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“We’re not going to be able to meet like this after today, so here, give me your number,” Brendan says, handing over his phone. I pop it in, hand it back, and a moment later, my phone chimes with a message, and by message, I mean an emoji of a middle finger. I laugh, save his contact, and lock my phone.
“Now you have my number, too. I’ll give you a call later, and we can go through what our plans for the next few articles will be. Oh, I forgot to ask, do you have any more photos like the one you shared? I think you might be onto something with that duck.”
“You do? I mean… do you like the idea?”
“Yeah, I do. Look at how many hits it got. The public likes it, too. Is that the only one you have?” he asks me, standing from the table.
“That’s the only one I’ve found so far.”
He seems to ponder my words for a moment before he smiles a gorgeous, deep-dimple smile, and says, “Well, if that’s the only duck you’ve got, we’ll just have to think of interesting ways to use him.”
“I have a feeling I’ll find a few more ducks before the tour is over,” I say, and he doesn’t even flinch.
“Anything’s possible,” he replies with a small smile, then turns and leaves the restaurant. I finish up my coffee, and as I’m passing through reception to get back to my room, a squealing child pulls my attention.
“Mommy, look a duck,” the child calls as they toddle over to a plant by the main doors. A moment later, they pull out a rubber duck painted in blue and white stripes. You win this round, kid, but the next duck is going to be mine.
Chapter nine
Duckie
It’s game day, andI hate to fucking admit it, but I’m nervous. The crowd started arriving an hour ago, and it’s a full house. I guess the public is just as excited about the new teams joining Banana Ball as the teams are themselves. It doesn’t help my nerves either that all yesterday, as much as I was trying to pretend to dislike Ian, I’m pretty sure everyone could see straight through me.
I called Carter after the bar the other night to talk about the weird effect Ian has on me, and in true brotherly fashion, he told me to stop worrying about who I used to like and who I used to be attracted to, and just keep my mind open to the possibility that someone new might be able to affect me in the same way.
Like it’s that easy.
He always seemed so sure of himself, and of who he loved. I don’t remember a time when he wasn’t. Except maybe when he was delusional about his feelings for Lucas. Everyone could see how much they liked each other. All it took was a bakery fire and limited rentals for those two to find their way to each other. Butit was always men for him. It’s always been women for me. There was that one thing in college, but it was college, so it doesn’t count.
Even if what I’m feeling for Ian is something that I want to investigate, we’re both professionals tasked with a job to build buzz around this tour, and now, with our rivalry being the focus of our plan moving forward, I don’t see how I could get to know him or understand my feelings any better anytime soon. It’s probably better if I just focus on the tour and my writing. I can do that.
“Alright, pen pushers, get yourselves ready. Two minutes and we’re heading out there,” Coach Miles calls. It’s nice to see Dennis’s nickname for us catching on. I adjust my old-timey news hat and try to settle my nerves. I have to hand it to Dennis, even with the short notice, he managed to find amazing costumes for us to wear. Rob even has suspenders that he can’t stop playing with. To me, he looks more like he should be serving milkshakes from behind some counter at an old milk bar than a sports reporter, but what do I know?
Ian looks great, too. He has on a diamond-patterned vest and is wearing a bow tie that’s sitting completely askew. His face is a little flushed, but mine feels like it’s on fire. Normally, I love being the center of attention, but this is something else altogether.
Dennis waves at us to make our way out, and I let the others go ahead, quickly pulling a black rubber duck wearing a white bow tie from my pocket and placing it on the top shelf of one of the players’ lockers. I rush to put another pink duck beside the towels, and a third in the shower on top of one of the showerheads. It’s a little on the nose, but with the huge box Carter sent me, if I don’t start hiding them everywhere I go, I’ll never get rid of them all. I place one more, a little yellow duck that’s wearing sunglasses, on the railing that flows up thecorridor to the pitch and then make my way to the front of our group. The warm-up music starts to play and Dennis pats Ian on the shoulder.
“Off you go, boys. Showtime,” Dennis says, and my heart pounding, I jog with the others through the opening and take my place on the side opposite Ian.
The crowd is screaming, cheering, and clapping, but it’s just noise at this point. Ian and I lock eyes, both of us waiting for the music to queue the choreography we’ve practiced over and over. Rob and Sherman hold old-timey camera props that flash as they click, and we start calling random questions into the void where the players are waiting. Then the music changes and we’re up.
I go through the moves in perfect time, and when it gets to Ian and my face-off, I can’t help but smirk. I do my turn and dip, coming back up, right in his face, and I get the strongest waft of his cologne. He pumps his brows and counters my move, then, just like we rehearsed, he leans forward and I lean back, then we swap, and then the other writers’ hands are on us, pulling us back from each other as if holding us back from a fight. The crowd erupts as the players start jogging between us and dancing onto the pitch.
It’s over. The crowd could care less about us right now. It’s all about the players, and their deafening cheers rumble through the grounds. We move to the side as they pass, then fall back to the dugout, watching along with the thousands in the stands as they deliver their incredible opening night performance. They finish the number, and the Funky Monkeys quickly spread out across the pitch into their positions while Animal Control line up by the side of their first hitter. The pitcher throws the ball, and it lands square in the catcher’s mitt.
The umpire signals strike one, flips up onto one hand, both feet coming up in the air together before coming backdown again. The crowd cheers louder. Animal Control is my designated team, so I shout out a “whoop, whoop,” loud enough to draw Ian’s attention. He flips me off, and both Craig and Sherman catch it.
“It’s one strike. Just wait, we’re taking game one for sure,” Ian boasts, and when the crowd erupts again, I spin to see their batter running between the bases. He stops on third, does a backflip to the delight of the supporters, and the next hitter steps up to the plate. Only he’s coming from the stairs in section one. Music, Britney’sOne More Time,blasts over the speakers as he lip-synchs the words and another player walks backward, catching it all on a device to post to socials later.
I knew little about Banana Ball coming in, but no amount of research or watching their videos on socials can prepare you for the energy that radiates in this space. What they’re doing here is on a whole other level.
The game is in full swing, and both teams manage to work in the small routines they’ve developed into regular gameplay. Most go off without a hitch, but when the pitcher trips over during one of his pre-throw numbers, the hitter takes the opening and makes a run for first. It’s a good reminder that there are no scripts in Banana Ball. Both teams are here to win.
With the nine rules differentiating it from the classic game, it’s easy to see why Banana Ball is gaining popularity among young and old.
Speaking with a few fans between innings, I find some of the fan-favorite rules include that in Banana Ball there are no walks, on ball four the hitter takes off at a sprint. They advance through as many bases as they choose, while the pitcher throws the ball to every player on the field before it’slive,and only then can they try to get the hitter out. Batters can’t step out of the box; step out and it’s a strike. There are no mound visits by coachesslowing things down, and there’s no bunting because, according to everyone I ask, bunting sucks.
The one I like best is that every inning counts. Win the inning, your team gets the point, and whoever has the most points when the two-hour timer ends, wins. That’s why I wasn’t too worried if we lost the first inning. There was still plenty of time to get back the point, especially in the last inning, where every run counts as a point.
