J E N N Y M A N Z E R
12
J.R. sniffed around the bench while I stared at
the empty ball diamond. Someone had weeded it.
It was ready to go. I wondered when summer ball
started. Tryouts were already under way back home
in Toronto.
“You play?” I heard a voice say. The voice
belonged to a boy. He looked about my age, but
he was a bit shorter. He had a sprinkling of freckles
on his nose and wore a navy-and-teal Seattle
Mariners cap.
I felt my Jays cap. I owned two, but today I was
wearing my favorite—it had mesh at the back to
keep your head cool. Not that you needed it in this
kind of summer weather.
“Yeah, I play,” I said. Oh, I was supposed to say
hello, I remembered. I couldn’t tell if he was nice
or not. I wished people just came with signs that
told you whether they were friend or foe, because I
really needed a friend.
“I’m Hank Ottenburg.” Then he kind of fake
coughed into his hand while muttering something.
“What?”
“You heard me. I’m the best hitter there is
around here.”
“
Re-ally
?” I asked. “And what position do you
play?”
