Page 72 of Mom Ball

Bradley nods and talks with the coaches a few minutes before returning to the field. “Mud Cats have forfeited due to sickness. Armadillos win!”

Morgan and Brooke stare at each other in shock. The kids go crazy, until Aniston settles them down. “They’re sick. Show sportsmanship,” she snips.

Everyone quiets. Maybe Aniston should coach.

She lines them up and gives them instructions I can’t hear. Andrew leads the team across the field. They march past the opposing team’s dugout saying “good game,” then rush back to our dugout.

“Now, you can celebrate.” Aniston tosses candy in the air, and they go crazy.

The other team gathers their belongings and helps the sick kids to the parking lot. Slim almost hits me when I’m walking toward Brooke and Morgan. He’s carrying a broom and some trash bags. “I heard there was a lot to clean up,” he says.

“Unfortunately, lots of throw up,” Bradley says.

“I once worked night shift at the Waffle House. There ain’t nothing I ain’t seen.” Slim lifts his chest.

Bradley pats him on the arm. “Get it, big dog.”

Morgan glances back at the field, then at Bradley. “I’m glad we won, but bless their hearts. They all got sick so quickly.”

Carlton stops packing up his kid’s gear and frowns. “We sat close to the other side. Someone said a kid brought gum in the dugout because he wanted candy, then shared it with everyone.”

We exchange puzzled looks.

“Was it expired?” Brooke asks.

Carlton’s eyes widen. “It was Nicorette.”

“Ohhh,” we all say.

Bradley slams down the chest protector and straightens his hat. “If you guys will excuse me, I smell someone needing a citation for subjecting minors to narcotics.” He rushes out of the park, still wearing the leg guards.

After the shock wears off and everyone continues gathering gear, I speak up. “If y’all want to celebrate, dinner is on me.”

The kids scream with excitement.

“What are you cooking?” Morgan asks.

“Nothing, I’m taking y’all out.”

Aniston checks her phone screen. “Mary’s and Big Butts are closed.”

“Waffle House?” Carlton suggests.

“Not after what Slim said.” I shudder. “Who likes Mexican?”

* * *

Brooke

I should’ve thought before I agreed to Mexican.

Somehow I’ve made it twenty-seven years without eating at Enchilada. Surely it won’t make me as sick as the poor kids trying to blow bubbles with Nicorette.

It’s not the food that scares me as much as the atmosphere. When you share retail space with a sketchy motel and a liquor store on the county line, it doesn’t exactly make people feel safe.

Even worse, the bulbs in “Quality” are out at the motel, so the signs read “Inn The Hole Enchilada.”

I wait until Nate gets out to unlock our doors. He meets me at the car. Timothy hops out and stares at the neon lights. “Is this the place on the way to Double Drive?”

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