"Well," Alan said. He didn't know what to say. High
school. Dancing. Invited to parties. No one had invited him to parties
when he'd graduated from elementary school, and he'd been too busy with
the little ones to go in any event. He felt a little jealous, but mostly
proud. "Want a milkshake?" he asked, mentally totting up the cash in his
pocket and thinking that he should probably send Brad to dicker with the
assayer again soon.
"No, thank you," Ed said. "We're watching our weight."
Alan laughed, then saw they weren't joking and tried to turn it into a
cough, but it was too late. Their shy, chocolate smile turned into a
rubber-lipped pout.
#
The game started bang on time at six p.m., just as the sun was
setting. The diamond lights flicked on with an audible click and made a
spot of glare that cast out the twilight.
Benny was already on the mound, he'd been warming up with the catcher,
tossing them in fast and exuberant and confident and controlled. He
looked good on the mound. The ump called the start, and the batter
stepped up to the plate, and Benny struck him out in three pitches, and
the little ones went nuts, cheering their brother on along with the
other fans in the bleachers, a crowd as big as any you'd ever see
outside of school, thirty or forty people.
The second batter stepped up and Benny pitched a strike, another strike,
and then a wild pitch that nearly beaned the batter in the head.
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