Page 36 of The Strike Zone

Spotting a small box over on the side, I grabbed it and stepped up. Didn’t help—I was still towered over by giant yellow cartoon characters, who couldn’t see me anyway, given the size of their heads.

“Okay, are we all together?” I yelled, and several of them jerked to where they thought the voice was coming from, only 50 percent got it right. I waited as a low chorus ofyessesmumbled through them. “Who has the coffee order?”

A yellow hand—belonging to Luke Coggings, according to the name on his shirt—shot as far into the air as it was able.

“Cool. We’re running a little behind, and we’re short on time to get you back here, so we’re going somewhere closer than planned. I’ll lead the way, so follow me. Anyone not in dress-up, grab a Minion’s hand and be their guide,” I added, jumping off the box and waving them forward.

They were going to need all the help they could get.

Have you ever tried walking down a busy road with nine giant Minions?

How about giant Minions in baseball uniforms walking around a rival territory on game day?

I thought it was going to take forever to walk five hundred yards to the coffee shop. It took way longer.

Every single person stopped us.

Cubs fans took selfies before loudly pronouncing the Lions were going to lose this series.

Several of the guys were jostled enough that I wish we’d brought security.

Luckily no one else fell over, but only through sheer luck. Traffic stopped to let us cross the road, people got out of their car and videoed us, and by the time we reached the coffee shop there were almost two hundred tags on social.

I stepped inside with a huge grin on my face.

Last year the guys had been dressed as Where’s Waldo, which isn’t as immediately obvious, and we had some traction, but it clashed with Ace’s poor throwing streak, and many of the comments on social were from fans who felt we should be paying more attention to the game.

This year was a different story.

I stepped to the side, holding one of the doors open, while Jess held the other. One by one, the Minions stepped inside, guided by their helper. Luckily the doors were bigger than the costumes, and no one lost their head.

Amazingly the place was relatively empty, and the Minion with the list was guided over to stand in line behind the only other person waiting.

“Hey, Cyrus, make sure you capture them ordering, and who each order belongs to.”

“Sure thing, boss,” he replied, hurrying over to the counter and peering down at the crumpled-up form, clenched tight in the little hand.

It took ten minutes of ordering, plus another ten for the drinks to be made and stacked up before the Minions were ready to get back to the stadium. It was a good thing so many of the staff had come with us, because there was no way we’d be able to carry back all the coffeeandguide a Minion at the same time.

“Hey, guys,” I called to Cyrus and Joey from where I’d been editing the footage from this morning’sgame day fitcontent. “Let’s hang back and edit what we’ve got, then we can get it uploaded before the game.”

“Sure.” Joey slid into the booth next to me and removed the ID card from the video camera, turning to Cyrus. “Hey, Cy, pass your footage over.”

“Man, I can’t believe Parker King drinks that,” he announced, pulling out the chair opposite Joey and me, and placed the camera down.

I glanced up from my screen, trying not to focus on the jolt zipping through me at the mention of Parker’s name. Or simply the thought of Parker.

“Drinks what?”

“The coffee he ordered is a tragedy. I figured he’d be black with half-and-half at the most, not a heart attack waiting to happen.”

“It can’t be that bad,” I replied, but as mine could be considered a little skewed, my opinion on others’ wasn’t always valid. However, Parker had been very clear on his thoughts about my coffee order yesterday.

“Here. Read it and tell me you don’t think that’s sick. And not in the good way. I mean, who drinks that?” He scrolled back through the video and paused the screen before passing it to me.

I looked down at the list. Out of nowhere my belly flip-flopped, giving way to a warmth that had my chest pounding. Parker King wasn’t a coffee-ordering freak like me.

This wasn’t his coffee order. It was mine with his name next to it.

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