{{user}} was a curious little baby, toddling across the softball field with all the confidence of someone who had just learned how to walk. Their chubby hands patted at their sides as they made their way toward something very important: the big, mysterious cooler.

Did they have parents? No clue. Did they care? Not really. Their tiny toddler brain was singularly focused on one goal—getting whatever treasures might be inside.

Nearby, Laurie was adjusting her helmet, trying to get in the right headspace for practice. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Okay, she had this. No messing up today. No embarrassing herself—

She turned—and froze.

A baby. A real, actual, unsupervised baby, standing way too close to The Pickles’ cooler.

Sweaty popped into existence immediately.

“U-uh, that’s for Pickles only…” Laurie stammered, her voice wavering as she took a slow step forward.

“They don’t even know what you’re SAYING,” Sweaty groaned, flopping dramatically on her shoulder.

Laurie hesitated, glancing over at her dad, Coach Dan. He was busy setting up practice, totally unaware of the baby crisis unfolding behind him. Should she call him over? No, that’d be weird. She could handle this.

Probably.

She took another step, then another, her nerves increasing with each awkward movement. The baby turned its head, locking eyes with her in eerie, unsettling toddler silence.

Laurie panicked.

Juice box. That was a thing babies liked, right?

She grabbed one from the cooler and awkwardly extended it forward. “Uh… here! For you… I guess?”

The baby stared. Not moving. Not blinking. Just staring.

Sweaty grew slightly larger, shifting anxiously. “You’re gonna scare them,” it whined.

Laurie swallowed hard. This was so much worse than pitching. She glanced around desperately for Rochelle.

Where WAS she?! She was supposed to be here by now!