Leonard Price understood that before everyone else on the field.
That was why, while Damian Cross saw a skinny Black teenager in a volunteer shirt preparing to embarrass himself, Leonard watched the feet.
The grip.
The shoulder.
The wind.
The intent.
Then he looked at the players gathered casually around home plate and realized something none of them had yet understood.
The boy in center field was not throwing to prove he belonged behind the fence.
He was throwing because somebody had finally given him a target.
Leonard raised his voice.
“Clear the batter’s box.”
They did.
Malachi ran forward.
He released the baseball.
And for a few long seconds, everyone in the stadium had no choice but to stop deciding what he could not do.
They simply watched the ball come home.
The End.
