51

The Harpooners lost 10 to 2. Between games, no one mentioned the ceremony that had been planned and advertised in Henry’s honor. Instead the Westish players headed down to their usual spot near the right-field foul pole, where they spread out on the grass and listlessly munched the sandwiches that had been delivered from the dining hall. It had become a gorgeous, sun-kissed afternoon. There were even a few ambitious tanners laid out on the practice fields in bikinis. Henry, marked out from his teammates by his faded red T-shirt, lay on his back with his eyes closed, inviting them to carry on without him. Starblind stewed bitterly, muttering to himself and glaring at his bare right arm as he rubbed Tiger Balm into it. Nobody else broke the funereal mood, or even glanced at the spot behind home plate where Aparicio was signing autographs.

Henry tapped Izzy on the knee. “Play their three hitter toward the hole a little more. You could’ve had that last ball he hit.”

Izzy nodded.

“Especially with Sal pitching. Compared to Adam, play everybody a step to pull against Sal. Unless he has his changeup working. Then you have to watch Mike’s signs and play it more by feel.”

Izzy looked down at his yogurt.

“Comprende?” Henry said.

Izzy nodded. “Comprende, Henry.”

Henry hauled himself to his feet and walked over to the fence, where a skinny, coltish girl with long wavy sandy hair was waiting for him. As he approached she poked her index finger through the fence. After a moment Henry touched it with his own.

“Who’s that?” asked Starblind.

“I think it’s Skrim’s sister.” Rick looked to Owen. “Buddha?”

Owen nodded.

“Huh,” Adam said. “Not bad.”