Free Say It Ain't So by Josh Berk

totally embarrassed me out there,” he said.
    â€œNah,” I said. “No one even noticed. Besides, it was just a foul ball.”
    â€œSee!” he said. “You
did
notice. That was a really bad lie, Lenny. You just pretended that you didn’t notice and then described the exact thing you were pretending not to notice.”
    â€œOh yeah,” I said, and shrugged. I didn’t want to get bummed down into Webb-land. It was not a fun time. But Kyle kept talking.
    â€œI wish my mom would have been there too.She’s the real baseball fan. But they’re divorced. They have to, like, take turns which one sees me when. My dad isn’t himself anymore. He used to be fun. Now he yells all the time. If you thought dropping a foul ball was bad, you should see him when I forget to feed the dog. I wish they never got divorced.”
    â€œYour dad got divorced from the dog?” I say. Trying to make a dumb joke. Keep it light.
    â€œI wish,” Kyle said.
    I didn’t know what to say to that.
    Kyle continued. “It’s bad. My parents hate each other.”
    â€œYeah,” I said, not sure what else to say at all. “Gotta be rough.”
    This conversation reminded me that I was lucky to have two parents who essentially did care about me. And who didn’t fight all the time.
    It was a strange feeling, sitting there at Ralph’s Pizza watching the team have a good time. Hunter was living it up. Mike had a smile so wide it looked like it might break his face. So did his parents. Coach Zo was laughing and relaxing with Coach Moyer. And yet there was Kyle Webb, almost in tears.
    The world was a strange place sometimes.

The next game was against Highland Middle School. Highland was farther away than Griffith, and too far to ride my bike. I wanted to go along, even though I wouldn’t be working. I thought it would be a good opportunity to scout out the other team and get a sense of what we were up against. Yes, I know it’s weird that sometimes I would say “we” when talking about the team. I knew I wasn’t on the team. But people around here pretend they’re on the Phillies all the time. You hear it on the radio constantly. It’s always “We need a better bullpen” or “We need to bunt more.” And at least I actually go to the school. And work for the team. Sort of.
    So I asked Coach Zo if I could ride on the bus. Games start at five-thirty and my parents never get home until after that. If it was up to my parents, I’djust come home from school on the bus and lock myself in the house alone, watching TV. Actually, they probably would prefer it if I was doing my homework, but we all know that isn’t going to happen!
    Coach Zo said it would be fine. Wonderful even. He said they would consider it an honor to have my presence and that I was the good-luck charm for the whole team. Actually, he said, “Sure, whatever, Lenny.” But we all know what he meant.
    The bus ride to Highland was fun. The team was feeling great. How could they not be? You literally could not ask for a better start to the season. A ten-to-nothing whoop of Griffith and a perfect game to boot. Pretty sweet. I sat in the middle of the bus, next to Mike. Hunter sat in the seat behind us. He kept wanting to talk about the game, over and over again. I could understand, sure, but he was getting so cocky it was hard to listen to.
    â€œI have an idea for a new nickname for myself,” he said.
    â€œUm, you’re not supposed to give yourself nicknames,” I said. “Duh. Everybody knows that.”
    Mike laughed, knowing my years-long track record of trying to get a cool nickname.
    â€œFrom here on out, I want to be called the Great Imperial Ashwell,” he said.
    Mike and I looked at each other, narrowing our eyes. “Um, I’m not sure the Great Imperial Ashwell is the kind of nickname you should give yourself,” Mike