Page 2 of The Road to Home Base
Sixteen’s eyes went down my body and for a heartbeat, I thought he was checking me out. But his gaze came to rest on the pass hanging from a lanyard around my neck. “Alex Edwards Photography. Edwards? Your brother must be Devin, then.”
“That’s my bro, yep.”
Sixteen snickered. “That little sneak. He didn’t tell me he was pulling strings for family.”
I felt a jolt of panic. “Oh, sorry, did I—”
Sixteen wiped the air with his hands. “No, no, he’s not in trouble. We like to help out family as much as we can around here.” His eyes rolled to the side as he contemplated something. “Which usually means hazing them when they get here. So I think I understand why he kept it a secret.”
At that, I smiled. “Sounds like Devin. Always trying to protect me.”
Sixteen nodded. “He’s a good guy. Sounds like a good brother, too.”
“The best.”
He continued to stare at me, as if it were my turn to talk, but I had nothing to offer.You’re incredibly handsome, by the way, was the only thing on my mind.
“Well, we’ll be out here for another twenty minutes. I’m gonna bat next. Why don’t you stand by first base and figure out your angles?”
“Gotcha. First base is…?” I laughed when he gave me a horrified look. “I don’t know much, but I do knowsomethings.”
“That’s good. Hopefully you’re a good fighter, too.” He brought his right forefinger halfway between our faces and twirled it around.
My left eye twitched. The black eye had mostly subsided since getting punched two weeks ago. One of the reasons had thrown myself into a different kind of photography. To prove I could do more for myself.
I laughed, though it felt forced. “Yeah, you should see the other guy.”
I felt fire bloom in my chest as Sixteen grew a big grin. “Classic line.” He gestured toward first base with his chin. “All right, so hang there and figure out your angles. I’m gonna practice.”
I nodded and turned to walk back toward first base when Sixteen called out. “Hey, Alex?”
I spun to see Sixteen walking backward. He jammed a thumb into the center of his chest. “I’m Rome, by the way.”
“Like the city?”
He held out his arms to present himself. “All roads lead to me.”
I scoffed, rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help the elation painting my face.
“Cool tattoos, by the way,” he said. With that, he spun and jogged toward home base.
I looked down at my forearms with fresh eyes. I had thin, perfect black circles ringing each forearm, six on each side starting at the elbow and growing each year I completed another marathon. I looked back up to say thank you, but Rome wasalready getting ready to bat.
I advanced beyond first base so that I could peer at Rome without the mesh of the makeshift batting cage. Then, I thought better of it. Maybe I could make it a little artsy. I walked back to first and put the camera up to my eye and focused in on Rome. He already hit three balls, thecrackechoing around the field. He had an easy grin on his face, muscles taut and sinewy as he waved his bat and struck his target.
“Jeez, kid, you showin’ off for someone?” the batting coach asked as he held onto the mesh behind Rome.
I zoomed out and adjusted the focus so the meshing partially shrouded Rome’s face. He looked over his shoulder at his coach as the corners of his lips curled up.
Click.
I took plenty of photos for the next ten minutes until his coach called for him to stop. I put my back to the sun again so I could shade my camera and review the photos. The summer heat had continued to take its toll, my back slick with sweat and undoubtedly showing on my white shirt. I found myself not caring, the same way I felt when the clock read two in the morning and I hadn’t blinked in four hours, my mind preoccupied with editing photos. Getting lost in your craft always helped to alleviate the burden of the real world.
Rome jogged over to me. This time, I saw him coming. I held up my camera and wagged it at him. “Thanks for the tips. I don’t use burst mode often, but I’m about to be a pro at it.”
Rome crossed his arms over his chest, the action emphasizing the bulk of his biceps. He stuck his tongue into his cheek before answering. “Well, if you figured that out, get ready for more. Keep an eye on center field.” He pointed downrange—downfield?—beyond second base. A wall rose up twelve feet in height, padded in navy blue, with business logos scrawled in white, massive letters. A single level of bleachers extendedbeyond.
“Is that where you play?” I asked.
