Cranberry Road had the oldest house in town resting in it. The cracked, fading blue paint made the cottage seem more spooky than it already was. The grass was kept nice around it though and an old 1950 Ford was always kept clean and parked in the driveway when it wasn't in use. The windows shined and if you peeked through one, a man in his early sixties was reading a newspaper.
Kids said he was nice and gave out the best Halloween candy in all of Big Rapids and he cracked really funny jokes too. There was a twinkle in his eyes constantly and he wasn't the kind of man who yelled for kids to get off his lawn.
Boein walked by his house every day after school and today he was out on the porch looking through Time magazine.
"Hi Mr. Barthoms !" He waved and Mr. Barthoms have him a warm smile.
"How you doin' Boein?" He had a thick southern accent that came from Tennessee.
Boein told him he was fine and trooped back to his house, a block away, and banged open the front door.
"I'm home!"
He slung his backpack in the mud room and into the kitchen. Boein was always hungry after school.
As he whipped open a pack of fig newtons, Mrs.
Price came down the stairs with a laundry basket on her hip.
"How was school?" She asked, setting the basket in the counter.
"Fine. I got a B on my test in Vocab. Mr. Cox is really hard so that's a good grade for his class.
"Good for you." Mrs. Price smiled and started flooding the laundry.
Boein couldn't help but think, in New York, our practices would be starting up now. He sighed and covered his face with his arm. Why did we have to move here?
It had almost been six months since the move. Sure Boein had made some friends but it wasn't the same around here and he couldn't figure out what.
Knock knock.
"Boein, can you answer the door?"
"Sure Mom."
When he opened the door, there was Mr. Barthoms smiling at him. He was wearing blue overalls and brown boots. His grey hair was covered by a Chicago Cubs baseball cap.
"Hey Boein. I need to borrow some flour from your mother if it isn't to much trouble."
"Sure." Boein opened the door wider. "Come on in."
"Thank you." Mr. Barthoms stepped in, taking off his hat.
Boein walked into the living room and motioned for Mr. Barthoms to sit on the old leather couch.
"Mom!" He called. "Mr. Barthoms is here. He needs some flour."
"Just a minute."
An awkward silence fell over the room.
"So, you like baseball?" Boein asked eyeing his baseball cap.
"Yep, but basketball is better. I heard you play."
"Played. The only times I play on a team are when my friends and I play pickup games at Stevens Park."
Just then a thought struck Boein, slapped him in the face. It was a long shot, but if he wanted to play on a real team this was his only chance.
