July 2 (Evening)

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"Hi!" Holly parked her car on the road in front of my house at 5:30 pm, sharp.

"Hi," I pushed myself up from the front porch step.

"Look, I wore running shoes tonight!" Holly motioned toward her feet. On a normal evening on the town, Holly would wear platform sandals to go with whatever outfit she put on. "Well if we are walking five miles, I'm going to have to be comfortable!"

"Ok," I responded, smiling at how proud she was of her fashion choice. I almost felt bad for making her walk but there was no way I was getting in a car tonight.

We walked along in silence for the first few minutes until Holly piped up.

"How are you doing, Jordy?" she asked.

"I'm fine."

"No," Holly stopped to look at me. "How are you doing and don't feed me some stupid line about being fine. I know you're not fine. How can you possibly be fine?! You won't get in a car, you won't text us back, you're distant, your dad doesn't know where the hell you are and he really didn't seem to care which is awful... You have a stranger living under your roof! Don't tell me you're fine! Don't lie to me! We are friends, Jordy! I want to help you!"

I wanted to be mad. I wanted to explode like I always did and push her away but Nate's words echoed in my mind and I was exhausted with exploding. I was just tired.

Really tired.

I looked back at Holly. She had tears welling up in her eyes. She was genuinely concerned.

"Look. I'm sorry, ok? I just... I don't want to be a burden. I don't want to be a depressing lump. It's just easier for me to hide, I guess."

"Well, I would rather you be around as a depressing lump than not around at all. You're my best friend, Jordy. You, me, Kari. We're the three musketeers. And I know that we can be an overwhelming handful."

At this I actually chuckled.

"All I'm saying is, we're here if you want to talk. And we're here if you don't want to talk. But please stop hiding," Holly outstretched her arms.

Oh, what the hell. I accepted the embrace. Four hugs. The tally just kept rising. It felt nice actually.

"Come on, we're going to be late for the baseball game, if we don't get back to walking," I said.

Holly reached out and grabbed my hand like I was a child she was afraid was going to run away from her. We walked hand-in-hand all the way to the ballpark.

Holly grabbed a lineup sheet from one of the volunteers at a table near the canteen and we found ourselves a front row spot along the third baseline. Over the years we had learned that the perfect viewing spot was just beyond third base, where you were close enough to see the edge of the home team's dugout and close enough to the action that the top of the fence didn't get in the way of your viewing lines. Sure, you were more at risk to get hit by foul balls but as long as you paid attention, you could usually move out of the way. Sometimes people brought baseball gloves to catch foul balls in the area.

Dusk presented a bright burst of orange cloud in the blue sky as it was lowering on the horizon over right field. A slight breeze brushed up red sand ever so slightly across the infield.

The announcer came across the loud speakers and read out the line up, each player stepping onto the field as his name was called out, lining up along the third base line.

I felt a quick burst of butterflies when I heard that Nate was the starting pitcher and I saw him step out onto the field.

After the roster was read out, the faceless voice requested us to stand for the national anthem.

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