Cooper
I am likely going to hell when I die. I don’t know how long it’s been since Davenport and I took our small group away from the entrance, the place where I fell under the spell of Ainsley Burke, but every few minutes I’m looking over my shoulder to see if she’s checking up on us.
And the reason I’m going to hell is because I’m secretly hoping one of our students hurts themselves and I have to rush them to the office for first aid. These thoughts make me a shitty human being.
Or our small group could easily become a band of misfits and troublemakers, giving her an excuse to come check on us and to make sure we don’t need anything. Forget the fact that my group is pretty awesome and the kids seem to be excited, so it’s not like we’re drawing attention to ourselves. At this rate, I’ll be lucky to see her at all.
“Stop looking for her,” Davenport says.
I shake my head, scoffing at him. “I’m checking out the surroundings. I’ve never been here before. What if there’s a flying monkey or something waiting to attack?”
The kids laugh, and one little girl steps a bit closer to me and smiles. Her toothless grin and big brown eyes remind me of why I’m here, to make sure these kids have a good time. I shouldn’t be worrying about whether Ms. Burke is going to come check on us or even seek me out. If she’s someone I want to know, I’m going to have to be the one to make the move.
I fall in step behind the little girl as we move to the next exhibit. Walking at the zoo is a massive workout for these kids and their little legs. The terrain is such that you’re always climbing or descending a hill, giving your legs ample exercise. Renegades management is smart, having us do this. Today may be our day off from conditioning, but we’re still getting some cardio training in.
When we reach the monkeys, Davenport yells about something overhead, and I go scrambling. The kids laugh, making fun of me as I take cover under a tree. I laugh, letting them know that I’m only joking and chase after a few of them as I act like one of those beasts from The Wizard of Oz.
By the time lunch rolls around, I’m exhausted, as most of the guys are. We’re dragging our tails into the cafeteria to sit on hard plastic chairs and eat fried foods. The teacher for our group comes around, asking if any of the kids would like to switch players. The boys raise their hands, and I don’t blame them. There are better, more seasoned players than Ethan and me, but the girls stay. My little friend from earlier hasn’t left my side, and has kept pace with me since she smiled at me.
She taps me on the arm and points. I follow her direction to find Ainsley talking to one of the teachers. She makes quick eye contact and smiles before continuing her conversation.
“That’s great, you have one of our charges being a lookout for you.”
I throw one of my fries at Ethan, only to hear the words “food fight” being muttered by a few of the boys at our table.
“No food fight,” I tell them, trying to calm them down. “Davenport wanted some of my fries is all.”
The young boys look at me like I’m crazy. I am. The last thing I want to do is start a food fight on a field trip. Somehow I don’t think our GM would be appreciative of my actions.
“My dad says you’ll never start over Bainbridge,” the lad next to me says as he stuffs his mouth. I glance down at him and realize I could take him if push came to shove.
“Who does your dad play for?”
The boy pauses mid-food shove and shakes his head. “He doesn’t play baseball. He works in an office.”
“I see. And you believe him?”
He shrugs. “Sure, why not?”
“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking. What do you think? Have you seen me play before?”
He shakes his head.
“Has your father?”
He shakes his head again.
“So you and your father haven’t seen me play, but both feel like I’m not good enough to start over Bainbridge?”
Davenport kicks me under the table, and I glare at him. I’m not pissed at the kid, but at the father for saying crap like this. How does the father know I can’t start over Bainbridge if he’s never seen me play? Clearly, if you’re looking at my stats from last year, I’m far better on paper than Bainbridge.
“Don’t forget you’re allowed to make up your own mind. Maybe you can come to a spring training game and watch. Then you can form your own opinion.”
“Yeah, maybe. I’ll ask, but my parents usually say no.”
It dawns on me that a
lot of these kids aren’t from middle-class families. Most receive state aid and supplemental income.