the mascara. “I was trying to make her look just like Melanie Griffith in Working Girl, but we decided that she couldn’t play softball in a blazer with shoulder pads. Plus, it’s really cold.”
“I’m glad you chose something practical,” said Laverna, noting the small silver spikes dotting the lapels of the leather jacket. “And she gets those cheekbones from me.”
“They all have uniforms,” said Jake, pointing at the children on the field. He sat down on the bench and flipped open his sketchpad. “How come the Flood Girls don’t have uniforms?”
“Shut up,” said Laverna.
The last child arrived, a roly-poly little girl, braids tucked under a low-slung cap. She carried a T-ball stand over one shoulder, and acknowledged Laverna grimly. Tammi, the T-ball coach, struggled to keep up with the girl.
“This is our most ferocious player,” said Tammi. “She really should be playing in an upper league.” Tammi patted the girl on top of her baseball cap. “Take care of her.”
Laverna called her players into the center of the field. Martha and Ronda held lit cigarettes.
“Put those out,” demanded Laverna. Her catcher and rover ground the butts into the dirt.
“Hey,” said Bucky. “Respect the field, ladies!”
“Yeah,” said one of the little girls. “Not cool.”
“This is a scrimmage,” continued Laverna. “The Flood Girls need to work on their fielding.” She pointed to the dugout, and the girl dragged her T-ball stand, the other children following her across the infield.
“Play ball,” said Bucky, halfheartedly.
The first little boy possessed a cowlick and a mean swing, leaned in to hit Ginger’s first pitch of the day. When it came back at her, Ginger jumped to avoid being drilled in the shins. Tabby tried to grab the ball, but it sped past second base, veered left, and into the land of the Sinclairs. Cowlick made it to third on what should have been an easy play. Red Mabel tried to intimidate the kid as he stood on her base, but he was not having any of her trash talk.
“Your mother is married to her second cousin,” said Red Mabel.
“Small town,” said the kid. “Shit happens.”
A slatternly girl stepped up to the plate. Even from twenty feet away, her eye shadow visibly matched the green of her uniform. Ginger threw a strike. The T-ball girl decided this was a bad call, yelled something at Bucky about his teeth. The next pitch was solid, and the girl swung, but the ball glanced off her bat, an infield pop fly. Cowlick waited to see if Della would catch it, but it fell out of Della’s mitt and tumbled to the ground, and he tagged up and ran home. Eye Shadow made it to first base.
“Hustle!” Laverna kicked at the chain link, and it rang out through the field, just as the wind picked up again. The dog snapped the string in half, and ran excitedly into the outfield, only to sit obediently at Rachel’s feet.
A Native American boy was next. Laverna suspected he was related to Ronda, and studied her rover for any sign of acknowledgment. Instead, Ronda was watching the dog, and would’ve missed a smoke signal burning in center field. Ginger was angry, and she pitched way outside the box. The Native American kid walked to first, and Ginger turned around on the mound to compose herself.
“All right,” shouted Laverna, and stalked over to the children’s dugout. “My outfield needs a workout. I need a real hitter.”
A boy stood up from the bench and pulled on his batting gloves. The T-ball girl pushed him down, and stomped out of the dugout, drawing a neat furrow in the dirt with her plastic stand. She nodded at Martha Man Hands, who crouched behind home plate. Martha groaned as she stood, and Laverna could hear her knees crack. They would not need a catcher. The girl arranged the stand in front of home plate and cleared her throat, glaring at Bucky, who was offering advice to Martha about deep stretches. Finally the girl snapped.
“Pay attention!” The girl pointed at the ball in Bucky’s hand, and he blushed as he offered it to her. She refused to take it. She tapped the top of the T-ball stand with her bat. Bucky rolled his eyes and carefully rested the ball into the hole. The little girl was barely as tall as his waist, and she squinted into the field, as if the sun was especially bright. She pointed her bat toward Rachel and tapped three times on the plate.