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“And then he’ll point the bat to the sky before kicking back some dirt and getting back into his stance.”
Everything I told her happened moments after I said them.
“He’s going to swing on the first pitch, and more than likely, it’ll be”—I pause as he swings and misses—“a strike.”
She looks at me, and I nod to the game.
“He steps back and says a little prayer, then gets back in his stance.”
“And what’s going to happen next?” she asks.
As he swings, I smile. “Magic.”
The crack of the bat echoes through the air, and he doesn’t hesitate like the others did. He puts everything he has into making it to first, then second, and he wants to continue, but is forced back to second.
We’re all on our feet, cheering for him as he crouches down.
“Two RBIs.” Danny holds up a hand, and we all high-five each other, as if we’d gotten them ourselves.
The next batter hits a single, and Pope gets to third and a few steps to home when he has to go back.
The next hit, he makes it home, and the batter is out at second.
For the entire game, John Paul defies the stereotype that first base is the easiest base to play. He doesn’t just stand there and wait for the ball to get thrown to him; he dives, leaps, and does his very best the entire nine innings.
The game ends with New York winning by seven. Pope batted a thousand, had four RBIs, and rounded the bases three times. Anyone who can do basic math would come to the same conclusion we all do. He was the MVP of that game, and tomorrow, he’ll be the same.
On our way to the waiting car, York whispers, “How hot are you for that boy right now?”
Slightly tipsy, I smile. “We’re in the desert; everything’s hot.”
Halfway back to the hotel, I decide to send my first text to him.
Me:
You played an amazing game. Your parents would be so proud.
His reply is immediate.
John Paul:
And what about you?
Me:
…
I type and delete, then type and delete again because everything I want to say sounds sexual, and it’s not like that, so I give him a thumbs up.
When Marks chuckles, I glance over and see him shaking his head.
“What?”
He gives me a thumbs-up, and I give him an elbow to the side.
As soon as we get out of the car, Chloe looks up. “I wanna ride that Ferris wheel. Danny, do you wanna ride the Ferris wheel?”
“You want a ride? I’ll give you a ride,” he says.
