Page 402 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

Arms are grabbing arms.

White lines of the infield vanish under a herd of cleats, and I lose Andrew in the crowd.

Then I see him.

Lose him.

See him again.

Then he’s gone, leaving chopped-up, strobe-lit pieces of a man through gaps between bodies—the dark crown of his head, the black flash of cleats throwing up turf, a smear of fresh blood on his skin.

Peter’s arm is a steel bar locked around his chest. Marco has a fist in the back of his shirt. Through it all, the gold chain swings wildly around his neck.

And I stand frozen, watching them drag him backward through the mob.

Girlfriend Section’s packing up,

men are shouting into phones,

kids are crying, and⁠—

“Andrew!” Mrs. Robinson cries out.

She blows past me, running across the field, straight into the tunnel after him, her bleach-blonde ponytail swinging behind her.

That was my first instinct,

to run after him.

Maybe it’s what I should be doing, too.

But chasing that man twice in twenty-four hours is embarrassing.

Nah. I’m not doing that shit again.

My second instinct is to stick my foot out, trip her, watch her smash into the floor face first. Break a few teeth. Maybe crack her skull open. Make God look away and say, ‘Jesus Christ, Allison’ as she passes through.

But she flies by too fast, and the opportunity’s gone before the thought finishes.

My eyes follow her, then land on Andrew’s bat lying a few feet from the mound.

The poor thing⁠—

weaponized, then abandoned.

His baseball cap is only a few feet away,

stomped on.

We have that in common:

all left behind by Andrew.

I wander out onto the field, grab the hat and bat, then head back to the bench to scavenge the rest.

His glove. His navy zip-up,

shoving them both into his duffle.