hard knock life ◇ sandlot

✖ | chapter eighteen

THE SUN WAS bright and vibrant.

and shining right in benny's eyes.

he didn't remember falling asleep. he just remembered staring up at a henry aaron card that squints had once glued to the ceiling. no one else seemed to be awake - and squints was dangerously teetering on the edge of the shelf that he and yeah-yeah had shared.

he stirred slightly, attempting to roll to his left, and ended up rolling off the shelf, hitting the hardwood floor with a sudden thud. benny couldn't keep the smirk off his face.

squints groaned loudly, and bertram did as well. he'd fallen right on top of him. bertram was the most negative morning person benny had ever come to know, and this sudden awakening would not end well for squints.

"...why...why would you do that?" bertram whined, shoving squints off of him and tugging his pillow up towards his head.

benny stretched, and smalls woke up, looking slightly embarrassed at his position.

"o-oh. sorry." scotty grinned sheepishly, turning a light shade of pink in the cheeks.

timmy slowly sat up on his elbows, looking like quite the interesting sight. his sandy locks stuck out from underneath his hat, all going strange directions, and drool across his cheek. and he did not look like a happy camper.

yeah-yeah sat up - er, attempted to sit up. his forehead connected with a wooden beam with a hysterically loud thunk - and every guy who was awake so far lost it.

the howls of laughter managed to wake up not only kenny and tommy, but also the hibernating bear.

aka, ham.

bertram was the last to wake up - and he looked like he was out for blood.

"...boys!"

a voice rang out, and timmy scrambled to the window.

"uh, yeah, mom?" he asked groggily, and rubbed his eyes.

"i have to go to work sweetie, but i made everyone pancakes. tell hamilton there's more in the fridge if he wants them."

various heads poked out at the mention of breakfast, and mrs. timmons waved to them. as if on cue, there were numerous "thank you, mrs. timmons," or "good morning, mrs. timmons."

and of course, all the kids mother's new to make extra food for ham.

the boys thundered down the steps like a pack of rabid animals, all bursting in the timmons household and grabbing their plates, stacking them each with about five pancakes, dumping nearly half the bottle of syrup all over them.

then again, what do you expect when you supply twelve year old boys with their own food?

everyone sat down, and various conversations instantly sprung about. some talked about girls, some talked about the amusement park, some talked of the yankees.

each boy rambled on and on, each one displaying that one significant characteristic they had about themselves. all so unique, with their own little tics.

and with that, benny finally sat down, a smug expression on his face

it was strange how he'd felt more at home eating with eight other boys in another person's kitchen than with his family in his own.