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“Something about him is familiar,” first base guy called.
“He looks like that Ryan Lawrence,” Buster called. “But in fact, he’s a fudge maker. Learning off Gussie Neeps,” he added.
There was a silence while they studied Ryan, who took the looks in his stride. He’d turned his cap, brim at the back, and was swinging the bat.
“Nah, I can’t see the resemblance,” someone said.
“Me either.”
“So do you make peanut fudge?”
“It’s my most popular,” Ryan said.
“Any chance we can play here?” Mac called from behind the catcher.
“Strike one!” the umpire called.
“Come on, pretty boy,” Buster called. “Get us home.”
He cracked the third pitch hard enough that they all got home to resounding cheers from the Howlers.
“Go, Ryan!”
Looking to the bleachers, they saw Mrs. C. She wore all white, almost like a skinsuit, but around her shoulders was a blue cape. Her hair was blue. Faith couldn’t see her face clearly but was sure her eyelashes had feathers stuck to them.
She was standing and held up a sign with “Howlers for the Win” in blood red.
“I want to be just like her when I grow up,” Annabelle said.
“God help us all,” her husband added.
“Nice work, Ryan,” Faith congratulated him.
What felt like hours later, Faith’s shirt clung to her and sweat trickled down her back as she sat with the others watching Buster walk out to bat. Ryan was on second base. He could run, that was for sure, and bat. It was like he’d been playing on the team his entire life.
“You got this, Baker Boy!” Annabelle roared.
They needed this run to draw level with the Ballbusters. The game was an arm wrestle, and Faith loved it. Loved being part of a team and feeling the burn of her muscles as she leapt to catch balls and ran bases.
The pitch came in, and Buster got hold of it, hitting hard. They watched, breath held, as Ryan ran, touching third and heading for home. He slid in to home plate, tangled with the catcher, and when the dust settled, Mac called safe.
Faith watched Ryan stay down.
“Ryan!” Twin shrieks had her turning left. Two women were running onto the field, dressed in Talon shirts. They reached Ryan, dropping to their knees beside him. Hands stroking his hair. One of them leaned over him, and Faith had a feeling she was going to kiss him. A surge of jealousy she would think about later had her getting out of her chair and walking to where Ryan lay.
“Get off him!” she roared.
The women glared up at her.
“He’s injured,” one said.
“Do you know who he is?” the other added.
“W-Winded,” Ryan managed to get out.
Faith hauled first one and then the other woman to her feet.
“Stop making fools of yourself and get off the field.” When they didn’t move, she bared her teeth. “Now, or I’ll make you. There is a game in progress.”
