The sun beat down on Joey’s shoulders and he could already feel a line of sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades. It was a scorcher, but he wouldn’t have cared if it was twice as hot. Today the golden bat was perched on his shoulder, and dangling from the end of it was Bobbie’s daddy’s glove. Bobbie had casually tossed it to him, and he’d just as casually shoved his ratty old one under the bed. The glove felt so good on his hand. Just like the bat felt so good on his shoulder. Joey pictured himself leaning on the bat while he shot the breeze with the fellas, as if he leaned on brand-new Louisville Sluggers every day … holding it high and ready, waiting for the pitch… swinging it around straight and true, for a grand-slam home run…. If I get to play this time, he thought, catching himself. If the two goons aren’t there. As he and Bobbie got closer, he saw Grossie, Vito, Louie, and Larry. No sign of Eli and Tommy. Good. “Hiya, fellas,” Bobbie called. The boys looked up.
