Page 96 of Just for the Plot

She chuckles and shakes her head, turning back toward the game.

With one foot in the square thing that all players must stand in when attempting to whack the ball, Bennett stares at his bat held in front of him like a sword, ready to slay the mighty beast.

My guess is he’s whispering sweet nothings to a piece of wood, convincing it that now is the time to make a significant impact.

Some drunk guy to the right of me shouts that Bennett sucks.

A lady down in front pumps her fists in the air like she’s at the club.

And a vendor—who I like to consider a good friend of my wallet—shouts about peanuts.

The dramatics.

Finally, after mentally making love to his bat, Bennett steps into the square of truth—truth because we shall see if making love to wood pays off—and he gets into position to slay.

I’ll be honest, despite not being overly involved in the sport, I do enjoy the tension of it all.

Will he or won’t he?

Will he be a hero?

Or will he be like the guy before him, getting thrown out by a yeeting clown in the middle of the field?

Only time will tell.

The pitcher fingers the ball, lifts his leg like he’s blowing a fart, and then sails the ball toward Bennett at such an enormous speed that I’m unsure how anyone can track such a thing.

The man dressed in armor, let’s call him the king of the court—others might refer to him as an official of some sort—sticks his hand out to the side, showing off his finger guns.

Ah-ha, I know what that means.

It was a strike.

“That’s not good,” I say.

“It’s fine,” Gabby says. “He likes to take the first pitch most of the time unless it’s a fastball, but that was a curve and he’s not going to waste a swing on a curveball if he wasn’t clocked in on it. It was a good take.”

No idea what she just said, but I clap anyway and shout, “Great take, great take.” I point toward the field, talking to the people around me. “He meant to do that.”

They all look at me as if I’ve lost my mind.

And perhaps I have.

I am slightly intoxicated.

I have had far too much cotton candy—two bags, yikes.

And I think the popcorn is sitting awkwardly in my system.

Not to mention I feel restless. I’ve been sitting in this seat for so long that—

The crack of the bat pulls me out of my thoughts as the crowd erupts.

What happened?

Where did it go?

Everyone stands, so I do the same, no problem in being a follower at this moment.