Free The Distance to Home by Jenn Bishop Page A

pitching tips.”
    “Tons,” I lie.
    “Haley always loved going to Bandits games with you.” Larissa hands me my ice cream cup. She gives me a little smile, but this time her mouth is closed, and I know she must be thinking the same thing as me. How it isn’t fair that the one summer we finally get a Bandits player is the summer that Haley’s gone.
    Larissa starts talking to Casey and Mom about their orders, so I head back to find us a booth. It’s always crowded here after games. All the tables are full of families—parents and kids all wearing Bandits T-shirts and caps. I hang out along the wall, waiting for the family in front of me to finish clearing their table. I sit down and mix in the sprinkles with my spoon.
    Sometimes it feels wrong even to have a cup of ice cream, knowing that Haley can’t.
    Back at the counter, Larissa isn’t smiling as much now that she’s talking to Mom. Mom liked Larissa the best out of Haley’s friends. I wonder if she ever wishes Larissa was her other daughter, instead of me.
    Casey comes running over with a cone that’s almost as big as his face.
    “What’d you get?” I ask.
    “One scoop of Rocky Road, one scoop of Almond Joy, and one scoop of Mudslide,” he says before furiously licking the melted ice cream that’s dripping down the side of the cone. I don’t ask him if there’s gluten in ice cream.
    “Do you want a bite?” he asks.
    “No thanks,” I say. “It’s kind of slobbery.”
    Casey gets pretty quiet and focused on his ice cream.
    Out of nowhere, all the girls behind the counter start clapping and cheering. I turn to look at what they see. A bunch of the Bandits are streaming into Gracie’s, one after another.
    “From the way you guys sounded in the car, I didn’t think they had won,” Mom says, sitting down with her frozen yogurt cone. “Quinnen never tells me much about the Bandits,” she says to Casey, like I’m not even here.
    “You don’t ask,” I whisper.
    Mom gives me a funny look but doesn’t say anything. She turns to listen to Casey.
    “Hector had a bad game,” Casey says. “The Bandits had to score eight runs to win. But they did. The catcher hit a grand slam. It was the coolest thing ever.” He bites into the Almond Joy scoop and keeps talking with ice cream in his mouth. “At the end, all the guys ran out and jumped on top of each other. It was awesome.”
    It wasn’t awesome for Hector,
I think.
    Brandon waves at us from his spot in line, and I wave back. I scan all the guys, looking for Hector. He’s not there.
    I leave my ice cream behind on the table and run over to Brandon.
    “Where’s Hector?” I ask.
    “He’s not so happy with himself right now,” Brandon says. “We tried to get him to come with us, but he said he couldn’t. He said he let the team down.” He shrugs. “Hector’s got to get over that diva attitude. It’s about how the team does. You can’t be on your A game every day.”
    “Easy for you to say.”
    Brandon would win every game he pitched, even if the Bandits only scored one run each time. It’s hard for me to admit it, but he’s that good. Best pitching record on the team. Best ERA, too.
    “It’s his first start in three weeks,” Brandon says. “He probably had some nerves. He’ll be fine once he gets over himself.”
    When I return to our table, Casey is almost done filling Mom in on Hector’s meltdown—how he walked five batters in four innings and gave up two home runs. I mix my ice cream around with my spoon until it’s more soup than ice cream.
    “You gonna eat that or drink it?” Casey asks, peeking into my bowl.
    I take a little slurp from it, and Mom shakes her head.
    We’re heading back out to Mom’s car when I see someone wearing a Bandits jersey across the street at the playground. Number fifteen. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Mom and Casey, and jog over.
    Hector’s facing away from me, sitting on a swing.
    I don’t want to scare him. It’s pretty dark in