“What if I’m busy in an hour?”
He smiles at me. “You are. You’re helping me move some bookcases for Daisy.”
I shake my head, but we both know I’ll show up.
The time at Moss and Maple passes quickly. Patrick and I make light work of stacking books and lifting shelving to move it to other spots in the old craftsman home they’ve converted into our most popular local bookshop.
By the time we finish reshelving the books, I’ve got enough time to grab lunch and make my way to the ball field.
Practice is always an oasis for me. The kids are at that age where many of them are eager to learn the game, but none of them take it too seriously yet.
Mia’s different. She introduced herself to me as if I was in the presence of baseball royalty. And then she pulled up the queen of women’s baseball, Lizzie Murphy, and asked me to use her nickname. Mia’s a character, and today I’m putting all my effort into not focusing on her to the exclusion of the other girls on the team.
“We have a new team name,” I announce to all the girls and the few parents seated on the bleachers.
I glance at Will. He’s suppressing a laugh. I did my best. They wanted a new name. We put it to a vote. I’m just the messenger here.
“So, by popular vote, we are now …” I pause, working to maintain my composure. “The …” I clear my throat, scanning the eager eyes on the bleachers. Not one blinks. I square my shoulders. “... the Sparkly Llamacorns.”
Will turns so his back is facing the bleachers. He makes a show of coughing into his fist.
Cheers erupt from the bleachers. Peyton hoists a posterboard in the air with the name in bubble letters coated in glitter.
“New uniforms will be in before this weekend’s game,” I say, keeping my face straight by imagining a drill sergeant standing over me.
Llamacorns. Leave it to the seven-year-olds.
Luna shouts out, “What’s a llamacorn?”
Will coughs profusely.
Arianna answers enthusiastically, “It’s like a llama with a horn! A spitting unicorn with fur!”
Charlotte raises her hand.
“Yes?” I ask.
“Do we get to spit?”
Will’s shoulders shake.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a breath. “No spitting.”
I lift my whistle, but I don’t blow it. “Okay, Llamacorns, we’re going to have a mock game today, which means we’re splitting you into two teams. When Will calls your name, go to the side of the field where he points.”
The girls divide and don bibs in either red or blue.
“Red team, take the field!” I shout. “Blue, you’re at bat.”
Will helps the girls take their positions at the bases and in the outfield. I line the girls up near the pile of helmets by the dugout.
While I refresh the girls on a proper way to grip the bat, I overhear Will telling the girls, “If the runner is between bases, tag them out. Got it?” The girls in the field all shout, “Yes, Coach!”
I pull on a catcher's mask and take my place behind the first batter, Whitney. She sticks the tip of her tongue out of the side of her mouth and squints at Will. He winds up and pitches the ball to her. She hits it with a solid thwack and takes off for first base. The ball rolls toward the outfield. All three outfielders run to pick it up. Kinsley gets to it first. But Whitney’s already decided to try for second base.
Kinsley reaches Whitney between the two bases and tags her with her gloved hand. “Tag!” she shouts. “You’re it!”
Kinsley turns and starts running toward the outfield. Whitney stands stock-still and then she takes off after Kinsley.
