The mall was busy for a hot Thursday night in July. Mickey, Abby, and Gabe had just rounded a corner on the second level when Mickey stopped suddenly. He opened his arms wide and smiled.

“Ahhh, here it is!” he said. “The most wonderful place on earth!”

Abby and Gabe looked at each other.

“The food court?” Abby said. “That’s the most wonderful place on earth?”

Mickey nodded. He inhaled deeply, a blissful look on his face.

“Smell that?” he said. “Oh, that’s wonderful! That’s why we’re here.”

“I thought we were here for batting gloves,” Gabe said.

“Shhhh,” Mickey said, gazing lovingly at the bustling scene in front of him. “Please. Don’t ruin the moment.”

His dad had dropped the three of them off a few minutes earlier. Twenty-four hours before the Orioles’ showdown with the Huntington Yankees, Mickey had been too amped up to hang around the house. So he’d called Gabe and Abby and proposed a short road trip, which both had been up for immediately.

Mickey stared wide-eyed into a vast, teeming, neon-lit slice of heaven that offered every kind of delectable food imaginable: burgers, fries, pizza, subs, sushi, Mexican food, Asian food, smoothies, pretzels, brownies, cookies, ice cream, and much more.

The smells wafting from all directions made him half mad with longing.

Without taking his eyes from the scene, he said, “Yes, we’re here for batting gloves. But we have to be at our physical and mental peak tomorrow. So we’re here to carbo-load for the big game with the Yankees, too. Right, Gabe?”

“Yeah, right,” Gabe said. “Who are you kidding? You’d carbo-load for a game of Scrabble.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Mickey said. “Well, I could. But that would make me a liar.”

“You know, lots of runners don’t even carbo-load anymore,” Abby said. “I just read that. Many endurance athletes now believe it doesn’t do any good.”

“Well, baseball players still believe in it,” Mickey said. “At least this one does. Let’s eat.”

The dizzying array of choices paralyzed Mickey with indecision, as usual. Abby quickly chose a grilled chicken sandwich and Gabe bought a slice of pizza and a soda. But it took Mickey a full ten minutes of wandering hungrily from vendor to vendor before he finally settled on a burrito stuffed with rice, beans, chicken, guacamole, corn, sour cream, and green chili sauce.

They found a table on the outskirts of the octagonal-shaped room and dug into their food.

“Are you getting nervous yet?” Abby asked. “With the big game so close?”

“No,” Mickey said. “Can’t wait, really.”

“Seriously?” she said. “The thought of playing in front of all those people, that doesn’t make you nervous?”

“I’m okay so far,” he said, taking another monster bite of his food.

“All those Yankees fans pressing in all around you, the haters heckling you and clutching their throats and screaming that you’re going to choke—that won’t bother you?”

“Well…” Mickey said.

“Plus having to face a big-time baseball superpower under the direction of a maniac coach and his possibly demented offspring, both of whom will stop at nothing to win—you’re ready for all that?”

Mickey put down his burrito and threw his hands up in exasperation.

“Okay, congratulations,” he said. “Now you’re officially freaking me out.”

“Good,” Abby said as she and Gabe cracked up. “I was beginning to think you were a robot or something. But, hey, no worries. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Mickey said glumly. Then he looked down at his food and brightened. “Anyway, nothing you say is gonna spoil my appetite for this baby.”

“That’s, like, the biggest burrito I’ve ever seen,” Abby said.

“It’s the size of a shoe box!” Gabe said.

Mickey took another bite and nodded contentedly. “Go big or go home—that’s always been my motto.”

“It’s such a gloppy mess,” Abby said. “Is there anything they didn’t put on that? I’m surprised it doesn’t have, like, Reese’s Pieces.”

“Not a bad idea,” Mickey said. “I’ll suggest that to the Best Burrito management before we leave. But, honestly? It really is the best burrito I’ve ever had.”

A few minutes later, Mickey noticed two little kids at the next table staring at him and whispering to each other. They were maybe seven and nine years old, sitting on the other side of their parents, who were chatting away, oblivious to what their boys were doing.

“Why are those kids looking at you?” Abby asked.

Mickey shrugged. “Probably the usual reasons. They recognize superior brainpower and athletic ability when they see it.”

Abby looked at the burrito and wrinkled her nose. “Or maybe they can’t believe anyone would eat anything that gross.”

“Sure,” Mickey said. “It could be that, too.”

A moment later, the two little kids stood and approached their table.

“Incoming,” Mickey whispered. “Brace yourself. They probably want my autograph. This could get awkward for you guys.”

When he looked up, the two boys were standing in front of him.

“Our big brother plays for the Huntington Yankees,” the older one said, scowling.

“Yeah,” the younger one said.

“And they’re gonna kick your butt,” the older one said.

“Yeah,” the younger one said.

“Our dad says they’re gonna beat you like a rented mule,” the older one said.

“Yeah,” the younger one said.

With that, the two turned and went back to their seats.

“What charming children,” Abby said.

“If the little kids are like that,” Gabe said, “imagine what the rest of the Yankees crowd will be like tomorrow night.”

Abby nodded. “They’ll probably be waving pitchforks and carrying torches by the time you guys show up.”

Mickey was so stunned he sat there slack-jawed, holding the burrito in front of his lips.

“Now he looks like the Burrito Whisperer,” Gabe said. He tapped Mickey on the shoulder. “Hey, you okay?”

“How…did they know I play for the Orioles?” Mickey asked finally.

Abby and Gabe looked at each other and chuckled.

“Well, Detective Labriogla,” Gabe said, “I think they pretty much figured it out by looking at your shirt.”

Mickey looked down and realized he was wearing his black Dulaney Orioles team jersey from last season.

“Okay,” he said sheepishly, “that was really dumb. Can we keep that to ourselves? It’ll be our little secret, okay?”

Gabe shrugged. “What happens in the food court stays in the food court. Everyone knows that.”

Mickey smiled gratefully. Then he pushed his tray aside and stood.

“If you guys are through, let’s go buy some batting gloves,” he said.

Abby pointed to the half of the burrito still on his plate.

“What about the world’s best burrito?” she said. “You’re not gonna finish it?”

“No, those little brats ruined my appetite,” Mickey said. “Besides, the whole carbo-loading thing is probably a myth, anyway.”