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cutting_edgex23) wrote2012-06-15 10:12 pm
cutting_edgex23) wrote2012-06-15 10:12 pm
There's no crying in Little League, at least not when victory is assured.
It's a tense game, parents yelling in the stands, umpires being harangued, children throwing tantrums when they miss an easy catch or end up at the rear of the batting rotation.
By contrast, X's team is remarkably restrained. One look into the stands while an angry parent is yelling and --
Well.
The yelling stops. And tantrums mean the perpetrator will bat last for six games.
They learn quickly, ten-year-olds. With proper motivation, that is.
And after the game, when X has finished dodging attempts to dump Gatorade over her head (she's heard it is a common tradition, but some things are very stupid), there is ice cream.
Hopefully Meg does not mind the company of some very energetic Little Leaguers. And their parents.
Heaven help them.
By contrast, X's team is remarkably restrained. One look into the stands while an angry parent is yelling and --
Well.
The yelling stops. And tantrums mean the perpetrator will bat last for six games.
They learn quickly, ten-year-olds. With proper motivation, that is.
And after the game, when X has finished dodging attempts to dump Gatorade over her head (she's heard it is a common tradition, but some things are very stupid), there is ice cream.
Hopefully Meg does not mind the company of some very energetic Little Leaguers. And their parents.
Heaven help them.
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Maybe some day someone should try that.
Meg carefully makes her way through the crowd of energetic Little Leaguers (and their parents) and over to their coach.
"Congratulations, Laura. It was a good game."
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If she wants.
"Paying attention in practice helps."
Does she raise her voice fractionally for that last line?
The sudden pause in conversation, combined with the quick, eager attention of a score of little boys and two girls, may indicate that it was in no way a mistake.
"You think they did well?"
Some of the attention swings to Meg at this point. Did X bring an outside consultant to help improve their play? Is this red-headed person a mutant, too?
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"I think they did very well," Meg says. "You clearly have a well-organized, disciplined team."
She smiles at the closest boy, who she thinks was playing second base, and who is watching her very closely.
"And I'm sure paying attention in practice helps a great deal, yes."
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It seemed in danger of slipping.
"That is why we are going to Tastee-Freez for ice cream."
X believes in supporting local businesses.
Even when they are spelled incorrectly.
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"Celebrations are good things."
So are rewards.
The group begins to move, in a semi-organized clump, in the direction of the Kreatively Spelled Ice Cream Place.
Meg stays relatively close to Laura, who is, after all, the only person here she knows.
In as much as that is possible in a moving semi-organized clump.
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X, however, does not appear to mind.
"We come here when they lose, too," X offers.
It is only three blocks away, after all.
"But then they buy me ice cream. I like small chocolate cones."
Each kid basically ponies up a dime. It teaches fiscal responsibility. Or something.
"Sundaes are not allowed."
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"If we win the Little League World Series, can sundaes be allowed?" she asks.
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Then --
"No."
Children on that much of a sugar high are terrifying.
"But there can be pizza. At Greymalkin Industries."
Never underestimate the lure of teenaged mutants.
For one.
Any protests that parents might muster -- not that there would be many, considering X is the coach, and a mutant -- are drowned out by the sound of twenty children being very enthusiastic.
"You can come too, Meg. If you want."
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"I've never known La--X to say something she didn't mean," Meg says.
"And I'll remember that invitation. If you all win the Little League World Series."
And Meg would not for a moment put that past a team coached by Laura.
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The children's grins only get bigger.
Some of the parents are also grinning, or snickering. Depending on the parent.
X just lets it roll off her back. Apparently.
"I will not forget. And it will be true next year, too."
And every year that X coaches.
"There is a particular kind of ice cream you want?"
X directs that question at Meg, even as she takes a small notebook and pencil out of her pocket and hands it to a dark-haired boy standing next to Tomas.
It is apparently his turn to take everybody's order.
Speaking of responsibilities that are very serious.
Deadly, if the boy's expression and persistence are anything to go by.
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"A small vanilla cone, please," Meg tells him. "And my name is Meg."
Which is useful information to have, if you're writing down everyone's orders.
