Maria was a baseball brat. She knew what the minimum salary for major league ballplayers was.There was an awkward silence while Maria and I both tried to think of what we ought to say next. Finally, she spoke first. "You coming to the team picnic?" she asked.Paul and Orlie Warren had sponsored, annually since Paul had been the manager, an evening picnic at their home near Bowie. The party was for players and coaches and their families, and attendance was by no means mandatory. However, despite the fact that off days at home were rare during the season, the Warrens' picnic was evidently always well-attended. After all, it catered to the married players' wives and children, and if a player's wife and kid wanted to attend, well, guess what? The player wanted to attend, too.I had heard all about the picnic tradition, but I wasn't certain it was something in which I, a single guy, wanted to participate. So when Maria asked, I told her as much: "I hear your parents' annual picnic is a nice. Fat and skinny. Short and tall. None of them meant what Lyn meant to me.At lunch Lyn came running up to where I was waiting in line to buy a sandwich. "Just got a second, Katie." She grinned at me. "Mom told me I have to go grocery shopping this afternoon, after school. Price of the car keys." I nodded, trying not to feel too disappointed. "I'll call you, okay?" And was off at a run.I ground my teeth. I'd been frustrated last night, and had looked forward to today with eager anticipation. I thought I was coming to grips with everything and I'd really wanted to talk to Lyn about it. I just couldn't do it on the phone. I wanted to talk to her, face to face. Privately, maybe hugging her and kissing her while we talked. Tomorrow, I guessed. I would have to settle for tomorrow.By the time I got home, I was sort of glad Lyn wasn't coming over. It seemed like all my afternoon teachers knew she wasn't coming over and so had piled on homework. Geometry, Biology, English. I sat down at my desk.
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