Out of Left Field by Liza Ketchum

market.
    She’s been grilling me.
    Weird questions. Like: “Why does Quinn want to go to Puerto Rico in August? Is he hiding something?”
    Right. And she wants to know if your breakup with Racquelle has put you into a severe depression. “Do you think he needs meds?” she asks.
    I’m serious. As if I’m a shrink. She’s losing it.
    I didn’t tell her anything. Said you needed a change, your buddies wanted to cheer you up.
    Soon. I’ve got the key to the safe deposit box but—
    Never mind; here she comes. Ta.
    No mo’ Nomah
    Breakfast is cold cereal and bananas. Who cares what you eat after the reprieve I got yesterday? Fingers crossed that Cora gets the same good news.
    I check the sports page for the first time all week and nearly fall off my stool. “Look at this. The Sox trade Nomar! Unbelievable! Is this insane—or brilliant?” I jump to my feet, clutching the paper—
    And then I remember. “Shit! Dad, you should be here! This is cataclysmic!” I throw the paper to the floor and stomp on it as if I’m some stupid cartoon character. Maxine jumps from the windowsill and streaks down the hall. “God dammit—this is so frigging unfair!”
    Mom hurries into the kitchen, her neck a mottled red. She grabs my shoulders and presses, hard—harder than I knew she could. “Sit down,” she says.
    “Whoa.” I obey and sink back onto my stool. “Mom, listen.” I point to the paper, spread out across the floor. “I know you don’t give a damn about the Sox—but this is the biggest news since—since—”
    “Bran. You listen to me.” Mom crosses her arms over her chest. She’s in full teacher mode, about to chastise a student who has pushed past her limits. If I weren’t so wound up, I’d be glad to see this side of her again.
    “After I came to,” Mom says, “when you were in the waiting room, the doctor said he has no doubts about your health.” She takes a deep breath. “But he wants you to lay low until the blood tests come back.”
    “Meaning?”
    “Nothing strenuous. No temper tantrums. And no swim team for a few more days. He said work at the pizzeria is okay—as long as you take it easy.”
    “That’s it for the team. I’ve been AWOL too often.”
    Mom frowns. “Surely Coach will understand. Anyway we can’t risk—if anything happened…” She rummages in her purse and pulls out an envelope on fancy hospital stationery. “The doctor gave me this letter. Show it to Frankie and Coach.” She fixes me with her No Nonsense look. “I have enough on my plate until we hear about Cora. Don’t give me anything else to worry about.”
    “Fine.” It’s not fine, but what can I say? “Call me when you have news.” I leave before she can give me any more advice.
    *
    Frankie actually seems nervous having me around. “You won’t keel over on me, will you?”
    “I feel great,” I said. “Put me at dishwasher. Nothing strenuous about that.”
    I slip into the alley on break. I’ve carried Tony’s card in my wallet since that day at Fenway Park. He picks up on the first ring, and when I start to explain who I am, he jumps all over me.
    “Brandon! Of course I remember. God, can you believe the news? The phones are going crazy, talk radio is bananas with ‘no mo Nomah’ chatter. What do you think?”
    I grin. The guy actually wants my opinion? “I liked Nomar’s routines for a while,” I tell him. “All his little OCD rituals were funny when he could hit. But lately—seems it’s all about Nomar, never about the team. And I like Cabrera. My dad would say he’s a blue-collar player who never misses a game.”
    “Clearly your dad was a smart one,” Tony says.
    “He knew baseball.”
    Tony digests that, then says, “So what about it? Want me to save two playoff tickets for you? You’ve got nothing to lose.”
    “Fantastic.”
    “If we end up as the wild card—who’d you pick for the playoffs?”
    How does Tony know I miss talking about this stuff? “Dream scenario?” I