"I know what you're doing," LaCross said. "Look, he isn't going to make the team. He wasn't going to make the team before we got Driesbach. He's a nice little Triple-A infielder but that's all he is." I'm sure you're right," Brock said. "But there is no use in alienating him right from the start. He's been a big help already. Besides, he might be a nice insurance policy. What is the team going to do if I blow out an elbow or something?" It won't matter," LaCross said with a rare smile. "They'll be too busy trying to talk me off a bridge to even worry if we have a second baseman."The second portion of the morning was spent working with Brock handling throws from shortstop and third base. There was no pivot because there was no one to throw the ball to at first. But it helped to introduce him to the differences between short and second."Christ, this is useless," LaCross said. "Take another break."This time it was Fred Hartman who brought the manager a cup of ice cold water. LaCross took. Well, pouting wasprobably the better word. The tiny jaw line and huge eyes took the stingout of any bodily expression of anger.'What do you mean? We've always been us.'The clear implication in her voice was that 'Us' meant Saito Kiku. Thegirl whose cleavage he'd awoken to a POV shot of. Of course. That madeperfect sense. He wasn't a guy enjoying his last summer before moving toa prestigious out of state college having a psychotic breakdown andimagining he was an anime girl. He was an anime girl having a psychoticbreakdown and imagining she used to be an adult male.Kevin began to laugh hysterically, the water in Pinky's eyes leaked downher cheeks. A waifu in desperate need of a hug or a flower or whatevertoken gesture would make her heart meter for the designated protagonistgo up. That thought was funny too. Him, not a male chem major with aserious girlfriend, but the ditzy girly-girl object of some otaku'sunsatisfied lust. Sure. That was him. It just made sense.He smiled at the.
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