Page 15 of Eye on the Ball

“Yes, I am. Ace said so!”

Brenda, looking faintly harassed, finally spoke up. “Let’s just get on with it. He’s already fifteen minutes late, and some of us have to work still tonight.”

Probie sneered at her. “Maybe if you’d been nicer to him, he’d be here.”

“Maybe if you’ll be more polite, we’ll get along,” Jack said quietly, aiming a hard stare at Probie, who ducked his head.

Brenda moved away from me when I tried to put a hand on her arm.

“I think that’s fine, Mutt,” I said. “Ace isn’t answering texts, either?”

The Truckman cousins shook their heads.

“Right. Let’s get on with it, then,” Mr. Henry said, rubbing his hands together. “First, a bit of history.”

We all heroically kept from groaning as the two of them told us the story, yet again, of how they’d founded the game. Mr. Henry, a metalworker in his working years, had fabricated the trophy. It was gorgeous, too. Instead of the usual boring bat and ball, or generic guy holding a bat, he’d designed it to be a graceful swoop of metal that looked like an abstract vision of a bird taking flight.

I was looking forward to displaying it in the Dead End town hall again this year after we kicked Riverton’s butt.

After Mr. Albert and Mr. Henry had sufficiently enlightened us on the history of the rivalry and the trophy, they were finally ready to move on.

Mr. Henry, his expression growing stern, held up one finger. “The most important tenet of this game: Honor. We swore on the trophy to conduct this rivalry with honor, courtesy, and good sportsmanship. To ensure this would always be the case, we came up with the ceremony of the five oaths. Now, we will recite them, and you will agree.”

“I don’t know.” Mr. Albert looked worried. “Does it count if the actual captain doesn’t swear?”

“We can appointhimto be co-captain,” Mr. Henry said, nodding at Mutt. “He seems to be the smartest of the trio, anyway.”

“Thanks,” Mutt said.

“Hey!” Probie said.

“Great,” Brenda said.

Jack and I said nothing. I started toward home plate and left everyone to follow me or not. I’d had a long day. I’d seen my new employee die, I’d had to put up with Truckmans, and I’d worked ten hours. I just wanted to go home and pet my cat.

Luckily, they all followed me. Once we were gathered around home plate, Mr. Henry pulled a battered old leather-bound book out of his jacket pocket and held it out to us to see.

“Our book of rules, designed thirty years ago and added to over the decades,” Mr. Albert said. “Tess, are you co-captain of the Dead End team?”

“Yes,” I said slowly, suddenly reluctant even though I’d agreed to do it. I didn’t like the idea ofoathsfor something as frivolous as a softball game. “I guess so, if you need me.”

Mr. Henry turned to the Truckmans. “Probie, do you want to be co-captain, or should we still plan on Ace?”

Probie stared into space for a long moment and then grimaced. “Better count on Ace. He’d slap me upside the head if I took his spot. I can stand in for him, though, for this.”

“I don’t understand why he’s not here. It’s not like him,” Mutt said, his forehead furrowed. “Maybe he got into a car accident?”

“I hope not,” I said. “I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he lost track of time. Anyway, the rules?”

“Yes, yes, keep your pants on, girlie,” Mr. Albert groused. “All four captains should now put your right hands on the book.”

Jack looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “Really?”

I shushed him, stepped up between Mutt and Brenda, Probie across from me, and put my hand on the book.

“Repeat after me,” Mr. Albert said. “I, state your name.”

Me: “I, Tess Callahan.”