Marisol's eyes widened. "You really think so?"
"I know so," Noah said, and heard Cameron in his own mouth, and did not mind. "Just watch the ball."
Somewhere in the seats, Cameron Blake covered his smile with a cup of soda. Denise squeezed Paul's hand. Frank Callahan's daughter wiped her eyes and blamed the onions that were not there. The pitching machine whirred. The crowd leaned in. Marisol set her feet.
Noah stepped back to give her the plate, the lights, the choice.
The ball left the chute.
And the story — which had never truly belonged to only one boy — opened its hands again under the summer evening, ready for whoever was brave enough to say okay.