5. Chapter 5 Jack
Chapter five
“Ledgerrrr! Stop skipping me! It’s my turn to be the hitter, and you and Jack have to pitch and catch!”
Margot’s whine echoes across the yard, and Ledger turns to me to roll his eyes. “Come on, man. Let’s go inside and get something to eat. I’m tired.”
They’ve been on each other’s nerves for what feels like forever now, although I know it’s ramping up as Ledger has had more and more pressure on him from his dad to grow up and take all his extra lessons seriously.
I can’t blame him for being stressed, but it’s not Margot’s fault.
Besides, she’s big enough now to understand more, and it’s been kind of fun to teach her things I always wished I had an older sibling for.
Henry was never really available to play with us, so Ledger and I figured out certain things on our own—like the best trees to climb, the fastest route from point A to point B in the house, and how to ride bikes.
Margot doesn’t have to worry about that, though. She’s got us.
“She’s getting kind of good, man. I think you’re scared she’ll homer off you and show you up,” I say, walking up to Ledger and winking where Margot can’t see. He rolls his eyes at my obvious manipulation but smiles and picks the softball back up.
“Okay, Princess, but you’re getting my best pitch. I’m not taking it easy on you!” Ledger yells.
Margot steps up to our makeshift home plate very seriously and levels a stare at Ledger that makes me a little scared for whatever man she ends up with one day. She’s going to be a whole damn problem for some poor guy. And before that, she’s going to be our problem for about the next twenty years.
“Bring it on, scaredy-cat,” she yells to her brother, although her pink glitter bat and helmet take away most of the sting of her taunts.
She’s still growing like a weed, taller than other girls in her class, and so scrawny that looking at her, you’d wonder how she can hold up her bat.
But I’ve learned it’s never a good idea to underestimate Margot Sinclair, and as Ledger sends her an underhanded pitch that’s by no means a gimme, she swings and sends the ball soaring over our heads and past the invisible boundary we had marked as our field of play.
Ledger’s mouth drops open as she takes off her helmet, gives him the biggest gap-tooth grin I’ve seen all day, and flips her bat in the air toward the pitcher’s mound.
“Loser carries the equipment in!” Her laughter rings out as she turns and heads back to the house.
Yep, six years old and Princess is already a force. We’re all in trouble.