The Dugout(86)

“Milly, over here,” Jason calls out from the dugout. “Milly.” He waves me over.

I glance around quickly and then stand from my seat and go to him, where he’s beckoning me with two fingers through the small crack between the concrete dugout and the stands.

“What’s up?” I whisper.

He points toward the announcer booth and says, “Go up there, knock on the door, and tell them you’re Milly Potter. They’re waiting for you.”

“What do you mean they’re waiting for me?” I look out on the field where all the players are warming up and Disik is hitting balls to the infielders.

“For the love of God, don’t ask questions, just go, okay?”

He fixes his catcher’s mask on his head and then takes off toward the bullpen. That wasn’t evasive at all.

When I check the field again, Carson’s attention is zeroed in on the game, so he didn’t see the interaction. It’s not like I could silently communicate with him what that was all about. I walk back to my seat where Jerry and Shane are both staring at me, looking for answers.

“What was that about?”

“Um, I’m supposed to go to the announcer’s booth. It seems they’re waiting for me?”

“Bet it has to do with the last game ceremonies. Carson is technically the only senior, so I’m sure they have something special planned for him.”

Oh. Why didn’t I think of that? Of course they’ll have some sort of pomp and circumstance organized for Carson’s last regular season game at Brentwood.

“Watch my bag for me?”

“Sure,” Jerry says, “but I can’t promise you there’ll be peanuts when you get back.”

I’d be shocked if there were.

Shane and Jerry maul my peanut stash at every game and usually tap the bag dry before the first pitch is thrown. They even found out about my secret stash that I hide in the pocket of my bag, so there’s no hope where my peanut consumption is concerned for today.

Not that I can really worry about that right now.

Nervous for what’s planned and why I’m involved, I quickly make my way to the announcer’s booth where I knock on the door loudly since the pre-game music is blasting through the speakers. The door opens and a woman with a clipboard in hand answers. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I was told to come up here and tell you my name is Milly Potter.”

Her face lights up and she opens the door widely. “Yes, Milly. We’re so glad you could make it, come in.”

I step inside and take in the small space. Computers are lined up on the counter facing the field, plush desk chairs are behind the computers, and there are stats all over the desk and walls. Did I just step into heaven?

Mesmerized, I don’t spot the legendary David O’Hare until he calls out the rules of the field in his deep and familiar tone. It’s unreal standing behind him, watching him be the voice of Brentwood.

Hands clasped together, a huge smile on my face, I try to reel in my excitement. “I’m sorry to sound clueless, but I really have no idea what’s happening right now.”

“That’s totally okay. We caught you by surprise. When we heard Carson wouldn’t have any family here at his last regular season game, we asked Jason who he thought could represent his family, and he told us you’re Carson’s girlfriend and the reason he found his swing again.”

My cheeks heat. “He found his swing himself. I just guided him.”

“Either way, we would love for you to be part of the thank-you ceremonies. Would you be comfortable with that?”

“What would I do?”

“Hand him a plaque. Jason and Romeo are handing him a framed jersey, and Disik is giving him a wooden bat signed by the whole team.”

He’s going to love those gifts.

“I mean, if you want me there, sure,” I answer, feeling a little out of place. Yeah, I’ve known Carson for almost the entire season and we’ve been dating for a little while now, but handing him a plaque seems like a big deal. Then again, he took me to the locker room . . . so . . . I guess this is the next step toward our future, right? Being a part of his last game ceremonies?

“It will be nice. We know Carson’s dad works hard and tried his hardest to get here, but he couldn’t get the time off. He also told us there’s been a girl Carson’s been talking about. He couldn’t remember your name but suggested I asked one of the boys.”

Carson’s talked to his dad about me? I had no idea, but the thought makes my stomach flip in all different kinds of directions.

“Well, if you think it would be a good idea, I’m in.” I take in my short denim shorts, Brentwood baseball tank, and say while pulling on the brim of my hat, “Uh, am I dressed okay? If I’d have known, I could have put on something nicer.”

“What you have on is absolutely perfect.” She gives me a pat on the shoulder and then gets back to work.

For the next ten minutes, I’m walked through the ceremony, where to stand and what to say. Then I’m surprised when Maria—the lady with the clipboard—says, “And then we play the video from your brother.”

“Uh, excuse me. Did you say video from my brother?”

Maria nods, eyes focused on her clipboard. “Yes, he sent us a video of congratulations and good luck for the team in regionals.”