Sandy is a ballplayer, plus he has thoughts he keeps to himself.
Last inning... beyond the last out.
Writer’s note
Two boys on a summer day, destination unknown. They do know one another, only not that well. You don't necessarily know every player on your baseball team that well.
When the last inning of the last game is over, you normally pick up your stuff in the dugout and go home. Sandy is a 14-year-old boy minding his own business - another season at first base - when the center fielder wants him to go with him for food. Sandy must not have heard the after-game plan, that the whole team is going there - unless he just got asked out on a date.
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The beginning of the story…
THEY ALWAYS tell us, "Gimme 90."
It means run hard to first base. You never know when an infielder might have trouble getting the ball out of his glove. Or something else could go wrong.
But this isn't really a baseball story. We have just played our last game of the season, so everybody is standing around saying goodbye.
The weather is nice.
I'm a 14-year-old boy in the summer before I start my freshman year. I don't know if I'm looking forward to that or not.
Anyway, I have just played another year at first base. I feel aimless, like there's nowhere to go and I'll get there when I get there. I pick up my glove and make sure I've got my hat on before I step out of the dugout.
When I do, our center fielder comes up to me. He's not someone I talk to a lot. For one thing, he's 15. Also, outfielders and infielders don't always have that much to talk about.
"Hey," he says, "I'm not gonna see you again."
He's got his trademark smile. I have liked him from the first day of practice but never made friends with him. I wanted to.
"What are you doing?" he says.
I don't know what he means.
He slaps my shoulder. "Let's go somewhere."
This is so weird. I picture us going somewhere. Then I realize that probably everybody is going there. So his words are not exactly what they sound like.
It lets me relax a little. "Sure," I say. "Where to?"
"Burgers and fries?"
"Great."
We start walking in the direction of this one place that players on the team have gone to before. I've been there once or twice this season with other infielders. I look around the field to see where they are but maybe they have already left.
I didn't think I took that long getting my mitt in the dugout. Maybe I did.
When we get to the sidewalk, I look around some more. Everybody's gone. I don't see anybody up ahead of us. They have already gotten to the restaurant, I guess.
I walk in with Lewis. Somebody will call us over. So far, nobody has seen us.
"I know what you want," Lewis says, and gets in line to place an order.
That leaves me to look around for the team. It's pretty crowded, so it isn't that easy to see who's here. But I don't think they are, because they would be wearing uniforms and kind of easy to spot in a crowd.
Lewis is back with a receipt in his hand. He waves it. "We got number 88."
"Cool." I don't know what I'm saying.
Lewis points across the room. "There's a place."