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floor. When he had the stance just right, he told Matty to swing. At first Matty seemed a little self-conscious, but after a few minutes Mitch had him smashing imaginary hardballs out the window and into the next town. The kid had a strong swing. |
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"What position am I playing Friday?" Mitch had used him in the outfield for the last three games. |
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"What position would you like?" |
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Without hesitation Matty said, "Second." |
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"All right." Matty's smile lit up his face. |
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Mitch had known Matty since he was born, and while he had always thought of him as level-headed, he was still only twelve. His mother's fear was not unreasonable. Drugs had slithered into the elementary schools of even the best of Boston's suburbs. |
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"I know you're quick on your feet, but you've got to have sharp eyes. Half the scoring comes from steals and errors, you know." |
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Mitch pointed to the eye chart against the far wall. He flicked a switch and the lights all went out except for a lamp above the chart. "Read me the first line." |
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Matty faced the chart with his toes on the line. He looked jumpy, nervous. After a moment he read the line. Mitch had him read the next and the next, all the way down to the fine print. |
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"Not bad," Mitch said, thinking, so far so good. Maybe if he didn't announce he was having an exam, Matty wouldn't resist. He sat the boy on a chair and said he wanted to take a look at his eyes. The boy sat. |
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"Where did you get the mouse under your eye?" |
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Terry said he'd been in a fight. "When did it happen?" |
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It seemed too faded to be yesterday. "Healing nicely. Does it hurt?" |
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Matty eyed him. An examination was taking shape. |
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Mitch was keeping up the chatter for distraction. "Got a real big |
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