Page 4 of Moonshot

“I’d rather have coffee.”

“Is it the kale you don’t like? I can do it with just spinach and carrots.”

“Stop changing the subject from your fidgeting.”

“I’m not. I could try adding kiwi. That’s what I do for Duncan.”

“He’s not coming here, Ty.”

“Who?”

“Don’t play stupid. It’s not attractive.”

“He might come here. The Dodgers can’t keep him after this. And you know we should have gotten him straight out of the—”

“He’s not coming. You know the reputation we keep. His bullshit isn’t going to fly here.”

“Maybe he’ll change. Maybe it was a one-time thing. It might not even be true; you know how the media spins things.”

“Good. Then they’ll have no reason to trade him.”

“How can you not want him on our team? He’s Chase Stern.”

“I have a teenage daughter. That’s the only reason I need.”

“I’m, like, five years younger than him.”

“You’re not that dumb, Ty.”

“You know he’d be good for the team. Admit that.”

“He’s not coming here, so it’s a moot point.”

“We need him. Especially with Douglas’s sprain. And Corten is a few years from retiring. And—”

“Ty. Stop. Finish that damn essay you’ve been staring at for two hours.”

“Pour out that coffee, and I’ll do my essay.”

“Do your essay, or I’ll tan your hide.”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to tan my hide anymore. I think that stops at, like, age eight.”

“I’m pouring it out, okay? Now shut up.”

“Thank you, but I finished the essay. Sent it in fifteen minutes ago.”

“Damn you.”

“I love you too.”

6

“This is bullshit.” Chase leaned back in his seat and tossed a plastic pen, watching it flip through the air before catching it.

“Can you get your shoe off my desk?” Floyd Hardin, his agent, moved around his heavy desk and swatted at Chase’s tennis shoe. “I need you to focus.”

“I’m focused. Dodgers don’t want me anymore. So what? I’m sick of you Californians and your damn sunshine. You told me this was temporary, anyway. You know what I really want.” He sat up, rolling the pen through his fingers before sticking it in the edge of his mouth.