14

 

The day after my baseball triumph-turned-disaster, I found myself Leo-less at lunch (he was out sick) and looking for a place to sit. The only open spot was next to Lucy Fleck.

“Can I sit here?” I asked.

Lucy was staring at some weird healthy food thing that her crazy mom probably made her eat. “Yes.”

We ate in silence for a few minutes. Then suddenly she said, “Congratulations on your game-winning hit yesterday.”

I nearly dropped my fish stick. “You heard about that?”

“Yes. Everyone’s talking about it.”

“Well, cool, thanks. It wasn’t really a hit, though. I got kind of lucky.”

She managed to look at me a little. “You made contact in a crucial situation. You put the ball in play, which is the main thing. After that, the burden falls to the team in the field, and as we all know, anything can happen in Little League. You did your job. Well done.”

I looked at her, thinking: Who IS this person?

She took a deep breath. I think she was exhausted by her speech.

“So, do you play any sports?” I asked.

“I fence.”

That figured. Fencing was like squash, one of those completely weird sports that a lot of parents were starting to make their kids do, because no one else was doing it. Which, when you think about it, doesn’t exactly make sense.

“Do you like it?”

She put her fork down and looked directly at me for the first time. “Of course I do. It helps me learn dexterity and discipline. I also figure skate in the winter.”

“Cool,” I said. “Well, if you’re as good at sports as you are on the piano, you must be awesome.”

“Thank you,” Lucy said. “I have to go.”

I watched Lucy put her tray away and walk out of the cafeteria. She didn’t seem to mind being overscheduled. Why couldn’t I be more like her?

Because I couldn’t, that’s why.