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gigantic pickles. Seeing the lengthening line, I tried hard not to frown. Why weren’t these people in the stands, where I wanted to be, watching the game? So not fair.
    I heard someone order M& M’s. I loved the fact that all the candy was within the reach of the moms, so they could hand it out.
    Mom One looked back at me. “Where are the Cokes?”
    â€œI didn’t know we needed any.”
    â€œFour of ’em. Two Cokes, a Dr Pepper, a 7UP.”
    I went to the machine, scooped ice into thecups, and pressed a cup against the lever. I set the full drinks on the counter.
    â€œStraws?” the guy said.
    Obviously he was new to the field. “No straws,” I said. It was too easy for people to toss them on the ground. Then litter patrol had to work that much harder to clean up the area. As much as I didn’t like working concessions, it was way better than working litter patrol.
    Another call came for popcorn, so I went back to fill a sack, watching while Bird opened another bag of wieners.
    â€œThe concert?” she asked. “You want to come with us?”
    I shook my head. “I don’t want to be a third wheel.”
    â€œAnd if the fourth wheel is another player? I’m sure I could get Brandon to ask someone. Pick a player. Any player.” She sounded like a magician doing a card trick.
    â€œHow pathetic is it that having a player in the house was my idea, and I have to be set up on a blind date?” I asked.
    â€œIt’s not a blind date. The guys know who you are.”
    â€œWhatever.”
    It felt like a blind date setup to me.
    Another round of shouting, yelling, and clapping from the crowd drifted toward us. Quite honestly, I couldn’t wait for our shift to be over so we could get to where the real action was happening.
    It was the bottom of the fourth inning when Bird and I were told to grab popcorn and Cokes—our reward for serving time in concession hell—and get out of the way so the next shift could get to work.
    We didn’t waste any time heading to the stands. No reserved seating at our little ballpark. Tickets were five dollars—except when they had special dollar nights—and people just sat wherever. Bird and I found some bench space on the third row, right behind the home team batter’s warm-up area. As soon as we sat down, we automatically reached into our respective tote bags and pulled out our rattles. I glanced back over my shoulder and saw my dad sitting on the top row—his favorite spot, because it gave him “a bird’s-eye view.” I waved at him, before turning around to focus on the game.
    Ethan was at bat and Mac was warming up, swinging his bat. He turned around to face the crowd, touched his fingers to his batting helmet, and grinned.
    â€œI think he’s grinning at us,” Bird said, wiggling her fingers at him.
    Was he? It seemed like he was, but there were so many people in the stands, it was really hard to tell. While this was a small, wooden-bat league and we were a small town, the citizens did support any endeavor the town pursued, so we usually had a good crowd at the games.
    â€œHow about Mac?” Bird asked.
    â€œHow about Mac what?” Here I was, doing my repeat-question thing again. I really needed to break that habit.
    â€œHow about going to the concert with him?”
    â€œRead my lips. No setup. ”
    â€œI’ll feel bad if I leave him at home with nothing to do. I’m supposed to serve as his ambassador, right? So you’ll be doing me a favor if you go with us. It’ll be a group of us. Just fun. No pressure. No setup.”
    â€œI’ll think about it.”
    Maybe I’d ask Jason, too. Maybe we’dmake it a whole team thing. Give me a chance to explore options. There were still lots of guys I hadn’t yet rated.
    Ethan struck out, and Mac went to the plate. First pitch, he hit the ball out to left field. A hard drive that bounced