Boy Nobody

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It’s a thirty-two-ounce Rawlings composite. I feel the weight in my hands. The balance is slightly off from a dent on the tip.

I grasp the bat on either end and stretch out in the parking lot after the game. Natick vs. Wellesley. My Natick teammates are all around me, high school jocks doing what they do after a win. Celebrating. Big-time.

I celebrate, just like them.

This is what I think to myself:

I am one of you. I am young. I am a winner.

I smile and stretch.

After a moment, I shift my weight onto my back leg and I swing hard. Jack Wu comes up behind me at the same time. The bat misses his head by an inch.

A big man in a black suit tenses nearby. Tenses but doesn’t interfere.

This is Jack’s bodyguard and driver, a shadow behind Jack whenever he goes out. Jack’s dad is rich. Rich and nervous.

Jack hates the bodyguard. He’s told me a dozen times. Jack and I are friends, so he tells me these things.

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