Page 398 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

His brows lift. “Don’t be a dumbass.”

Gino catches himself on the ropes,

a loud laugh escaping him.

“Yo, chill, baby boy. I’ll go easy on her.”

Andrew rips his arm out of Peter’s hold.

“She don’t know you, and you don’t need to know her. You keep your beef with me, you keep it with me,” he grits out. “You bring her into it? Swear t’God, there won’t be enough people in this dome to pull me off you.”

Peter rams his shoulder into Andrew’s.

“Back up, back up. You’re two seconds from making this guy the victim,” he says, hauling him backward. “Give him nothing.”

Some man yells from the sidelines,

breaking through the tension,

forcing the guys apart.

The game starts with Andrew at shortstop.

Middle of the diamond,

where everything can touch him.

To his right, Peter’s on third, his gum smacking at a fast, nervous pace, his glove hanging at his side as he tries talking Andrew off the ledge. “The fuck’s goin’ on with you, kid? Huh? You touch him first, you’re fucked. Use ya head for once.”

But Andrew’s a statue, ignoring Peter’s constant nagging in his ear.

He’s slouched forward, palms on his knees, his cap throwing shade over a stone-cold face, his gold chain swinging like a pendulum at his throat.

Danny winds up the pitch.

The first Bronx batter steps in

and swings⁠—

Crack.

Ball’s a grounder,

ripping across turf right to Andrew.

He steps left, glove down, scoop, and a lightning-fast throw across the diamond.

First baseman catches it with a pop.

The umpire’s arm pumps the air:

Out.

From the girlfriend section,

Mrs. Robinson cups her hands around her mouth, yelling down at the field. “Good job, baby. You got this!” She claps.

I narrow my eyes over my shoulder, wanting to drag her down the bleachers by her hair, take a bat, and beat her face in with it.