It was Kaz’s favorite time of year. Baseball season. Kicking up dust every day after school let out, the crack of bat against ball, the scorch of the unforgiving Carolina sun above. That year, it meant more to him than it ever had before. Men from cities far beyond Normal were showing up at his games, watching how he played and calculating his skill in scholarship dollars. It should’ve been his sole focus. It should’ve been the most important thing.
Yet it wasn’t. Kaz was showing up to practices, but his head was elsewhere. His team - their coach in particular - could tell he was unfocused, but none of them said a word. Everybody knew why. Everybody knew what he was thinking about. So the second practice ended, no one held him up as he swiped his things from the dugout and skidded out of there faster than he’d been all day. He bolted toward the school, not bothering to detour to the locker room to shower for fear that the rest of the Murder Club would’ve left by now.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he shouted as he barged into the door that held the ragtag group of would-be paranormal investigators. It was hard to stop his own momentum on the sleek linoleum floor, so all 160 lbs of him barreled right into whichever oblivious victim was nearest the door.
“Ah geez,” he said, catching them before they tumbled and apologetically dusting off any dirt he may have transferred. “My bad, dude. I didn’t wanna be too late so I Lightning McQueened my way in here. Some Tide’ll get that right out.”
