A Long Pitch Home by Natalie Dias Lorenzi

in the backyard in a tent all night long with my new friend, Lizzie. We’ll bring a Girl Scout snack called trail mix so we won’t get hungry, and we have sleeping bags . . .”
    Even though Humza keeps crawling up to the screen to give Baba kisses, Hira still manages to tell Baba everything there is to know about Girl Scouts. Finally Ammi ushers them out of the room so I can have my turn.
    Baba smiles. “I have a Karachi memory for you, Bilal.”
    I lean in. “What is it?”
    He holds up his palm to reveal a fluffy, bright blue chick. It peeps and takes a few steps before cocking its head.
    â€œYou’re going to the farm!” I wish I could go with him. Every time we visit the wheat farm where my grandmother grew up, we buy a chick from a street vendor and take it with us. Baba figures it’s ten rupees well spent, and Daddo’s brother is always happy to add a new member to the chicken coop. By the time the chick loses its dyed fluff, it will look like all the rest of the chickens.
    Baba gently places the chick back into the box. “Okay, now it is your turn.”
    I tell Baba about how the power only goes off here when you turn it off.
    â€œRemarkable,” Baba says. “And here we still do not have enough electricity to go around.” He shakes his head before changing the subject. “Tomorrow is your last day of baseball camp, Bilal jaan .”
    I sigh. “Well, it is not exactly my final last day.”
    Baba raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”
    â€œJalaal signed me up for tryouts—a team called the Fairfax Cardinals.”
    I explain to Baba what a cardinal is, because we don’t have them in Pakistan. Baba’s eyes crinkle on the sides when he smiles. “So my son will play on an American baseball team.”
    He sounds so proud. Good thing he has never seen me actually play.
    â€œIt’s not like that, Baba. Jalaal wants me to try out, but I don’t know if I want to.” I rest my chin in one hand. “Baseball is hard—too different from cricket.”
    â€œOf course it is hard; it is something new. It is a challenge, but you can do it. Before long, you will be the best Cardinal of all—I am sure of it.”
    I think of all the times Baba practiced cricket with me until I became strong and fast and finally held the Karachi youth record for most wickets taken. Now I am learning a whole new game, an American game without any wickets—no sticks to knock over at home plate.
    Baba’s shoulders rise, followed by a sigh. “I know it is not easy, Bilal jaan .”
    Baba is not talking about baseball.
    â€œYour mother says you are being strong. I am proud of you.”
    I don’t know what to say, because I have done nothing to make Baba proud. I think of all the times I haven’t tried my best at baseball camp because I’ve been afraid of making a fool of myself.
    â€œWhen are you coming, Baba?”
    â€œI am not sure yet. Soon, I hope. And when I do come, I promise I will be there to see you play on the team of Cardinals.”
    I sit up straight. “You promise?”
    â€œI promise, Bilal. Inshallah .”
    If Allah wills it .
    I hope Allah knows that first He will have to help me make the team. And then I hope He knows baseball season ends in November, so He will have to get Baba here before then.

 Eleven
    â€œ S o here’s the thing,” Akash says as we walk out to the field the next morning. “You’re one of the fastest throwers out there, Bilal. When you’re up at bat, just keep your eye on the ball. You’ll be fine.”
    I definitely don’t feel fine. There must be at least forty kids sitting out there on the bleachers.
    When we reach the group, Akash drops his bag at his feet. “What is she doing here?”
    I know who he’s talking about even before I spot Jordan’s curly ponytail sticking out of her baseball cap.
    Akash lets out a long