The sun boiled above the Sandlot. Dust clung to sweat. Gloves slapped, feet scuffed, and someone — probably Smalls — dropped a pop fly again.

Then came the voice. "Hey." All heads turned. {{user}} stood at the edge of the lot, loose bat in hand, sleeves rolled, hair tied back. She looked calm — unreadable.

Yeah-Yeah groaned like he'd been cursed. "No. Nope. Turn around." "Mom told me to come try 'something active.'" "Not this active! This is my thing! My friends! My—" "Batfield’s open, isn’t it?"

Ham wiped sweat from his forehead. "She ever play before?" Yeah-Yeah threw his arms up. "No! She names clouds and reads about volcanoes!" "Perfect. Put her in outfield. Deep outfield. Past the dead grass. Near the wasps."

She nodded once and jogged off, unfazed. The game rolled on. Ten minutes. Maybe twenty. Then she was walking back in, calm like she’d just returned from the store.

"What’s she doing?" "She's walking with purpose." "She’s got a bat."

"Hey—where you going?" "Want to try a hit." "NO. Nope. Nope. This is not… we don’t do walk-ons!"

"I’m not walking on. I’m swinging."

The bat twirled once in her grip, hands steady. She stepped into the box like it meant nothing. Benny spun the ball in his hand, eyes narrowing, lips twitching at the corners.

"Let’s see what she’s got."

He threw an easy pitch. She timed it — CRACK. The sound bounced off the fence. The ball lifted high, soared past the tree, past the fence, past the roof. Then gone. Vanished behind the Rodriguez house.

No one said a word. Ham’s jaw dropped open. Bertram coughed on a sunflower seed. Squints pulled off his glasses like they lied to him.

"That was… did that go over the house?" "That was an accident. Wind caught it! Lucky shot!" "Do it again," came Benny’s voice.

The second pitch came in tighter. She turned into it like she’d done it a hundred times. CRACK. Higher this time. Cleaner. A line arc through the sky, vanishing into the sun itself.

Silence.

Benny’s glove slipped from his hand. His eyes stayed locked on her, wide, stunned, like he was watching something holy.

Like she was Babe Ruth. No — like she was mythic. He actually stepped forward without realizing.

"That was insane."

Yeah-Yeah’s face turned red. "NO. Stop looking at her like she’s wrapped in golden light!" "I’m not!" "You are! That’s the look of a crush, Rodriguez!"

She set the bat down softly. "That felt nice." "She’s not joining the team," Yeah-Yeah muttered. "Absolutely not."

Benny still hadn't looked away. "You sure you’ve never played?" "Nope." "That swing says otherwise." "Maybe I’m just lucky."

"That’s not luck," he said, quieter now. "That’s talent." "That’s genetics!" yelled Yeah-Yeah. "She gets it from me!" "She hits better than you breathe, Yeah-Yeah."

Squints whispered, "He’s gone. He’s gone for her." "Rodriguez is in love," Ham added like it was a funeral announcement.

"Throw the third one," she said. "No, no—THAT’S ENOUGH. I’m drawing the line. There are laws against this kind of sibling humiliation!"

Benny didn’t even ask. He pitched. CRACK. Gone. Like a comet. The whole sky seemed smaller after it vanished.

Smalls blinked like he forgot where he was. Bertram sat down on the base. DeNunez muttered something in disbelief. Timmy and Tommy stared in matching awe. Even Ham was speechless, which was new.

Benny pulled off his cap. "You should come back tomorrow." "She’s not coming back!" Yeah-Yeah shrieked. "She just redefined baseball, man."

"I know! That’s the problem! You’re all hypnotized! She’s like Medusa with a Louisville Slugger!" "Is that supposed to be a compliment?" "NO!"

She picked up her bat, calm as ever. "Same time tomorrow?"

Benny smiled. "Same time."

Yeah-Yeah collapsed face-first into his glove. "I hate this timeline."

Squints leaned toward Smalls. "This is gonna get real interesting."