Page 32 of The Fall Classic

Logan

I’ll be the guy who remembers to change out of his cleats.

Georgie

:)

Logan

<))

I wait for another minute or two, in case Georgie sends anything else after she puts a heart on my message.

I know she won’t—it’s the natural end to an unnaturally good conversation—but I wait anyway.

Holding on too long is my specialty.

Although, my knuckleball disagreed tonight.

For the first time in years, maybe so do I.

***

At four fifteen, I’m sitting in my truck outside of Mudcakes ice cream shop, texting with Lucas, who messaged me as soon as my game was over.

Lucas

Six innings and only three runs. That’s the STUFF.

Lucas doesn’t believe in jinxes or curses or even superstition, and he definitely doesn’t see a problem with telling his brother what a good game he pitched. I still wonder if being told I played well in the state-championship game in high school is coming back to bite me in the butt anytime I throw a bad pitch.

What would life be like without anxiety?

Logan

Thanks bro.

Lucas

How did it feel?

Logan

Good.

Lucas

Good is right.

I look up from my phone at the Mudcakes sign, which is hand-painted on what looks like the side of a red barn that someone converted into an ice cream shop decades ago. It has a screen door and plastic chairs, and it’s teeming with teens, who must have come over after school. There’s a chalkboard out front with the flavors written on it, and I already know I’m going to have a hard time choosing.

Logan

Do you think I’d rather eat Pothole Pecan or Silted Caramel ice cream?

Lucas

Did you hit your head?