Dec. 7

I should preface this. Noah tells a lot of stories. So I guess I don’t really have any have anything to back this up with. 

Noah leaned on his knees on the pitcher’s mound. The five eight-year-olds huddled, all smiles and confidence. By this point a crowd had begun to gather. The grade ones and twos looked at him with what could only be described as reverence (a couple moaned with what could only be described as hunger). One five-year-old’s squawky voice could be heard on the wind as he placed the lanky pitcher, “hey, it’s that guy!”. Noah waved. Plump Ms. Pepper peered over as she struck another match and raised it to her cigarette.

Tommy McCloud, hat turned sideways, stepped up to kick first. He licked his lips and kicked the dirt in invitation. Noah knew he had little issue being dubbed “the fastest” when racing the 1’s, but Tommy would be a problem. Tommy was one of those kids who could turn it on, feet like a roadrunner when in the moment, and Noah was ran more like a gazelle. His sprint was more a quick series of graceful hops. Noah had to strike him out.

The thong of rubber on foot sent the ball flying far overhead Noah as he craned his neck to watch it’s shadow pass over him.

“Ha ha ha! Reach, beanpole!” said McCloud, sticking out his tongue as he crossed second. 

Noah took off, sandals flipping at his heels as he chased the red ball, now rolling into deep right field. With the deftness of Michael Jordan (if he played kickball), he lurched forward as he kicked the ball up in the air, leaped to catch it and threw it from the air at a darting Tommy McCloud.

Two steps from home plate, the red cannonball thocked Tommy in the head and sent him spinning through the air before he landed on his face in the dirt. The crowd of infants erupted in joy at their schoolmate’s possible death. 

Tommy sat up in the dirt and burst out in tears.

“Ms. Pepper! Noah hit me with the ball!”

Plump Ms. Pepper ignored the child as she stared perplexed at some kind of stain she was attempting to scratch off her painted nails.

“That’s one out!” shouted Noah, somewhat too viciously. The 8-year-olds froze in fear.

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