Page 2 of Saving The Shortstop

“Well, that’s the thing. We need your parents’ consent.” She pauses, swallowing. “And we can’t seem to reach them.”

“Oh,” I say, nodding like it’s no big deal. Like it’s normal for a nine-year-old’s mom and dad not to care what happens to their kid during the day, as long as they don’t have to deal with him. Then again, there are days when I don’t go to school at all because I’m too hungry, or too dirty when our water is shut off. And my parents never once notice.

When her eyes are still on me, I fidget with my fingers under my desk. “I’ll talk to my mom today,” I mumble, lying through my teeth.

I feel her gaze on me for a moment, probably seeing if I’m lying before finally, she stands up straight.

“Hey, Dallas?”

“Yeah?” I utter, not looking up.

“Do you like chocolate chip cookies?” she asks, her voice now lighter. “Because if you do … well, I made some last night, and my husband is on a diet, so I had to bring them with me to get rid of them. Would you like a few?”

Maybe she feels bad because she hears my stomach rumbling. Perhaps she knows I’m the kid whose only meal is at school. Whatever it is, I don’t care. Because when I look back at her, I’m doing my best to smile as I tell her I love chocolate chip cookies. Because the thought alone of eating anything—let alone a cookie—has my mouth watering.

My mom’s never made cookies before. The ones the lunch ladies make are like hockey pucks. So I can’t wait to try a homemade one. I’m so glad I don’t have to wait till lunch time either.

ONE

HAVEN

TWO YEARS LATER

AGE 12

My mom pulls her SUV into the nearly empty lot next to the park, making it easy for her to pull into a spot. In the front seat, the sun beams through the windshield, nearly blinding me, and I flip the mirror down, but it does nothing to help.

“Ugh, the sun’s in my eyes.” I groan. “Give me your sunglasses.”

“Um, no,” my mom says, looking in the rearview and brushing a few strands of hair from her face. “No being whiny today, Have. You either, Noah,” she says to me and my little brother, who’s in the back, stuffing his face with a donut.

“What if he doesn’t like us?” Noah asks, his mouth full of Boston Cream because even at the age of ten, he has no manners.

“Oh, cut it out.” My mom scoffs. “What’s not to like?”

I give her a side-eye. “Well, I heard you and dad talking and, uh … I heard you say that he beat someone up on his first day of school. And he gave his teacher the double middle fingers.” I scrunch my nose up. “Not even one middle finger, Mom. Two.”

“Child,” she utters, throwing her head back, “must you always eavesdrop? This is going to be a nice playdate for you guys.”

“I like to know what’s going on,” I deadpan with a small shrug. “Especially if it involves my parents wanting me to hang out with someone who flips teachers the bird and punches people,” I grumble. “Also, Mom, I’m twelve now. Please don’t say playdate. It’s so cringe.”

“I agree,” Noah chimes in. “That just sounds … creepy.”

Her eyes go from me to my brother, sending us both a warning. My mom doesn’t play around, and I know better than to push her buttons too hard. My dad is a pushover. My mom? She’s a tad scary.

And everyone says I’m just like her.

“This boy—Dallas …” My mom says the three words but stops for a few seconds, almost like she’s processing what she’s about to tell us. “He’s had a really hard life.” She sighs. “I hope you two realize how incredibly lucky you are. You have so many people who love you. Dad and I put you above everything else, including ourselves. But not every child is that blessed.” She looks at me and my brother again. “Memphis and Lane have wanted children of their own for a very long time. And now, they have Dallas. And I know they’re going to give him the life he deserves.” She flicks a tear away before it rolls down her cheek. “In a way, he’s been waiting for them, and they’ve been waiting for him too. But you’re right, he did do the things you said. But cut him some slack, okay? His life has been anything but easy.”

I’m silent for a moment as I let her words hit me, leaving me feeling like an absolute jerk. Finally, I give her a small smile. “It’s really cool that the kid they adopted is Dallas since her name is Memphis.”

My mom studies my face before she smiles back at me and brushes her fingers across my cheek. “That’s another reason why they thought it was meant to be. They were considering it, and then … Dallas showed up.”

My parents have always been close with Lane and Memphis—so much so that the four of them, along with another couple, Trent and Cameran Kade, have beach houses in the Hamptons all next to each other.

Her eyes dart behind me, and she draws in a deep breath. “Okay. They’re here. Best behavior, all right?”

“Yes, Mom,” Noah and I say at the same time before, reluctantly, I turn to look out the window, and right away, Aunt Memphis is waving to us.