Page 35 of The Strike Zone

Mark might have returned to New York after the holidays pleading apologetically with claims of missing me, but that wasn’t entirely true.

Instead, he’d found someone to help him get through the difficulty of being without me. I found out later that she was his ex-girlfriend—the one he used to complain about all the time.

As is always the case in situations such as these, she did me a favor. My eyes had finally opened wide to what a dick he was, and no doubt still is. We broke up. I cried for a couple of days, ate some ice cream, and cut my hair.

And felt a whole lot better for it.

I’ve mostly got over my annoyance, until I’m reminded of it when my phone buzzes. I’m pissed I could have enjoyed the offseason doing what I wanted to do, instead of spending it with a douche. But now I had the time to make up for it, plus a new job opportunity to work on.

I’m free to figure out what I want from my life and can make the most of being single.

“Hey, Scout?—”

My head shot up to the sound of Joey’s voice and I swallowed the giant lump of red licorice I’d been attempting to chew my way through.

“Two minutes.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, trying my best to remove the candy wedged in my back teeth.

My fingers were still working against my molars, when a loud laugh echoed out as the doors to the changing rooms clattered back against the walls.

“Awesome. So awesome. Cy, make sure you’re getting this,” cried Joey.

“We’re going viral with this, for real.”

“Dude, watch where you’re going!” yelled someone, jumping out of the way as a giant, bright yellow Minion almost knocked them flying, followed by another one.

“What the—” Was all I could manage, simultaneously amused and horrified as I watched nine Minions—all easily eight feet high—make their way into the corridors where we were waiting for them.

They were so wide that only two could fit down at a time, and given whoever was inside each Minions costume couldn’t really see where they were going, they all ended up colliding into each other—between bursts of loud laughter and a lot of swearing—before bouncing back to the walls, like we were playing bumper cars. A couple of them had already ripped the shirts they were wearing—custom, Minion-sized Lions shirts, all bearing their name and number.

“You’re on my foot?—”

“It’s like a furnace in here?—”

“I can’t see?—”

Now I knew why we were running late.

After one of the Minions was knocked so hard he fell over, and it took five minutes to get him back upright, it quickly became clear this was going to take way longer than I was expecting it to. There was also the issue of their legs—easily half the length of mine, and I didn’t have long legs.

We were supposed to be going to the coffee shop across the other side of Wrigleyville, but there was no way we’d have time.

At this rate we’d miss the start of the game.

I leaned into one of the guys. “Hey, is there anywhere nearer we can visit?”

Joey pulled up the local map to search. “Yeah, there’s one in the other direction, it’s a five-minute walk instead of fifteen.”

“Let’s go there. No one’s going to miss us.”

“Got that right. Or we could get an Uber.”

“How are they going to fit? We’d need one each.”

“Yeah,” he replied, looking back at the guys. “Maybe not then.”

I stepped back, the small space we’d been waiting in was now overcrowded with Minions, a couple of the coaching staff, and definitely more of the comms and social guys than were here earlier. I was half expecting to see the guys from the starting roster join us, but I guess they were all in practice.

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