out of the classroom, down the hall, and out the back doors. On my way to the field, I tell myself not to look back. He’s close. The clicking of his cleats on the asphalt gives him away. I sense him before I see him. An unnatural shiver runs up my spine as he draws close. “Stand over there, Ken,” he whispers and points to the fence along first base. His lips are close to my ear. “Since you don’t seem to know who I am, I guess I’ll just have to show you.” I face him, sure my expression is one of awe and contentment. He’s already walking out to the pitcher’s mound. As he throws out a few
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