Page 102 of Mom Ball

He gives Morgan a mean look. I try not to laugh, as I’m sure he was referring to the ball in Harry Potter.

“But underhanded, like you’re bowling. Let the ball roll hard on the ground to the next player. Keep your gloves to the dirt, and scoop it up.”

“Is that legal?” I ask.

“Yep.”

Out of nowhere, Bubba steps into our dugout.

“What are you doing here?” Morgan crosses her arms. “Spying on the competition?”

“No, my nephew plays for the 6U and they just finished a game.”

He sits on the edge of the bench beside Angel. The wood creaks and it bows under his weight. “Look, I don’t have anything against y’all. To be honest, Jeffrey is a little intense.”

“A little?” Aniston and I comment at the same time.

“I move trailers for him, but he’s even worse at the park than there. He thinks we should win every game no matter what.”

“Obviously,” Morgan mumbles.

Bubba stands, and the bench readjusts, bouncing Angel in the air an inch.

“Anyways, good luck to y’all. We’re going to Waffle House with my sister’s family.”

“Thanks,” I mutter.

Some of the kids wave. Aniston gives me a curious look, as if she’s not sure whether to believe him. The kids watch him leave.

Morgan whistles. “Focus. Just because he said ‘waffle’ doesn’t mean we’re thinking about it.”

I laugh.

“You focus, too.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I straighten and bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing again.

After all the waffle talk, the first batter jogs onto the field. Aniston stands at first and gives me some kind of weird signal. I’m clueless, but she ends it with a thumbs-up.

We hit better, which I attribute to Aniston’s smack talk. Whatever intimidation factor she and Morgan have over the kids, I don’t. They come to me for candy and ice packs.

The score is now four to five, but we have to play defense. Morgan glances at me from third base and puffs up her cheeks. Most people wouldn’t pick up on it, but she’s nervous.

Their first batter is one of the bigger kids. He gets two strikes, then slams the ball to the outfield. Angel stops picking a flower and grabs the ball. I hold my breath as she turns her hand and bowls it hard as she can toward third base. Carter scoops it up at short and tags the runner as he rounds second base, full speed. Morgan pumps her fist in the air and cheers.

The coaches are dumbfounded, and one of them yells some foreign obscenities. At least I think so from Aniston’s reaction. We continue with this plan, only allowing them two runs.

It’s now four to seven, and we’ve got another at-bat. Morgan and Aniston smile widely as everyone jogs into the dugout.

“Good job. We scored more runs than them this inning!” Morgan claps enthusiastically.

She starts high-fiving everyone. When she gets close to me, I purposely stare at the book and pretend to write something. I’ve had enough peanut oil for one night.

We’re back to the top of the order. Timothy puts on his helmet and grabs his bat. I hold on to the end, pulling him back. When he turns, I let go and pat him on the helmet. “You’ve got this, son.”

He grins and struts onto the field. Morgan takes a deep breath and pitches. He hits the first ball and makes it to second. We all cheer.

The momentum continues, and we manage to score four runs before they get three outs. Morgan comes to the fence as the kids are getting their gloves. “All right, Gray Armadillos. This is it.”

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