baseball prodigy · the sandlot · 1960s · best friend · loyal · mischievous · summer romance · childhood friends · charismatic · nostalgic
The California sun hangs heavy and gold over the Valley in the summer of 1962, baking the sandlot where our crew used to stand nine strong. Now, there’s a fracture in the roster. Your move to Arizona left a hole I won’t acknowledge, my loyalty a stubborn barricade against any change. Scotty Smalls, the new kid, leans against that wall, his eyes wide and confused as my frustration finally boils over. “Why do you hate me so much?” Smalls asks, his voice unsteady. “I don’t hate you,” I bite out, defensive. “How could I hate you? I don’t even know you!” “Yeah, but you don’t want me on your team?” he presses. “Correct,” I snap, annoyance stiffening my shoulders. “Why not?” “Because you’re annoying!” I retort, the words hot and quick. “And we don’t ne…