Two Parties, One Tux, and a Very Short Film about The Grapes of Wrath by Steven Goldman Page A

left her by herself. I also don’t have anyone else to sit with. As long as she doesn’t hold my hand when she gets excited, which she has been known to do, I will sit with her. But I am not willing to hold hands with my mother in public.
    Carrie is not a baseball fan. She’s here mostly to scope out the players. I suspect that Amanda and M.C.’s presence is part of Carrie’s prom strategy. Of the three of them, only M.C. looks like she is focused on baseball. She is sort of squinting at the field as if something is written on it explaining what is going on. Every once in a while she will clap, sometimes even at the right time. Mom whoops when we score on a well-hit double in the third inning. Following her lead, M.C. gives a little “Go Blue!”cry, but it isn’t convincing. I’m pretty sure she has no idea what she’s watching.
    I steal a glance at Amanda, who is sitting quietly beside Carrie, and I catch her eye by mistake. She smiles at me. I turn my attention back to the game in panic. We score another run and David stands up in the dugout to give a whistle and clap. High fives all around, as Glenn takes off his helmet and sits down. David may not be playing, but he looks right in his uniform. His blond hair sticks out from under his cap, framing his face. The shirt hangs well from his shoulders—he must be lifting weights. If he could ditch his glasses, he could be in a beer commercial. I try to imagine him through the eyes of the trio of females watching him from the stands. He’s good-looking. I bet M.C. would think he has a nice butt.
    At the top of the sixth, with one out, runners on second and third, the cleanup batter for the other team hits a hard line drive to our shortstop, who stops it short. Unable to decide whether to throw to first for the out or to the catcher to hold the runner on third, he instead hurls the ball straight into the home team dugout. I’m thinking error. I’m not sure whether David was attempting to catch it or just trying to get out of the way, but he half stands up, which puts him directly into the ball’s flight path. There is a very loud thud, and now everyone is standing to watch David topple over the bench backward, taking the rest of the second string with him.
    â€œI think he got it in the head,” Mom says, and she runs down the steps of the bleachers toward the dugout. Maybe she feels responsible for David as a surrogate parent. Maybe she just wants to see what happened. Three rounds of deciding I should go too and then deciding that I shouldn’t, I decide I should and I follow my mother. She has a good lead on me, and by the time I get to the dugout she is talking to the trainer, who holds an icepack on David’s head.
    â€œHe’s fine, sweetie,” Mom tells me.
    â€œIt was just his head,” the trainer says, deadpan. “He wasn’t using it much anyway. Although this may be a first for me.”
    â€œWhat is?” asks David, who is now holding the icepack himself and looks a little firmer.
    â€œI’m not sure we’ve had anyone who’s managed to get injured while sitting on the bench. Usually you have to be in the game.”
    No, no, no, yes, yes
    Mom won’t let David drive home in case he has a concussion or something. As a responsible parent, she decides to drive him home in his car so she can let his parents know what happened. I am instructed to take Amanda, Carrie, and M.C. home. Amanda didn’t come with us, so I am a little suspicious about why I now need to give her a ride. Still, how much of a setup can this be? She didn’tbean David with a ball, and Carrie and M.C. are in the car with us. Carrie and M.C. race to the car to take the backseat and ensure Amanda rides shotgun. They aren’t very subtle.
    Amanda’s idea of conversation is to ask lots of questions. It feels a little like an interrogation.
    â€œDo you go to all the home