Page 4 of How We Fooled

“What kind of sports do you play?”

“Football, basketball, and baseball.”

“Whoa. All three? And mountain biking?” She motions to my bike.

“I told you, I’m an athlete. I like to keep moving. Doing something. I can’t just sit around and be lazy.”

She giggles. “Being lazy is my favorite thing to do.”

I nudge her. “Not necessarily true. You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess. But I can lie around in my PJs all day, watching movies, if I want to.” There’s a pause in our conversation, and then she asks, “What sport do you like best?”

“Ah, the question of the year. I guess I’m going to have to decide here shortly. You can only go pro in one.”

“That’s your end goal? To go pro?”

“That’s the plan. We’ll see if it’s in the cards though.”

“See, you’re like me. If it’s for me, it will not pass me. We’re all just along for the ride when you really think about it.”

I nod, letting that thought sink in, liking the peace it brings. “That we are. Have you liked your ride so far?”

“There’ve been some bumps and bruises, but I’m here, smiling, so I can’t ask for anything else.”

I love this girl’s outlook on life. I’ve been so stressed on making the decision of what sport to play, but she’s right. Maybe I should just see what happens and not think about it so much.

“How about you?” she asks.

I grin. “Can’t complain.”

We make our way to where we both parked.

“This is me.” I lift my bike into the back of my black Ram TRX.

“Nice truck,” she says, then leans in to look at the tiny sticker I put in the corner of the window. “What’s this mean?”

“That’s the USA Baseball logo.”

Her eyebrows tilt up slightly. “You don’t have a football or basketball sticker on here.”

I purse my lips in thought. “No, I don’t.”

“Then, I think you know what sport you like best.”

I nod slowly. I never thought of it that way, but she brings up a good point. My trip to Cary, North Carolina, last year to play at USA Baseball’s training facility was the coolest sports experience I’ve had so far; that’s why I put the sticker there. I might love throwing to Dalton or Ben for touchdowns or going up for layups in basketball, but there’s nothing more thrilling than hitting a ball out of the stadium.

“You might be onto something. Where are you parked?” I look around, then laugh. “Wait. That has to be you.” I point at the Honda Civic with the California license plate.

She laughs. “Yeah, I guess that stands out around here.”

I shrug. “Just shows you’re not from here, is all. People will be intrigued to find out about the newbie.”

She lets out a giggle. “I’ll work on getting a new one today.”

“Then, you’re really moving here—for good?”

She nods proudly. “No turning back. I’ve made my decision, and I’m sticking this out.”

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