Page 21 of Run Home

Clasping my hands together instead, I lean both elbows on my knees for the remainder of the slideshow. When the music fades and the emotional audience starts clapping, I take it as my cue to sneak out of the room and return to the library. Nudging Sam’s knee with mine, I point toward the door, and she nods.

The second I step out into the hallway, I bump into a tiny girl with white-blonde pigtails. She’s walking away from the office door holding an ice pack, and I hope I didn’t give her more of a need for it.

“I’m so sorry,” I say quietly. “Are you okay?”

She nods slowly. Her eyes are wide as she looks up at me—not with a hint of recognition, but more with overwhelm from my broad five-foot-eleven frame towering over her. I assume she must be in kindergarten, given how small she is. Smiling at her, I hold out a clenched hand for a fist bump. She knocks her tiny knuckles against mine before scampering down the hall.

Smiling as I make my way back to the library, I successfully avoid any additional human contact. While I wait out the remainder of the event in Danae’s office attached to the library, I respond to some emails and messages I’ve been putting off. Extended applause sounds in the hallways as they carry on their clap-out tradition.

About ten minutes later, Jason’s voice loudly calls out, “Ortiz? You in here?”

He’s shushed by Griffin, but Griffin’s reminder to keep things quiet is ignored by a whooping Jason when I step out into the main library space.

“Fireball!” I exclaim as he runs over to me. We greet each other with the hand-slapping, fist-bumping, snapping handshake we created over ice cream at spring training Griffin’s final year. “You’re out of the minor leagues and heading to the majors in August, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Jason replies, his face tightening. “Middle school is gonna be really different.”

Anxiety bubbles in his tone, and I put a hand on his shoulder. “Everyone is nervous for their first season in the Big Leagues. But you’ll find your way—you’ve got some great coaches behind you,” I say, raising my eyebrows in Griffin’s direction.

I catch Sam’s smile when I look her way, and I can’t resist pushing her buttons. Looking back to Jason I say, “I think Sam’s got some semicool present for you, but know that when I hit a homer in tonight’s game, it’s got your name on it in honor of your graduation today.”

“Now wait just a minute!” Sam whines, but it’s all good-natured. Danae is still helping dismiss the rest of the students, but Sam lets Jason go ahead and open the gift. It’s a jumble of items that Sam says is a middle school survival kit—namely, lots of snacks, his favorite candies, a set of positive affirmation cards, multiple fidget toys, packs of gum, and some fancy mechanical pencils. Jason groans when he finds a four-pack of deodorant inside.

Sam’s smile is mischievous. “What? We gotta make sure you’re smelling good if you’re not gonna scare off the girls.”

I make a mental note to experiment with some new colognes.

As Sam and Jason continue talking, Griffin claps me on the back. “Thanks for coming this morning, man. I should have told you about it myself—didn’t think you’d want to squeeze it into an already full week.”

“I’m glad I could be here. Seeing his face light up when he saw you . . . it’s cool watching you with him, even if you don’t quite look like yourself,” I end with a playful jab.

Griffin rubs a hand above his ear and abruptly pulls it away. “I’m still not used to this haircut. It feels weird without the extended fade.”

Motioning to my clothes, I say, “Do you like my old-man Griffin outfit today? Just blending in with the suburban dads.”

He shoves my arm as I cackle at my own joke. While Sam and Jason continue talking away about middle school, Griffin asks me, “How’s it going with Hendricks this year?” I expect there to be a hint of longing or regret—evidence of questioning his own retirement—but there isn’t any. I know Griffin misses baseball, but I’ve never gotten the sense that he thinks he made the wrong choice.

“Eh, it’s okay,” I answer truthfully.

“Why only okay?” Griffin asks. “I mean, I know he’s still settling into the team, but he’s played decent so far.”

“Yeah, he’s doing fine. But I think he could be better if he would take himself a little less seriously,” I explain.

Griffin grins. “You mean he won’t horse around with you out on the field, and that makes you sad?”

Now I shove Griffin’s arm as he laughs.

“Yes, I am sad not to have a partner in comedy out there,” I say. “But more than that, he’s wound up so tight, putting too much pressure on himself. If he doesn’t chill out, he’s gonna pop eventually.”

Nodding, Griffin observes, “We’ve seen that a time or two. Maybe he’ll get into a more relaxed groove as the season goes on. He didn’t make any errors the past two series—maybe he’s turning a corner.”

“I hope so,” I say right before Danae walks into the room.

“I think the coast is clear if you need to get going, Adrian,” she says. “The parking lot is pretty much empty, so I doubt there will be anyone left out back.”

Checking the time, I say, “Yeah, I’d better split. But I’m glad I got to come see your big day, Fireball. What was that fancy award you got?”

“The Sensational Savant,” Jason says, pride in his eyes.