Page 13 of Curveball: The Baby and the Grump

“Not too long. Couple of hours max.” I grimace, and she adds, “You know it’s good for you to get out of the house. And besides, if I have to leave, you can drop Matt off at home.”

With a heavy frown and a sigh that tells her everything, I say, “Fine, I guess.”

This time she doesn’t even try to disguise her smug grin.

In the car, she tells me all about Matt’s school career, about how he started as an outfielder and decided to give pitching a go after one game where the pitcher was out sick. I stare out the window so I can smile without her seeing. Her brother sounds cool. Nothing like my brother at all; my brother couldn’t care less about sports. Or me.

Freya drags me through the school to the pitch, and I pull my cap down over my eyes. “No one’s going to recognize you,” she scoffs.

“You never know,” I mutter. I really don’t feel like dealing with fans today.

We head out to the bleachers, and as we pass the food stand, Freya grabs some snacks. I fold my arms, unimpressed. “They don’t even do pretzels here.”

“What kind of school did you go to where you got pretzels?” she asks in disbelief. “I think it’s wild enough that they get crackerjacks and hot dogs here. We didn’t get anything at all at my school.”

“It’s not a ball game without a pretzel,” I say instead of answering the question. In reality, my school wasn’t this fancy either, but she doesn’t need to know that.

Though when she offers me some of her crackerjacks after we take our seats, I don’t say no.

“Who are they playing?” I ask with my mouth full as the teams get ready to take to the field.

“One of the other local schools. They’re not our biggest rivals, but they sure don’t make our lives easy. This is going to be an interesting game.”

Then a kid in a full fur suit waddles out onto the pitch, and the name of the team clicks into place for me. “The Beavers,” I mumble to myself, and then out loud to Freya, I say, “That kid must be boiling in there.”

“That’s Matt’s friend, Benny. He volunteers to do that.”

“Crazy kid.” But the thought of it makes me smile. I can see from the side of my eye that Freya is giving me a look, but I ignore it. This woman is really doing something to me, more than I could have ever expected. Here she is, making me smile and tricking me into going to see high school ball games.

A long time ago, I swore I would never go back to high school. And here I am again — and it’s all for her. It’s with that thought that I realize exactly how much I would do for her if she asked.

I’m about to start complaining again, but then the umpire comes out onto the field, and I hold my tongue, settling in to watch the game. Despite myself, I am a little bit excited. I’ve missed the game, live and real and exciting in front of me.

Baseball is my life. And I’ve been missing it.

The kids settle into their positions on the field, and the home team gets a roaring cheer of encouragement from the crowd. They’re polite enough to applaud the away team too, but the favoritism here clearly isn’t a secret. As the pitcher takes to the mound, Freya elbows me to look as she points out her brother. He has a similar look to her. A Scandinavian kind of pale skin and fair hair.

He throws his first pitch, and I bite my tongue to stop myself from criticizing. It wasn’t a bad fastball, but it goes wide because his elbow isn’t quite in the right position. It’ll take a lot of practice if he really wants to get better.

It’s so hard not to comment through the game on the players and all the things they’re doing wrong, but I feel like I owe it to Freya to at least be slightly nice to her brother. And, in fairness, he does make some pitches that even I can’t fault.

“He’s got a good slider.” I lean into her as he throws. “Oh, strikeout! Nice one!”

She gives me another one of those wry smiles, and automatically I frown hard in response, not wanting her to think I’m enjoying myself too much, even if the truth is obvious.

Instead of engaging, she just says, “You think so? I don’t know that much about it. I just think he looks cool.”

“The pitcher is the coolest job on the field, obviously.” I say it with such contempt that it makes her laugh — and damn her, she has such a cute laugh. I have to stop noticing things like this. It’s seriously starting to affect me. Just ’cause she’s the only person I’ve spoken to recently doesn’t mean I suddenly have to get a crush on her. That would be stupid.

All too soon, the umpire waves his arms to signal a halftime break. “This isn’t typical,” I say to Freya, folding my arms.

“They’re fifteen. Give them a break. Come on.” She jumps to her feet, then reaches out to grab my hand, sending an electric spark that runs right through my arm, all the way down my spine, leaving me feeling fuzzy and warm all over.

“What? Where are we going?”

“They’re losing right now. You’ll be just the boost they need.”

“What?” I say again, but I don’t get an answer as she starts dragging me towards the school.

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