Chapter Text
“You sure, kid? This is a pricey order, ‘specially for someone your age.”
“Ay, the pricier, the better.”
I hold up my little sister’s credit card that I snagged this morning.
“Ok, fine, can I have a name for that order?”
“Eh, just Vec is fine.”
After orderin’ a mornin’ coffee, I plop into a chair and fish a raspberry Tootsie Pop outta my pocket. But get this, before I can even unwrap it, I see someone outside, her face all angry scrunched up. She’s wearin’ a yellow and black baseball uniform, clearly havin’ just come from the field. I groan, ‘cause I already know everythin’ my kid sister’s about to say to me. As she plows through the doors, she eyes me up, and I make a cross on my chest.
“TONY! WHERE’S MY CREDIT CARD!?”
“How should I know? Ya probably just dropped it somewhere. The old man’ll buy you a new one.”
“Don’t try to lie to me, knucklehead! We both know dad cut ya off! Yet here ya are, at a cafe with nuttin’ to spend!”
“Hey, hey, chill out! Maybe I just like the atmosphere, Angie.”
“I THOUGHT I TOLD YA TO STOP CALLIN’ ME THAT!”
Outta the corner of my eye, I see that annoyin’ barista slide a cup onto the counter.
“Order for Vec?”
“Danm, that was fast… I-I mean, Vec could be anyone, y’know.”
“You, in the wifebeater, come get your coffee. You might as well since you spent 50 bucks on it.”
“50 bucks!?”
Angie runs up to the barista and rips the coffee outta her hands.
“What’s in it, gold flakes!?”
“How should I know? I just ordered the most expensive thing I saw ‘cause I knew it would get ya mad. This wouldn’t happen if you stopped beating on me, ya know.”
My devil spawn of a sister takes a sip of my coffee and sighs in my face.
“Well, this isn’t the only reason I’m angry with you today.”
“Aw, c’mon, what now?”
“Ya promised me you’d come to my game today. It starts in half an hour.”
“I don’t remember sayin’ anything like that.”
She gets up real close and makes a fist at me. I realize real quick that goin’ to some baseball game would hurt a lot less than whatever Angie would do to me.
“Fine, I’ll go, jeez! Why can’t ya just guilt trip me like a normal little sister?”
“Eh, punchin’ gets the job done better. Thanks fer the coffee by the way!”
I grumble as she pulls me out the door. She’s been naggin’ me for weeks to watch one of her games. I only agreed to come so she’d shut up, but lately it’s like she’s been talkin’ more than usual. Once we make it to the field, she drags me over to the bleachers and makes me sit right in the front.
The game starts only a few minutes later, and man is it borin’. I don’t really care about anyone else there, so I spend most of the time starin’ at Angie on the pitcher’s mound, tryin’ to manifest a bad throw or a pulled muscle or cancer or somethin’.
Unfortunately fer me, she’s a good batter and an even better pitcher, absolutely dogwalkin’ anyone comin’ up to bat. I think she knows what I’m tryin’, too, because she smirks at me every time she strikes someone out or sends a ball flyin’ right over the fence.
Around the 6th innin’ (why are there so many!?) I get bored of watchin’ Angie, and my focus shifts to her teammates. At first, they all seem pretty generic to me. A country-bumpkin lookin’ redhead, some tall chick built like a gorilla, a Latino guy with his belly sticking out... I keep watching Angie’s teammates come and go, becomin’ more and more unimpressed with each player that comes up to bat.
And then he shows up.
Everythin’ about him should make me feel the exact same way everyone else had; bored. He’s average height, with an average face and the exact same average uniform as everyone else. Fact, the only thin’ that makes him even a little bit interestin’ are the Walkmans keepin’ his ears tamped shut.
Yet, I can’t take my eyes offa him. He moves with some sorta grace I’ve only ever seen in music videos, the kind that makes your body feel like it’s movin’ up and down and left and right at a million miles an hour, and yet you're still rooted to the spot.
Both me and him realize I’m starin’ for longer than I should be. He gives me a weird look when he passes me on a home run, which snaps me out of it real quick.
As I wipe a bit of wet offa my chin, I notice Angie in the dugout, between two more people I don’t care about. Even though she’s far away, I can see her eyes. They sorta remind me of bright white dinner plates.