Page 52 of Moonshot

“Yes!” they again cheer.

“We’ve been working hard. Don’t think about who you’re playing. Just give it your all. I’ve seen you at practice. You can do this.”

“Hey, coach. We got this. Tommy brought us some good luck on the way here.”

“Oh, yeah,” I pipe in.

“Yeah. A bird pooped on him when he was in the parking lot. You know, like that Giants’ pitcher who threw his best game ever. Same thing. We got this!”

“Yeah!” they yell, now all jumping up and down.

Looking over at Tommy, I notice his head’s a little damp but don’t see anything resembling bird shit.

“The pretty lady used about ten bottles of water from the trunk of her car to help get it out,” Joel says, pointing toward Ava, who’s sitting in her folding chair watching us, I’m sure unable to hear what we’re saying from this distance. A smile breaks out on my face before I can catch myself. What the hell?I don’t know what she’s pulling, but get your head together, Mick.

The game starts, and we manage to get through the first inning without the Devil Dog’s putting up any runs. No real shock, we take two turns at bat without a single hit, but at least the other team only accumulates one run on the scoreboard.

Corey Dillon is a good coach. Sure, he acts like he’s coaching an Olympic team instead of little league baseball, but he consistently has teams that perform well. They’re typically well behaved, and beyond their facial expressions, none of them gloat over their wins. He’s lucky to have a bunch of kids who’ve been able to play their whole lives. They train at expensive summer camps to be winners. Not like this team of rag-tag players who only today got anything resembling real uniforms.

Thinking of their excitement over the matching T-shirts again makes me think of Ava. Looking over toward the stands, I see her clapping and cheering as the next player gets up to bat. My mind drifts to the seats of National Field stadium, where I tried to teach her the rules of the game. How eager she was to learn. How could I have been so off about her?And why is she here?My irritation again rises, and I return my focus to the game.

An hour and a half later, our boys win two to one. I’m almost as shocked by this turn of events as I am that Ava is sitting in a folding chair watching it all happen. Turning my head to see her expression, I notice one Corey Dillon standing at her chair. The hair on my nape rises.What the fuck?

“Come on, boys, line up,” I bark. I’m not looking to tame their excitement over the surprise win, but protocol says you line up after every game and shake the other team’s hands as a show of sportsmanship. Fuck, I’ve been waiting all season for this. To the victor belongs the spoils. And shaking hands with the other team after a stunning win, well, we’re taking it.

We bump fists or elbows with the assorted players and coaches until Corey and I meet at the end of the lineup.

“Nice job, York. Honestly, didn’t think your kids had it in ya.”

“Well, we had a good luck charm.”

I watch as Corey looks over his shoulder at Ava and have to pull my arms into my sides so I don’t rip his head off of his neck. I’m sure she’s every bit the good luck charm he thinks she is. Whether she’s an A-class liar or not. But he doesn’t need to know that. “Yeah, I meant Tommy. Some bird took a shit on him in the parking lot before the game started.”

“Ha, likeAnthony DeSclafani? I didn’t think you had it in you to play dirty.” He laughs.

“We’re nothing if not classy.”

“So, the blonde?” He tilts his head in Ava’s direction.

“Is taken,” I bark, making things abundantly clear. It might be Joseph Stark that has her and not me, but we don’t have time for that discussion right now.

Corey lifts his arms up in surrender. “There’s plenty of other fish in the sea.”

“Yeah, well, go catch one of them.”

Coach Dillon turns and heads toward his team, who are gathering their belongings in stunned silence while my guys are acting like they just won the world series instead of the only legitimate game all season.

As the boys run to their parents, prideful smiles crossing their faces as they greet each other, I look toward Ava, who’s headed in my direction.

“Congratulations,” she states, smiling jubilantly at me.

“What do you want, Ava?” I can’t even enjoy this surprise victory because I’m overwhelmed at the sight of her.

“We need to talk,” she says, reaching out her hand to mine.

Jerking it away from her, I sneer, “What on earth about?”

“I need to tell you that you’re wrong. You’re wrong, and I love you.”

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