May 1st, 1990

“Let’s see if you can catch this, Alan.”

10-year-old James Lance Bass gripped the hard baseball in his hands, throwing it into his too small baseball gloved hand. His birthday was in three days, he was sure he was going to get a new one; he had dropped enough hints about it. He removed his hand from his glove for a brief moment, flexing his cramped fingers before sliding his fingers back into the hot, clammy, leather. His lips twisted up into a grin and he lowered his eyebrows to complete the evil look. He peered over at the boy standing at home plate in between the batter’s box.

The boy was scraping at the ground with his dirty converses, and grinned back. Alan McIntyre shifted his weight from foot to foot before lifting his baseball bat up over his shoulder. “Let’s just see if you can get it this far,” Alan shot back, scrunching up his face before rolling his eyes. “Just throw it already!”

Lance twisted his mouth to the side, before winding up for the pitch. He threw his arm forward as hard as he could, letting out a grunt of effort as he did so, feeling his shoulder pop as he did so. He watched as the white ball flew through the air and over towards Alan. Alan pressed his lips together before swinging at the ball.

Crack!

Lance frowned when Alan’s baseball bat connected with the baseball, lobbing it high up into the air. Lance turned on his heels, and watched the ball bounce once, twice, three times before rolling into the outfield. He sighed before starting at a light jog to retrieve it as Alan punched his small fists into the air as he started to run around the bases.

“Celebrate now, I’ll strike you out,” he called over his shoulder before facing forward, frowning when he didn’t see the ball in the tall grassed. He lifted his arm and used it to wipe at the sweat with the back of his arm.

The hot, Mississippi, sun beamed down on him and a gentle breeze blew and he savored the refreshing mixture of feeling hot and cold. There was barely a cloud in the clear blue sky; a perfect summer day. He could hear the faint jingle of the ice cream truck as it made its way down the streets and through the neighborhoods.

“Hey, Al,” Lance called, turning around so he started walking backwards. “Do you want to get some ice cream?”

“Sure,” Alan shouted back as loud as he could to be heard. His voice thinned out over the vast area, and Lance stopped walking, cupping a hand around his ear, to hear his friend. Alan lowered the baseball bat and started tapping his feet with it. “After you find my ball.”

Lance rolled his eyes and shook his head before getting back to his search for the lost baseball. He eyes barely made an arc over the grass when a soccer ball rolled into his line of vision. He quickly shot out a foot, stopping it from rolling towards him. He bent to pick it up and spun it in his hands as a pair of mud splattered tennis shoes appeared in his line of vision.

Moving his eyes upwards, he saw the shoes were unlaced, a pair of bony and band-aid covered knees, shorts, a red t-shirt over a white long sleeved shirt (a weird fashion choice with this heat), brown hair set into pig tails, a smile with some teeth missing, a pair of the brightest brown eyes he had ever seen, a smatter of freckles over a button nose, straight brown hair set into pig tails, and a backwards, blue, baseball cap.

“Hi,” the girl said, her smile widening a little bit. She held her hands out for the ball and Lance handed it to her. “Do you want to play with me? I’m Annaleigh.”

“I’m Lance.” He then handed the soccer ball to her. “My friend and I were playing baseball.”

“Why?” Annaleigh asked, bouncing the soccer ball on the ground before stomping her foot on top of the ball, rolling it back and forth over the grass. “Soccer’s better. It’s way more fun.”

“That’s because girls can’t play baseball,” Alan said as he walked over to the two of them, picking up the abandoned baseball from the grass on his way. Lance watched as Annaleigh’s eyes narrowed, the corners of her mouth pulling down into a frown. She was small, he noticed, but she looked like she could pack a punch…literally. “You never see girls playing in the Major Leagues.”

“Maybe because we don’t want to be around smelly boys all the time,” Annaleigh replied, her frown turning into a cheeky grin before she stuck her tongue out at him. Alan did the same. “So you want to play? We could…” she looked around and spotted two trees in the distance, “use those trees for the goals. One on one on one. I’ll go first.”

“It’s getting too hot to play, we were going to get ice cream,” Lance said as he pulled his hand out of his glove, tucking it under his arm. He turned towards Alan. “My sister can take us.” He then turned back towards Annaleigh and gave her a smile. “Do you want to come?”