"Thank you."
He nods, eyes still on the notebook in front of him.
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The catcher looks up, startled for a second. Then --
"You're welcome."
Then he turns back to his notebook.
X does not smile.
Several of the parents do.
Meanwhile, the kids start lining up to give their orders. They have been taught well.
"You like children?"
X is curious. And the line is long.
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She's dropped her voice, quiet enough that Laura will hear her but her words won't really carry. (Though Meg is fairly soft-spoken most of the time, really.)
"I don't know. I've never spent a lot of time with children. Certainly not in large groups. I mean, not since I was that age."
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"It is different?"
Well.
How is she supposed to know?
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"For one thing, I don't see the world the way I did when I was ten."
Meg Ford was a very different person when she was ten.
Ten was before.
"Nor does a ten-year-old see me the way they'd see another ten-year-old. In a group of children now, I have a degree of authority and responsibility, whether I'm explicitly given it or simply implicitly afforded it by virtue of being an adult. If something happened right now, I'd be one of the people taking care of things, not one of the people being taken care of.
"And it's always different, being a part of a group and being in a group you're not quite a part of. Not bad, necessarily. I mean, I wouldn't want to still be ten."
Or twelve.
Or sixteen.
"But it's definitely different."
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"It is what I do."
She pauses for a moment, flicking her gaze away from Meg to look toward the crowd of children.
"Do not stab Dan with the pencil, Robbie."
Then her attention returns to Meg.
"But I am glad you do not want to be ten. That would be problematic."
So very, very problematic. In so many ways.
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For ever so very many reasons.
"And, yes. I know it's what you do. But taking charge of a situation is not something most of us would have thought to do at ten.
"Especially with adults around."
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Again she looks toward the children, one of whom is returning with the notepad of orders.
"They are learning. But they would not be very good at taking charge. If I let them."
She reaches out to take the offered pad, flicking a quick glance over it to make sure everyone wrote something actually obtainable.
Then she looks up at Meg.
"I think it is good. For them."
It has always been different for X. But that is not always relevant.
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Ten is a bit young to take charge in a crisis.
"I think you do very well with them."
And not just with baseball.
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"It is important."
Beat.
"I think you will be good with them, too. Children. If you want to try."
She's welcome to use X's team to practice on, if she likes.
They are here, and all.
And the season is a long one.
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"I'm probably going to have some one day, after all."
Alain wants children.
Meg does, too.
Someday.
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Then, after a moment --
"I will babysit. When you do."
You know.
If Meg wants her to.
(It is not like there is any chance X will ever stop coming to Milliways. From her point of view, anyway.)
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Safest babysitting arrangements ever, after all.
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And in the meantime --
Looks like they're up for the ice cream order.
This might take awhile. But X enunciates very clearly, which seems to help.
Plus the children leave enough space for handing out the ice cream to be very easy.
Apparently X doesn't just train them about what to do on the field.
And now the parents can order. If they like.
X -- pausing to make sure Meg is prepared to follow -- leads her players over to the wooden benches, waiting for all of them to choose seats before claiming her own.
"They will get noisier," she offers, taking a quick lick of her cone.
"Once the sugar hits their bloodstream."
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And it will be quieter again.
For Meg and Laura, anyway.
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"But many of them stay here. For a while."
Beat.
"They run. And yell. I think it helps."
And every hour is another hour closer to bedtime.
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Adrenaline can take a while to wear off.
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"They get tired."
Unlike her.
"You do not have to run around."
Beat.
"If you do not want to."
X is very good at serious expressions.
Excellent, in point of fact.
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Beat.
"Are you planning to run around?
"Once the sugar hit your bloodstream?"
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"I am always It. First."
Which is to say --
Yes.
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"And do you stay It for very long?"
Call her crazy, but Meg would guess Laura has an advantage or two with tag.
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So, very rarely.
Anyway.
X takes another careful lick of her ice cream. Soon it will be time to bite the cone.
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And as the children are finishing their own cones in record time --
She may need to hurry to catch up.
There is no sense in being caught flat-footed.
For one, it sets a bad example.