𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 | 𝐛. 𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐳

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 | 𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧

      EVERYONE SITS AT THE LARGE OAK TABLE IN SMALLS' OFFICE, reading over the drafts I made, using a pen to rearrange anything the think needs rearranging. The room is quiet except for the occasional flipping of a page or click of a pen. Ham slams his pen down on the table, then props his feet up, his hands behind his head.
"Done! Who's 'The Jet' now, losers?" He asks, laughing to himself.
I hold out my hand, palm up, an eyebrow raised at the man.
"How about you let me look at your work then, Porter?" I say.
He hands me the papers, a cocky grin on his face as I read over his work, taking mental note of the red pen marks used to symbolize who should go where. Benny leans over my shoulder and snorts, laughing quietly. I begin to laugh too, raising an eyebrow at Ham's work.
"What's so funny, you two?" Ham asks. "Is something off with my work over there?"
Benny shrugs, leaning on my chair, pointing at the page in my hands.
"Well, it's all wrong, Ham. Sure, it's better to have your good players later in the inning, but not all the way at the end, or else they'll barely get to bat. You've gotta have them spaced out. A good player at the beginning isn't bad either, and one at the end isn't either, but you placed all of our best guys at the end of the roster. I mean, sure, Gregory's good, but Mark Smith and Tony Marshall are a little better than him, only because they have more experience under their belt. You've gotta space them out." Benny says. "And you put Cal all the way at the end of the Roster. At this rate, He'll never get to bat."
      Ham furrows his brows, then pouts, crossing his arms over his chest like a defeated little boy who's been sent to timeout.
       "Well, I didn't know who they were, okay? I just put the people I didn't know at the end of the roster." Ham says, an eyebrow raised, continuing to pout.
       Benny looks at me with a raised eyebrow, then looks back at Ham, unsure.
       "You didn't know who I was?" Benny asks, leaning against the chair, so close to me that his mouth is beside my ear.
        Ham sits up straight and looks at the rest of the guys, then back at us.
        "Are you two ever gonna talk about it?" He asks, changing the subject quickly.
         Benny stands up straight now, an eyebrow raised.
       "Ham," I say, trying to make him stop before he starts something.
          "Who?" Benny asks, his eyebrow still raised as he looks at Ham and the others.
           The tension grows thick again and I exhale slowly, angry that I couldn't have one good time with Benny without the past being brought up.
"I mean, seriously. Benny, you got messed up when she left. You didn't leave the Sandlot until maybe 2:00 am, and one time you stayed until sunrise! But now, you and Lennon are fine together until someone brings up anything about New York and then you freaking lose it." Ham says.
Benny flares at Ham and looks over at me, his expression softening.
"You already knew, didn't you, Lennon?" Benny asks, an eyebrow raised now.
I nod slowly, hoping he won't hate me, even if I'm telling him the truth.
"How did you know about that? It happened after you left." He says.
I stay silent, pressing my lips together firmly, trying to avoid angering him.
"You went and saw my mother, didn't you?" He asks.
I nod again, exhaling sharply. This sucks, why did Ham have to bring this up?
"When the Hell are you two ever gonna talk about what happened? You can't avoid it for forever if you're going to work together!" He exclaims.
Benny looks out the window beside him and clears his throat, looking at his watch.
"I need to go change. Pre-game warm up starts soon. Can't miss that." He says.
Benny exits the office and we all glare at Ham, our eyebrow furrowed.
"Dammit, Ham, you idiot, things were going well! There might have been some actual progress if you hadn't opened your big mouth!" Squints exclaims.
Everyone reaches over the table and smacks Ham in the back of the head, even Smalls, who rarely ever showed interest in doing so when the opportunity arose back in the Sandlot. I stand, running after Benny. He stands in the Elevator, the doors about to close. I catch the door with my hand and exhale sharply.
"Benny, if you never want to talk about it, I'm fine with that. I just don't want you to hate me." I say.
He raises an eyebrow and looks at the ceiling, avoiding eye contact.
"I have to go, Lennon." He says. "So, please, either step into the elevator, or get out."
I step backwards, allowing the door to close. I return to Smalls' office, a melancholy feeling taking over every fiber of my body. Everyone finishes the corrections of the drafts and hands them to me.
"I'll see you guys after the game," I say. "Please, feel free to use my name to get after-game access to the field."
I exit the office and take the stairs to avoid Benny, and return to the Dugout. I sit on the green dugout bench, burying my face in my hands, sticking a sob that begs me to allow it to escape. I sniffle and wipe my eyes, looking down at the roster drafts, finalizing my orders.
"You okay, Lenny?" Cal asks, leaning against the stairs leading into the dugout. "You look pretty upset."