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I have to make him a memory, starting now.
I enter the auditorium from the back. Professor Santoro is starting the symposium with a welcome speech and presentation of her own, and then I’m up first. She’s already at the podium, talking into the microphone, her silver-threaded hair glinting in under the stage lights.
“One of the best parts of being a professor is discovering a student you know has what it takes to go the distance,” she says. “Someone you know is going to surpass you one day, because frankly, she’s smarter than you.” This earns her a couple of chuckles. She pauses to smile, looking out at the audience—and then over her shoulder at me, waiting in the wings.
“This has happened to me a few precious times in my career, and from the moment I met Mia di Angelo, I knew she was something special,” she continues. “She has the passion, the smarts, and above all, the curiosity that someone needs to do great things in this field. I’ve been so proud to have her as an undergraduate researcher this summer, and I can’t wait for you all to meet her.”
I realize a beat too late that that’s my cue and hurry onto the stage, aiming for the podium. My first slide is up on the projector behind me, ready to go. My footsteps sound so loud against the wood stage that I can’t focus on anything else.
She smiles as we pass each other, squeezing my arm. “Chin up. Speak clearly. You’ve got this.”
This isn’t the first presentation I’ve given, and it won’t be the last. This is just the beginning. I give her a nod as I settle in at the podium.
I look at the crowd and nearly knock over the microphone.
My family is sitting in the first row.
Giana. Mom, Dad, and Nana. Penny is at the end of the row next to my sister, beaming.
I meet my mother’s gaze, and she gives me a slight nod.
I steel my spine and begin.
61
SEBASTIAN
I lace up my cleats,making a double knot and tucking in the loops. Socks, belt, buttoned-up jersey. Dad’s necklace tucked underneath my collar, my baseball cap, my sunglasses. The pieces of my uniform come together the same way as they always do, one last time. I paint two thick stripes of eye black on my cheeks, then help Rafael with his.
The usual cheer in the locker room is subdued. We split the two previous games in this series, and it would be great to go out with one final win, not just for me but for the team, but it doesn’t feel nearly as exciting as it should. No matter how well we play, it won’t lead to a spot in the playoffs. This is the end of my baseball career. My last time jogging out to left field. My last time stepping into the batter’s box. My last time walking off the field at the end with my teammates by my side, win or lose.
I’m at peace with it. The letter went to the Commissioner’s Office this morning, and by the end of the game, Zoe Anders will have broken the story. She still wants to do a video interview, but I’m going to decline. I said all I needed to say in that letter. I don’t owe anyone more of an explanation.
And who knows, maybe one day, baseball fans across America will recognize me for my food instead.
It’s a perfectly warm, perfectly cloudless late June day in New York, the kind of baseball weather they depict in the movies. My family is behind home plate, ready to watch me play. Even if I go 0-for-4 or commit an error, I won’t care. I’ll have given it my all, one more time.
I just wish that Mia was here.
I check the time. She’s probably doing last minute preparations for her presentation. I hope she’s not too nervous; I’m sure she’s going to crush it. I saw how hard she worked on this project, day after day, night after night. By the end, before everything went sideways, she’d be up in the middle of the night with me, working at the kitchen table, bathed in the blue glow of the computer, while I cooked.
Today is an ending for me, but a beginning for her. I just hope her family came through on their promise and actually showed up.
“Ready?” Hunter says quietly. He’s the only one who knows the truth of today besides Coach Martin.
I adjust my cap. “I feel good. No regrets.”
“Then that’s all that matters.” He claps me on the back. “I’m going to miss you next season.”
“You’ll have to keep me updated.”
“You still think you’ll go to Europe? Even without, you know?”
I nod. “I’ll start there and see where I end up.”
“You should start a food Instagram or something.”
I snort. “The spotlight still isn’t for me.”
