Free 100 Cupboards by N. D. Wilson

later, Dots. Sorry about…um.” He sighed and put his hands on his head. “I figure I’ll have to go through the bathroom wall.”
    â€œMr. Willis,” Aunt Dotty said, “I’m not sure if the house will survive you. Now, I think you need a hot dog.” Frank seemed relieved. “C’mon, kids,” Dotty added. “We’re gonna be late for the barbeque.”
    Henry and Henrietta followed her down the stairs, glancing back at Grandfather’s door and the saw. Frank came behind, still wearing his goggles. There were wood chips in his hair.

CHAPTER SIX

    Henry stood with his back against the fence and watched the boys play. His emotions were mixed. In one sense, he was enjoying himself. Since arriving at the barbeque, he had consumed three generic colas. Now he was working on a root beer. He had never before consumed any sort of soda. He had seen commercials occasionally, which his father had told him were crass and capitalistic. Thus far, soda pleased him. But Henry’s happiness was tempered by worry. What he was watching, while nursing his can of root beer, was baseball.
    The grown-ups were all inside the yard, standing around grills or setting out casseroles, paper plates, and flimsy plastic utensils designed to snap when used. Henry’s cousins had all disappeared into the front yard, and the boys had run out behind the house into a vacant lot with an old foundation to play baseball. They had enough foresight to bat away from the house toward the raggedy old trees, the street, and, beyond that, an abandoned warehouse squatting in the shadow of a rusty water tower. Not one hit had reached the street in the air, and balls hit on the ground died fast in the grip of the overgrown grass.
    Henry was worried about the boys. He wasn’t worried they might exclude him. He wasn’t worried they might be too embarrassed to ask the new kid to play. He was worried that they might want him to. But no one had asked him yet, so he leaned against the fence, trying not to be too noticeable, drinking his root beer, and watching other boys run, pitch, throw, and try to hit.
    â€œYour arm hurtin’ you?” a voice behind him asked. Henry looked up into Frank’s face.
    â€œMy arm?” Henry asked.
    â€œWell, you aren’t out there playin’. I thought it might be your wrist or your elbow.”
    â€œNo. I’m just not feeling up to it.” Henry sipped his root beer.
    â€œOh well. I don’t feel up to most things most times,” Frank said. “I’m gonna grab a beverage, and then I’ll come back and watch your game.”
    Frank’s head disappeared behind the fence, and Henry turned back toward the field. A tall boy in a sweat-stained baseball hat with a fraying bill stood in front of him.
    â€œAre you Henry?” he asked.
    â€œYeah,” Henry said.
    â€œI’m Zeke Johnson,” he said. “D’you play?”
    â€œNot much,” Henry said.
    â€œD’you wanna play?” Zeke nodded at the field.
    Normally, Henry would have lied. Instead, he surprised himself. “I forgot my glove,” he said.
    â€œBorrow mine,” said Zeke. “We’ll play opposite.”
    â€œI’m a lefty.”
    â€œSo am I.”
    Henry held his breath. “Okay,” he said, and looked around for a place to set his root beer. Zeke took it out of his hand and put it on the fence. Then, with Henry’s blood doing strange things in his veins and his breath catching in his throat, the two of them walked out onto the scraggly grass of the makeshift diamond. The other boys nodded at Henry or said hi. Henry nodded back but couldn’t say anything. Zeke introduced him, then gave Henry his glove and sent him into right field.
    Uncle Frank leaned on the fence, watching the boys and sipping his beer. A bigger man leaned up next to him. “Hey, Frank,” he said. “Dotty says you wanted to talk to me