Page 83 of Mom Ball

“Look, we’ve got them at zero. Let’s get some hits and start leading off. We can win this thing. Y’all have been doing good today.” Morgan sticks her hand out and little hands stack on top of it. “Gray ’Dillos on three.”

She counts down from three, and everyone joins in the chant, including Aniston and me. I hear Nate’s voice behind me.

When Morgan is done with her pep talk, I twist my head to him smiling at me from the front bleachers. I smile back.

I wish he could be even more involved—with both the games and our lives. Hopefully one day. Right now, I don’t want to put everything on the line and have him leave town.

I face the field and help Aniston keep the kids in batting order. Bad as I hate it, Nate will remain Bruno a little longer.

* * *

We won.

I can barely believe it. Of course, it helps when you’re in the lowest bracket available and the other team is Bad News Bears on steroids. Still, our kids won a tournament!

Nate claps slowly as Bradley lines both teams up on the field. He stops after a minute of clapping alone. Morgan whistles, and most of our parents pull out a phone for photos.

“Y’all can come down for pictures,” Bradley announces.

Most parents hurry down the bleachers. Reece’s parents, Agatha and Jim, don’t move. I stop by them to check if anything is wrong.

“It’s okay for us to go on the field now and get better photos.”

“Oh, we don’t have cameras,” Jim says.

“Or cell phones,” Agatha adds.

I blink in shock. No wonder they never gave me a contact number. I assumed they hated GroupMe like most parents. What’s most impressive is how Reece is always on time for everything.

“I can take some photos of Reece for you.”

“That would be lovely.” Agatha’s lips curve slightly.

When she said the only electronics he’s been exposed to are online schooling and old DVDs, I thought she was being sarcastic. Guess not.

I join the rest of the crew on the outskirts of the infield. Bradley has each team lined up across from one another. He stands in the center, still wearing catching gear except for the mask. That is now replaced by his cowboy hat.

“Both teams fought long and hard today. We played a lot of ball, and you guys are the last two teams standing in this division.”

Something brushes against my shoulders. I notice Nate from the corner of my eye. He settles right beside me so that our arms are touching.

He could stand anywhere on this field or in the stands, but he snuggles close enough to touch me. That’s got to mean he likes me, right?

Ugh. I sound so high school right now.

“I’ll start with our runners-up, the Bama Bananas.” Bradley calls the coaches forward and hands the one who pitched a bag.

Their coaches are about as mismatched as the kids, with one wearing a work uniform for the local coal mines and another dressed like he came from a tree stand. The one with the bag pulls out a fistful of medals. Each kid steps forward and gets one when his or her name is called. They have a girl on their team as well.

“We should’ve called people out before the game so I could identify them better,” Aniston whispers loudly.

I laugh. She had a time with the book this game. Since a lot of them didn’t wear jerseys and they had to sub once the boy ran home and another refused to leave the dugout, she scrambled to figure out who was who.

She gave them nicknames like Mullet and Inappropriate T-shirt. The kid who ran home changed from Too Old? to Homeboy. She was so proud of that, until he never came back.

Once everyone is wearing a medal, they line up with the coaches for more photos. Everyone claps, including Bradley.

I can feel Nate’s bicep flex against my arm as he claps. Part of me thinks he’s making it do that on purpose, and the other part hopes he is. I savor the moment until Bradley calls us forward.

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