“The Cardinals?” She would have laughed, if she dared. Michael’s face looked like he had bitten into something nasty, and his nose wrinkled in scorn. “They’re no good! No one on their team can hit! The Cubs are totally better!”
“What about Carpenter?” she floundered, latching onto her older brother’s favorite player, though a niggling reminder in the back of her mind told her that this was a mistake.
“He’s hitting two-twenty,” Michael said. “And he’s injured.”
“Oh.” Deflated, she admitted defeat. “Are you on a little league team?”
“Yeah. The Storm.”
“Oh? What position do you play?”
“Outfield. I want to play second base. Or pitch. But Coach says I need more practice.”
“Well, why don’t we play catch, then?”
“But you’re a girl!”
“And girls can’t play baseball?”
Something in Michael’
