The first two innings, the Blackwell Maroons were up, but the next two were plagued with mistakes, and we were four runs down. I could see the frustration on Weston’s face, and he began yelling cheers and jeers to his teammates from the dugout and the pitcher’s mound.

Once he pitched the ball, and it came straight back at him. He ducked, and it went straight into the second baseman’s mitt. The crowd let out a collective ooh.

“Lord, that was close,” Veronica said, putting her hand on her chest.

“The pitchers should really have to wear helmets too,” Sam said.

Weston coughed into his elbow and waited for the catcher. He shook his head twice and then nodded. He reared back, hiked his leg, and launched the ball at the batter.

“Someone’s lit a fire under his ass today,” Peter said after Weston threw three consecutive strikes.

The umpire called the out, and the players jogged into the dugout. The Chisolm players put on their mitts and ran to their positions on the field.

In the sixth inning, we were batting, down by one. I could hear coughing from the dugout.

“Is that Weston?” Veronica said. “He has his inhaler, right?”

“He always does,” Peter said, trying to sound casual, but I caught a hint of worry in his voice.

“He’s been having a lot of flare-ups with his asthma lately,” Veronica told Julianne.

A commotion drew our attention to Blackwell’s dugout, and then Coach Langdon stepped out and yelled. The paramedics standing by rushed to the coach, and players began to hop out, walking backward as they watched in astonishment at whatever we couldn’t see. Peter stood, taking two steps at a time down the bleachers. Veronica took the cement steps.

“Oh God,” I said.

My parents stood too, and I followed them down the stairs and through the gate.

“Let’s go!” Julianne commanded.

“Weston?” Veronica cried.

Peter was holding her shoulders as she cupped her hands over her mouth.

One of the paramedics ran to the ambulance and came back with a gurney and supplies, quickly loading Weston onto the stretcher. That was the first time I got a good look at him. He was pale, his hair soaked and stuck to his forehead. His eyes were rolled back into his head as he gasped for air. His inhaler fell out of his hand to the ground.

“Go! Go!” Sam barked, helping Julianne and the paramedics push the stretcher’s wheels across the dirt and grass to the sidewalk, and then to the ambulance.

The entire crowd was silent. The players all took a knee, holding their hats over their hearts.

“No, no, no,” I whispered, watching helplessly.

The ambulance sped off with full lights and sirens down Coolidge Street toward the hospital, and Peter and Veronica ran to their cars.

“Erin! Erin! Come on!” Julianne called to me from the parking lot.

I ran with her to her G-Wagon. The door slammed behind me, and I watched her twist the ignition and yank the gear into reverse and then into drive.

“Where’s Sam?”

“In the ambulance. Weston’s had asthma attacks before. Not in a long time, but he will be okay. He will.”

“You promise?” I said, my entire body trembling.

Julianne’s lips pressed together, making a hard line. “He can’t do this again. He wouldn’t.”

“Who?”

“God.”

I blinked and then looked out the window, watching the houses pass by.

Julianne pulled into the back lot of the hospital where the ambulance bay was located. The ambulance was already parked, its back door hanging wide open.

Julianne held my hand, and I kept her quick pace as we walked inside to the waiting room.

Mothers holding feverish babies and an elderly couple, one of them with a deep cough, took up the few chairs available—not that we needed them.

I wrapped my arms around my middle, and after twenty grueling minutes, Sam appeared. He looked worried.

“They’re stabilizing him,” he said, but he put his hand on the small of Julianne’s back and led her into the hallway.

They spoke softly, having an intense conversation. Julianne looked back at me once and covered her mouth with her hand.

I couldn’t find a comfortable place to put my hands, so I finally resorted to crossing them across my stomach again.

Sam and Julianne returned, taking me in both of their arms.

“He’s going to be okay,” Sam said.

“You’re sure?” I asked.

“They’re working on it.” He handed me a five-dollar bill. “Why don’t you get us some waters from the vending machine down the hall?”

I nodded, taking the bill and leaving the waiting room, turning right. I could see the vending machine. It was close to the end of the hall, near the front entrance. On my way, a woman in scrubs rushed past me, pushing a square-shaped piece of equipment with an arm and a camera-like contraption on the end. It looked like a portable X-ray machine, and I imagined she was heading for Weston’s room.

The vending machine took Sam’s five-dollar bill. I pressed the button for a bottle of water, collected the change that fell into a bin at the bottom, and then repeated the process two more times. The waters felt good against my skin as I carried them back to the waiting room.

Sam and Julianne were standing next to Coach Langdon and stopped talking when I approached. They took their waters but didn’t open them.

Sam hugged me to him, and we waited. When I couldn’t wait any longer, I stood by the door, watching the clouds roll by, and witnessed the sky turning dark. One by one the players and the coaches stopped by and ambled around the waiting room like we did.

Another lifetime later, Peter turned the corner, and everyone gathered around him.

“They have his oxygen levels back to normal. He’s getting a breathing treatment now, but they’re going to keep him overnight. They’ll be moving him to a room upstairs soon.”

Weston’s teammates’ departures were staggered, and then it was just Sam, Julianne, Coach Langdon, and I. Peter came back in, followed by Veronica and a couple of nurses pushing a hospital bed down the hall.

I tried to glance past Peter but couldn’t get a good look.

“Thank God,” Julianne said.

“Thanks for your help today,” Peter said to my parents. “If you hadn’t helped, I don’t know that he would have made it to the hospital.”