didn’t. I crossed the bag and looked back over at third. The guy was holding his shin and writhing around on the ground.
“Nice shot,” said the first baseman. “I think you killed our third baseman.”
“I did?” I said, flushing with pride from the fact that I had actually gotten a hit.
I ran around the bases when the guy after me, Kenny the extra hitter, hit a long fly ball past the right fielder. When I crossed home plate, the guys slapped my butt, and one cuffed me on the shoulder.
“Not bad for someone who obviously has never played softball before,” Steve said.
I reddened. “That obvious, huh?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “How are you with the glove?”
I pointed to Robinson, who I’d warmed up with. He was standing nearby.
“He’s brutal, Steve,” he said. “Seriously bad.”
“We’ll switch it up, then,” Steve said. “Kenny. Take right field, okay? We’ll use Rafe as the extra hitter.”
I nodded, sure that meant something to someone. I figured they’d tell me where to stand, and I’d stand there. And, anyway, I was having a blast.
It turns out that the extra hitter gets to sit on the bench while the rest of the team is on the field. Kenny, whose belly made him look like a pregnant lady, shot me a dirty look as he waddled to the outfield.
“You better study up, Colorado,” he yelled back. “We need your speed out there.”
In the third inning, with us leading 5–4, I got another chance at the plate. This time, I was a bit jacked up. I swung as hard as I could, and the ball went really, really high. Just not far. The pitcher barely moved and caught my ball easily.
I jogged back to the bench, a little red in the face because I’d just made an out. I sat down next to Ben and fished out my water bottle.
“Where are Albie and Toby?” he asked. “How come they’re not watching the game?”
I laughed, but he didn’t. I just figured he was kidding, since the likelihood of those guys hanging with the jocks was about the same as Kenny being a swimsuit model.
“You guys looked like you were having fun the other day,” Ben said as I took a swig of water.
“Well, we were,” I said, swishing the water around my mouth. “I know they’re weird, but they’re good to hang with.”
“Cool,” he said, surprising me.
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess.”
Ben poured some sunflower seeds into his palm and threw them into his mouth. “What were you doing, anyway?”
“Oh, we went to see a crazy naked lady running down Bacon Street.”
“Ah,” he said, his eyes narrowing. I could tell he was trying to gauge whether I was messing with him, whether this was my sense of humor.
“That’s actually a true story,” I said. “Hard to explain. Involved a police scanner and drinking.”
“Of course,” he said, and we both laughed.
We watched as Steve stepped up to the plate and took a few practice swings.
“So Toby?”
“Toby what?”
“Wanted to go see a naked … lady?”
“Peer pressure,” I said, and we both laughed again.
“So what do you think of them?” I asked. I wiped the bottle across my forehead; even on a day in the seventies, it was humid here.
“Different,” he said. “Albie’s real smart. Toby is gay. You know that, right?”
“He told me,” I said. “Not a big issue.”
Ben nodded. “It used to be pretty bad for him,” he said. “The guys could be really mean. I mean, not me and Bryce. But some of them were. And then, last year, this gay guy came and spoke on Diversity Day. He used to play college football. That really changed things. All of a sudden, the whole soccer team starts talking about homophobia like it was this issue that had always concerned them, you know? And Steve started making a point of sitting with Toby at lunch a couple times a week. He would always say hi to him and make sure no one was bothering him. And no one has.”
“That’s cool,” I said, finding it hard to swallow. “But they totally ignore him now. And
“Nice shot,” said the first baseman. “I think you killed our third baseman.”
“I did?” I said, flushing with pride from the fact that I had actually gotten a hit.
I ran around the bases when the guy after me, Kenny the extra hitter, hit a long fly ball past the right fielder. When I crossed home plate, the guys slapped my butt, and one cuffed me on the shoulder.
“Not bad for someone who obviously has never played softball before,” Steve said.
I reddened. “That obvious, huh?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “How are you with the glove?”
I pointed to Robinson, who I’d warmed up with. He was standing nearby.
“He’s brutal, Steve,” he said. “Seriously bad.”
“We’ll switch it up, then,” Steve said. “Kenny. Take right field, okay? We’ll use Rafe as the extra hitter.”
I nodded, sure that meant something to someone. I figured they’d tell me where to stand, and I’d stand there. And, anyway, I was having a blast.
It turns out that the extra hitter gets to sit on the bench while the rest of the team is on the field. Kenny, whose belly made him look like a pregnant lady, shot me a dirty look as he waddled to the outfield.
“You better study up, Colorado,” he yelled back. “We need your speed out there.”
In the third inning, with us leading 5–4, I got another chance at the plate. This time, I was a bit jacked up. I swung as hard as I could, and the ball went really, really high. Just not far. The pitcher barely moved and caught my ball easily.
I jogged back to the bench, a little red in the face because I’d just made an out. I sat down next to Ben and fished out my water bottle.
“Where are Albie and Toby?” he asked. “How come they’re not watching the game?”
I laughed, but he didn’t. I just figured he was kidding, since the likelihood of those guys hanging with the jocks was about the same as Kenny being a swimsuit model.
“You guys looked like you were having fun the other day,” Ben said as I took a swig of water.
“Well, we were,” I said, swishing the water around my mouth. “I know they’re weird, but they’re good to hang with.”
“Cool,” he said, surprising me.
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess.”
Ben poured some sunflower seeds into his palm and threw them into his mouth. “What were you doing, anyway?”
“Oh, we went to see a crazy naked lady running down Bacon Street.”
“Ah,” he said, his eyes narrowing. I could tell he was trying to gauge whether I was messing with him, whether this was my sense of humor.
“That’s actually a true story,” I said. “Hard to explain. Involved a police scanner and drinking.”
“Of course,” he said, and we both laughed.
We watched as Steve stepped up to the plate and took a few practice swings.
“So Toby?”
“Toby what?”
“Wanted to go see a naked … lady?”
“Peer pressure,” I said, and we both laughed again.
“So what do you think of them?” I asked. I wiped the bottle across my forehead; even on a day in the seventies, it was humid here.
“Different,” he said. “Albie’s real smart. Toby is gay. You know that, right?”
“He told me,” I said. “Not a big issue.”
Ben nodded. “It used to be pretty bad for him,” he said. “The guys could be really mean. I mean, not me and Bryce. But some of them were. And then, last year, this gay guy came and spoke on Diversity Day. He used to play college football. That really changed things. All of a sudden, the whole soccer team starts talking about homophobia like it was this issue that had always concerned them, you know? And Steve started making a point of sitting with Toby at lunch a couple times a week. He would always say hi to him and make sure no one was bothering him. And no one has.”
“That’s cool,” I said, finding it hard to swallow. “But they totally ignore him now. And
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