I get water all over my shirt, but I don’t care. Feels good.

Gramps gives me instruction and I start hoeing, but all the while I can’t stop thinking about Mikala. Truth is, I hate it when Mikala is too busy to hang out. More than I should, I think. It’s not like being with Gramps is hard, just I really like Mikala. I mean, I really like being with her.

Okay, well, maybe the truth is, I like her.

I must be concentrating really hard because Gramps asks me if everything is okay.

“Uh, yeah.” I wonder if I should talk to him about Mikala. Seems like Gramps might be in the same boat with Mrs. Pershishnick.

“Hey, Gramps, how do you know when you like a girl, you know, more than just a friend.”

Gramps stops hoeing to eyeball me. He cups one hand over the hoe handle and rubs the gray bristles on his chin with the other.

“Well, I suppose you feel extra happy when you’re with her, a kind of happiness that comes deep from the belly, unlike any other thing that makes you happy. And when you’re with her she makes you feel special.”

I pass the first test. Mikala does make me feel happy from deep in my belly unlike anything else, like say my new computer at home or even talking to my parents on the phone.

But the second one, does Mikala make me feel special? Does she think I’m special? I don’t know.

“Is that how Mrs. Pershishnick makes you feel?”

Gramps starts coughing. And chuckling. At the same time. He’s choughing.

“Ahem, well, I guess you could say that, Owen. I mean, no one will replace your gran, but she’s gone now and I’m getting tired of being alone. But we’re just friends.”

So, Gramps and Annabelle Pershishnick are just friends and Mikala and I are just friends. We’re all just a bunch of friends.

Suddenly my heart hurts a bit. And so does my back. “Gramps, why do you have such a big garden?”

 

A miracle happens. Someone organizes a ballgame. In the old school field in Haywire by the abandoned school building. The mill had been dying for a while before it actually kicked the bucket, and the town along with it. The powers-that-be decided that there weren’t enough kids in Haywire to merit keeping the school open, so the remaining unlucky ones have to bus into Edson now.

At least someone had mowed the diamond before game day. I meet Mikala at the ballpark.

“This is great!" I say. There are actual crowds gathering, must be imports from surrounding towns. This is the first inclination that the ball game involves outsiders. That and the hot-dog stands that have appeared out of nowhere.

The mayor, Mr. Sanderson, (yeah, Haywire has a mayor. He’s also the postman), is handing out free helium balloons, and I can spot a few that have escaped from their owners, dotting the sky. Haywire is oozing energy and excitement, and after so much dullsville, I’m stunned by it. My mind doesn’t know how to compute all the activity. How am I going to adjust to the high speed pace of life in Seattle when I finally get back?

Mikala points. "The schedule is hanging on the bulletin board over there. Let's go see what teams we're on."

I find my name and my heart sinks. Mikala's name isn't on my list.

"Here I am," she says. "I'm with Mason."

I secretly moan. I want to play with Mikala and the thought of playing against Mason Sweet fills me with dread.

I find my team and take a seat on the bench. The old wooden bleachers, sun-stripped and warped, are sprinkled with “fans” eating corn dogs, drinking sodas and smoking cigarettes. I look for Mikala and spot her sitting at the end of the row with her team. She sees me and wiggles her fingers.

"Let's play ball!"

 

By mid afternoon my team has already played two games, one win and one loss. The next team I’m scheduled to play against is the Sweets’ team.

“Hey, Owen True!" Mikala shouts and waves her arm.

I take my place at first base. The crowd cheers us all on and I wave at them like a lunatic. Everyone is pumped. So far I’m loving this day. Best day in Haywire yet. The sun tucks itself behind the hill offering us the first bit of relief from its glare. It smells like sweat and hotdogs and dust.

First hit comes straight to me. Mason’s buddy, Judd runs and I tag him before he hits the base.

“Out!”

Next Mikala is up to bat.

"Ball one." She swings her bat back and forth a few times to loosen up. The pitcher throws.

"Strike one."

"You can do it, Mikala!" Mason shouts. "Bring it home."

She follows through with the bat."Whack!"

It is a grounder and it rolls straight toward me. I scoop it up just a she slides and I tag her.

The ump calls it, "Safe!"

Now normally I would've gotten mad and argued the call. But it’s Mikala. She flashes me a big smile and I feel that deep happiness from my belly that Gramps talked about.

The next batter strikes out. Mikala steals second.

Mason Sweet picks up the bat.

“Ball one."

"Ball two." Our pitcher is tiring out.

Mason swings hard at the next pitch and "smack" hits it clear out to left field. I hold my breath hoping Mason’s other buddy, Everett, will catch it, but no luck. Mason is off and running. Mason gives me a mean shove as he runs past first base. For reasons I can’t fathom he still doesn't like me. I thought for sure he’d warm up after I’d saved his sister, but the chip on his shoulder is as big as ever.

Finally three players strike out and it’s our turn to bat. Mikala takes third base and, oh no, Mason is pitching. Somehow I know there will be trouble.

We have one man on base and two have struck out. It’s my turn to bat. I haven't struck out yet this tourney and so my team is cheering extra hard. If I don't pull through, the inning will be over and we'll lose 2-0.

"Go Owen, you can do it!" I hear my Gramps’ strong voice in the crowd. I feel good. Then I see Mason’s face. He glares at me and spits on the ground.

He pitches. I miss.

“Strike one."

Mason grins. “Go home, city boy,” he says just loud enough for me to hear.

He pitches again. I miss again.

"Strike two."

My stomach’s rolling with nerves. I can’t strike out. My team is depending on me. Besides, I wouldn’t mind showing Mason a thing or two.

Not. Gonna. Happen.

The next thing I know, I’m on the ground. Mason had pitched a hard ball and it hit me in the stomach. I’m drawing in my knees and gasping for breath. When I look up I’m encircled by the sweaty faces of my teammates peering down at me. "Owen, are you okay?"

Mason did that on purpose! He’s a good pitcher and had never hit anyone before. Anger rises up in me from deep inside. This is the last straw. I've had it with Mason Sweet. I recover from the blow enough to rise to my feet.

"You did that on purpose! He did that on purpose!" I see that satisfied glint in Mason's eye. I rush at him and push him in the chest. "You jerk! What did I ever do to you?!" I push him again. He pushes back.

We begin swinging punches and I wrap my arm around his neck. He wrestles out of my grip easily and then, a blast of pain-filled heat as Mason’s fist connects with my face. Fury trumps the pain and I lurch on top of Mason, knocking him to the ground.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I can hear Mikala screaming. “Mason! Owen! Stop it.”

She called me Owen. Not Owen True. The steam of the fight begins to fizzle for me. I relax my grip as the umpire pulls us apart.

Then I see Gramps. His wrinkly tan face is flushed red, and I’m afraid he’s over-excited. “Owen! What has gotten into you?”

I can’t see. My right eye is swelling shut. Gramps grabs my arm and leads me to the bench where the first aid crew fusses over me. Faster than you can shake a stick, Mason and I are suspended from the rest of the games.

Everyone else starts playing again like nothing has happened. In fact I think we added some excitement for the sun-weary onlookers. To everyone, that is, except my Gramps. I’ve humiliated him in front of the whole town. And Mikala has her hands firmly on her hips as she shakes her head.

I think I have a thing or two to learn about impressing girls.