“Well, I wanted to play,” Annaleigh said before pressing her lips together into a smile. “But, sure. I like ice cream.” She held the ball against her stomach, cradling it against her chest. “Thanks.”

“Come on, Lance, let’s just go,” Alan said, an annoyed look crossing his face. Annaleigh blinked, her smile fading slightly. “You don’t want to play with her. Girls have cooties.”

“No, we don’t,” Annaleigh said with a stomp of her foot. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “That’s stupid.”

Lance’s eyebrows lowered. He was starting to feel a little worried. What was a cootie anyway? “My mom’s a girl, and so is my sister,” he slowly replied. He suddenly felt itchy and scratched at his collarbone.

“They don’t count,” Alan huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because they’re not girls. They’re your mom and your sister.” He lifted his foot and scratched at his ankle before crossing his arms again, his blue eyes narrowing. “Everyone knows that girls have cooties, Lance. And you’ll get them too if you play with her.”  

Lance looked back and forth between Annaleigh and Alan. She seemed really nice, but he didn’t want to get cooties from her. What if he got sick? What if it was something serious? What if everyone at school found out? What if it spread?

He gave Annaleigh a small, apologetic smile before following Alan to the exit built into the chain fence surrounding the baseball field. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw Annaleigh watching them, her mouth twisted to the side.

“Fine!” Annaleigh shouted after him.

She dropped her ball to the ground and gave it a hard kick after them, emitting a low pop as her foot connected with a ball. Lance felt his jaw drop. He had never seen any kid kick like that, not even any of the boys in his class.

He didn’t know where she wanted the ball to go, but he watched as it shot past Alan’s head and bounced off the metal top of the fence, and smacked her in the face. Lance heard himself gasp as she hit the ground, clutching at her face. “Owww.”

“Are you ok?” Lance asked, dropping down beside the fallen girl as she sat up. She sniffed, her face bright red. She removed her hand and Lance saw blood in her mouth. There was also some blood in her eyebrow.

Lance couldn't help but stare.

One minute, he was planning on going to get ice cream to beat the heat and the next Alan and Annaleigh were fighting and then she was lying on the ground, trying to hold back sobs as she spat blood onto the ground. Lance took Annaleigh’s small hand and helped her to her feet and she instantly pulled her hand from his, lifting the bottom of her shirt to wipe at her mouth and eyes, but the blood kept coming.

“Come on, my sister can help you,” Lance said, reaching for her hand again. Annaleigh pulled her hand away from him.

“My lip hurts,” she said with another loud sniff. Her bottom lip was split and it trembled violently as she tried­ hard not to cry.

“I’m sorry,” Alan said quietly, shoving his fists into his pants pockets, bowing his head. He then started shuffling across the grass to pick up her abandoned ball. “I’ll get your ball.”

“It’s ok,” Lance said, giving a small smile. “You can cry if you want. It looked like it hurt. You know, I bet ice cream would help. We can get you cleaned up and go get some. Right, Alan?”

“Mhm,” Alan said with a nod, his head still bent. He looked up at her through his dark bangs. “I’m really sorry.” He held the ball out to her and she took it with shaking hands. He then shoved his small hand into his pocket. “I think I have some money. That was a nice kick.”

“Th-th-thank y-you,” Annaleigh said quietly. She blinked a few times and  tears slipped down her round cheeks. She hastily wiped it with her shirt sleeve.

“Welcome,” Alan muttered, kicking at the ground. He lifted his head and looked up at her. “You’re still bleeding.”

“Stacey will help,” Lance said as he moved to put an arm around Annaleigh’s shoulders. “That’s my sister. My house isn’t that far away from here.” He removed his hand from her shoulders and reached for her hand for a third time and this time she didn’t pull her hand away. She tightly gripped his hand and allowed him to lead her out of the park. “What’s your name again?”

“Annaleigh,” the girl replied, trying to smile around her rapidly swelling lip. “Annaleigh Carr. I’m eight.”

“Annaleigh,” Lance repeated with a nod. “That’s pretty. I’m Lance. Lance Bass.”