowd of parents
and kids goes kind of quiet,
like they didn’t notice
our team had a girl
playing first base.
But the Tigers’ dugout
starts to buzz about
our new player.
Some gasp.
Some laugh.
One or two make
mean comments.
She ignores it all.
Decides to bat left-handed.
That might be a mistake,
because she seems a little
off her stride.
Takes a strike.
Hits a couple of foul balls.
Pops one up, but the catcher misses.
“You got this, Cat,” I call.
She nods.
Steps back into
the batter’s box.
I’ve got a good feeling,
so I take a decent lead.
Bram does, too.
And . . .
She slaps one over
the second baseman’s head.
It drops for a base hit.
Maybe even a double.
Bram runs.
I run.
Cat runs behind us.
People cheer.
People yell.
Coach Hal swings his arms,
telling us to keep on running
and don’t look back.
Bram scores.
I score.
Cat’s tagged out at third base.
But we’re ahead, 2–0.
Dad and Lily missed
every minute of it.
They Finally Show
Halfway through my second-
inning pitching match.
I’m doing okay.
One guy out.
One guy on base.
One guy at the plate.
It’s full count—
three balls, two strikes.
One more strike, he’s out.
One more ball, I walk him.
That makes me nervous.
I concentrate too hard.
Take too long to wind up.
He calls time-out, steps
away from the plate.
I take a couple of deep breaths,
but happen to glance toward
Will just as Dad and Lily
set up a couple of folding
chairs beside him.
Dad says something,
Will jumps up, smiling,
puts out his hand for Lily
to shake, and Dad claps
him on the shoulder.
Now my attention is there,
watching them instead
of the Tigers’ batter.
Trace! yells Coach Tom. Focus!
I try. But I throw ball four
and the batter walks.
So now there are runners
on first and second.
I close my eyes, lecture
myself. “Dad hardly
ever comes to games.
Make him proud of you.”
It works.
I strike out the next batter.
Two down, one to go.
I can hear Dad cheer,
and look over that way
as the next Tiger lifts his bat.
I see Dad take some money
out of his wallet, hand it
to Will. No, Dad, no. And now
Lily reaches into her purse.
No way! Not her, too!
Trace! shouts Coach Tom.
I Pitch
Without thinking.
Without aiming.
Without a solid windup.
CRACK!
The ball whizzes
past my head.
I’m too slow to react.
Everyone’s yelling.
Running.
Throwing.
Sliding.
One Tiger scores.
Another one scores.
The one who hit winds up
on third, with a triple.
It’s 2–2.
And it would be up to me
to try to keep it that way
with some decent pitching,
except Coach Tom walks
out to the mound.
Sorry, Trace. You seem a little
distracted. We’re bringing in Cat.
You take her place on first.
He waves and Cat trots over.
Face hot, I hand her the ball.
She’s pitching now. That’s fine.
I just hope I can scoop up
grounders and handle fly balls.
Cat throws well. The guy on third
scores, but that’s on me, and
she gets us out of the inning
only one run behind.
As we go to the dugout,
I chance looking at Dad, who
smiles and waves, pretending
I didn’t mess up royally.
Will, I see, is gone.
The rest of the game, I play
okay, my teammates play better,
and by the time it’s all over,
we manage to win, 5–4.
Coach Hal calls us over
for the postgame pep talk.
Way to go! You guys rock!
Couple of flubs, but nobody’s
perfect. Go celebrate a game
well played. I’ll see you at practice.
As Everyone Leaves
Head down, eyes on the ground,
I shuffle over to where
my coaches are standing
together, talking.
“Sorry I messed up.”
Everyone has off days,
says Coach Tom.
Coach Hal nods. Just a couple
of bad pitches. You hit well.
“Glad I did something right.
My dad is here for once.”
That’s what broke your
concentration, I bet.
And you collected yourself
after. That’s important.
Okay, I feel a little better.
“Thanks, Coaches. See you later.”
When I turn, Cat is a couple feet
away. I think she’s waiting for me.
Probably wants to rub it in.
But no. She says, Good game.
“Coulda been better. But thanks.
You were pretty good, too.”
You want to meet my dad?
He’s right over there.
I look where she’s pointing.
“No way! Your dad is Victor
Sánchez?” I’d recognize him
anywhere. “He’s awesome!”
I happen to think so. He was
a decent third baseman, too.
So, you want to say hi?
“Heck yeah! Too bad Will left.
He used to be a big Dodgers fan.”
Who’s Will?
“My brother.”
He’s not a fan anymore?
“No. He says sports are boring.”
Why?
“It’s kind of a long story.”
Cat’s Cool
But I barely know her.
I’m not ready to talk
about Will with her.
I don’t talk about him
with very many people.
Dad. Mom. Bram.
That’s about it.
But she’s waiting,
obviously curious.
So I say, “I think it’s just
his new crowd, really.
They’re not the sports type.”
That’s too bad.
“Yeah. It is. But I am.
Think your dad would
give me his autograph?”
Pretty sure he’d be happy to.
What will I have him sign?
A baseball? My gear bag?
Hey, I know. My glove!
Cat’s Dad
Is, like, famous. At least,
if you follow baseball.
He was a superstar third
baseman before he retired
after last season.
“Be right back!” I tell Cat.
I run to inform Dad I’m about
to meet one of my sports
heroes. I can’t believe it!
And neither can Dad.
Think it would be okay
for us to come, too?
“I guess.” But I don’t wait
for Lily and Dad, in case
Victor Sánchez is in a hurry.
Instead, I reverse course
and sprint over to where
he and Cat are waiting.
My stomach’s doing backflips.
Victor Sánchez offers his hand
and mine shivers as I shake it.
“H-h-hi. I’m Trace.”
Very nice to meet you, Trace.
You played a good game.
He watched.
He said I did good.
Oh, yeah.
“Th-thanks. I’m, like,
a really big fan. So is my dad.
Oh, this is my dad. And Lily.”
They do the introduction
thing, then Dad says,
I didn’t know you lived in Vegas.
We haven’t been here long.
LA was becoming unlivable,
and I had no reason to stay.
Well, we’re lucky to have you.
And you, too, young lady.
Looks like talent runs in the family.
Questions pop into my brain:
Why did they move here?
Why did they move now?
School will be out
in a few weeks,
so why not wait
until summer?
Too Many Puzzles
For one day.
At least now
I know who
her father is.
Before we break
this party up, I ask,
“Mr. Sánchez? Would
you please sign my glove?”
Sure. Have a pen on you?
“Uh . . .”
Who carries a pen
to play baseball?
I do, says Lily, reaching
way down inside her bag.
I have to work hard
not to roll my eyes.
She would, of course.
Then again, I’m glad
she has one, because now
I own a guaranteed genuine
Victor Sánchez signed glove.
I’ll keep it forever!
“Thanks! This is awesome.”
I’ll go get our chairs, says Dad.
Meet you two at the car.
See you again, Mr. Sánchez.
Victor. Please call me Victor.
First-name basis. Nice.
We head toward
the parking lot.
Lily chatters about
the weather and how
surprised she was that
Little League baseball
could be so exciting.
Victor (!) pretends
to be interested.
Cat and I fall back
behind them.
Finally, she asks, Hey.
What About Will Page 7
