N ext, it was Eugene’s turn at bat. He was a natural. Slim, yet solid, with quick eyes and a sure swing, he already had the appearance and swagger of a professional ballplayer. Eugene was the best player in their neighborhood, but Elsie was ready for him. She had watched him play before, and she knew that even though Eugene threw with his right hand, he batted left-handed. So Elsie switched to right field. As far as Elsie was concerned, nothing was going to get past her again.

Eugene stepped up to the plate. He gripped the bat, gave it a few swings, got into his batter’s stance, and held the bat high over his left shoulder. The pitcher threw the ball. Leola wanted to close her eyes until the play was over. As the oldest, she was responsible for the baseball equipment. Recalling her father’s warning from when they left the house, she was certain Eugene was going to knock the stitching right off her father’s baseball.

“STEEEEEERRRRRIKE!” yelled the catcher as the bat missed, and the ball met his glove.

Leola gave a small sigh of relief, but she knew they weren’t out of the woods yet. The batter reset himself into his stance and waited for the second pitch.

POP!

Eugene dropped the bat and sped to first base as the runner on first advanced to second. Meanwhile, the ball flew toward right field, where Elsie positioned herself underneath it. When she realized the ball was going behind her, she turned around and raced after it. With the ball only a few feet from touching the ground, Elsie stretched out her left arm and dove.