Page 8 of Totally Fanatic

“Ohhh. Where is this twin? Are they fully identical? I hope so. I could be the jelly in their cute twin sandwich.”

“Gross.”

“Says you.”

“Says everyone.”

“Like you haven’t been with a guy and thought, wow, this would be even better if there were two of them?”

“Not two that look the same.”

“You’re missing out, baby bro. So, the twin, where am I looking? Is he in the crowd, too, or on the field? Hopefully, he’s not in the box thing.”

“It’s called a dugout, and he’s not in it. He’s over there, center field,” I reply, pointing. She pans the camera and zooms right in and clicks a photo, then returns to Tim and takes a close-up of Calvin, too, then starts swiping back and forth between the photos.

“Perfect double hotness.”

“Give me my phone,” I say, and she reluctantly hands it back but takes out her own and snaps a few pics.

“Oh, I have people lined up for your companion ticket for the next three games. Are you sure you want random people sitting beside you at these things?”

“They’re fans.”

“Okay, are you sure you want random fans sitting beside you?”

I look past her to the guy slugging down his third beer since the game started, then turn my head to look beside me at the woman wearing a Gordon James jersey dress. When they came out with the line of women’s wear, at first it was just like normal jerseys with a more hourglass cut, but they quickly learned the women wanted better than that and they followed up by adding in two different dresses, a tight-fitted one and the other long and flowing, and a pair of knee-length shorts, a skirt and top set, all with pockets. The site crashed when it went live.

“I think that’s a given at any game,” I tell her, and she nods. “Besides, selling the extra ticket covers the money I lose from missing work and helps pay for the hotels and that. It’s win, win.”

“Okay, well, I searched through these guys’ socials and none of them have any serial killer vibes, so I’ll send through thenames and numbers, and you can arrange to meet them at the main entry gates.”

I try to keep watching the game while Mouse talks. It’s not easy, but years of practice helps. Mom and Dad should have called her Lion and me Mouse, because she’s always been the loud one in the family. I’ve always been the big one. I was like twelve pounds at birth and just kept getting bigger. Buck is just as tall as me, but he’s lean, or what he calls, lanky. Mouse is, well, Mouse. She’s overprotective as the older sister, thinks I spend too much time at the gym and is forever trying to set me up. I didn’t mind at first, but I’m never quite what the guys she sends me expect. Maybe one day I’ll find that guy who just gets me.

“Thanks, Mouse. I was going to offer the seats up to people who follow the fan page, but then I would have to choose, and then people would be sad or mad, and then I would be worried the whole game about who didn’t get to come.”

“I know. You’re a huge softie. Well, this was better anyway because it gave me a brilliant idea that is going to make us millions.”

“I don’t need millions.”

“Think of how many cats you could own with millions.”

“I didn’t buy them, they found me.”

“Whatever, anyway, I was looking into the guys that I was lining up for your ticket and a few of them thought I was setting you up with them, you know, like a Banana Ball blind date. And I thought this could be a great new dating app. We could call it, Done Playing. People can put in the kind of person they’re looking for, like with any other dating app, but we get them to also input the sports they love to watch and the app can set them up on dates to games.”

“What if they go for opposite teams?”

“Oh, good point. We’ll have to also get their team’s preference, and maybe favorite players, too. There’s no pointsetting up a Monkey with an Animal fan. I’ll text Buck. I’ve already got him working on the coding.”

Gordon pitches his twelve-six curveball, and it’s hit well by Carry Maves to left field where Stevie tries to make a behind-the-back catch but comes up empty. Carry was watching, and when he sees Stevie miss the trick play, he turns on the jets and books it to second base. Next out is the OG golden boy, Atlas King, and as he dances his way to take his place in the box, wearing a purple cape and golden crown glued on top of his helmet, regal trumpets play him out.

The guy sitting beside Mouse hollers, “The king has arrived. Animal Control are going down.”

The OG’s have more fans in the crowd than Animal Control do, and right now, they’re chanting,All hail the king, over and over. Gordon lines up the pitch, and it’s a swing and a miss. Harrison sends it back, and Gordon sends down another twelve-six fastball. Swing and a miss again. Atlas almost never misses. Gordon has a chance to send Atlas back to the dugout with a donut for the first time in his Banana Ball career. The crowd knows it, too, and their chant softens.

Gordon shakes off Harry’s call for the next ball, then smirks and nods before he sends down a cutter, and Atlas swings. The ball is gone, sailing high, deep into left. Atlas knows it’s a home run. The crowd knows it’s a home run. But while everyone else is watching the ball, my attention lands on Tim. Calvin is behind him, hands on his waist, but before I can blink, Tim is jumping up in the air, Calvin’s hands propelling him higher, and he reaches out, catching the ball. It’s not a foul ball, so it doesn’t count as a crowd catch, and the OG’s still won the inning and got the point. But that catch won the crowd, and Atlas finishes his jog around the diamond to the chant,Aussie, Aussie, Aussie. Oi, Oi, Oi.

“Who’s the king now?”

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