“A scout?” She decided she didn’t like feeling like a parrot. “You think Michael will be good enough to pitch in the big leagues?”
He c****d his head at her. “You know him?”
“I used to be his baby-sitter,” she said. “He grew up across the street from me.”
“Oh.” He gave her a small, wry grin. “Little girl, everyone thinks Michael Hansen will be good enough to pitch in the big leagues.”
She decided not to take offense. Next to this old coot, she probably looked like she belonged in junior high. “Then how come you’re the only scout here?” she challenged. Below them, the Northwestern team straggled out onto the field, accompanied by a few half-hearted claps from the fifty or so people in the stands.
“I’ve got my reasons.”
They stood as a scratchy rendition of the national anthem played o
