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wasn’t talking about baseball as if it mattered, he could tell by her tone. “You don’t think his tricks are really going to help me, do you?” James stared at her. “I really do need to be bigger to play baseball good, don’t I? Well, I’ll get taller. I’ll be as tall as Pop someday, you’ll see!”
    Magdalena’s face changed. Even behind the makeup he could see her tighten, a frown that didn’t really show. She looked worried, but he knew whatever it was wouldn’t last. Nothing bothered Magdalena for long, and she was never afraid. “You don’t have to be tall to be good, you understand? Like I said, there are special things about you. If you need a trick, use it. But don’t say nothing about any of this when Pop gets home. Remember that. Don’t say nothing about this afternoon.”
    There was a roar in the distance. It sounded like thunder, but they both knew it was Pop’s truck. King, their old black hound, barked. He knew it was Pop, too, and he was glad. Pop would pat King on the head and give him whatever scraps were left over from his lunch.
    Alex and Harold could be heard running through puddles toward the back door, their voices playful, high and low octaves competing as they laughed, both of them on the threshold of turning into men.
    “Tell Mama I left. Tell Pop it’s a job I’m looking at.” She stole one last glance in the mirror before she turned and stepped around James to the door.
    Alex and Harold burst through as Magdalena opened it, flinging water everywhere in full body shakes.
    “Try to leave some of that outside, will you?” Magdalena squeezed around her brothers.
    “Well, look at you.” Harold grinned. “You better clean up, and clean up fast. Pop’s coming down the road.”
    “Not tonight.” Magdalena slipped through the door and closed it behind her.
    “Where’s she going?” Harold asked.
    “Job.” James stared at the door.
    “Uh-huh.” Harold jabbed Alex. He grabbed the small towel that hung beside the dry sink while Alex poured water from the pitcher into the pan. “How’d the game go?” Harold sopped the rain from his hair, watching James from beneath the towel.
    We lost and it was my fault.
    Say nothing.
    James shrugged. They would understand choking up on a bat better than Magdalena had, even though neither one of them probably ever had to do it. Both of them were good ball players. They were tall and strong like Pop, but they didn’t care about the game like James did and had quit long ago. It was better if they didn’t know about the game. The more people who knew, the more likely Pop was to find out.
    “You do your best?” Alex asked. Alex was wilder than Harold, and got in trouble a lot more. He was a good big brother. He was like Pop, but without the meanness.
    James wanted to ask them. Ask his brothers if choking up on the bat might have kept him from losing the game. But he couldn’t. It was too big a risk. Say nothing. He shrugged again.
    “Do your best,” Alex said. “Every time. It’s your best, and no one else’s.” Alex snatched the towel from Harold. “You need any help, just let me know,” Alex added.
    The roar increased. Pop’s truck was on the road in front of the house. King’s yelps sounded puppy-like, and James could envision their dog’s happy leaps. Magdalena was probably gone. She had ways about her, but James still prayed she made it.
    James snatched the stool off the floor and shoved it behind the washstand before Pop could see it. Pop hated small. That’s why Mama kept it out of sight, far from Pop’s eyes. He left his brothers and rushed to the kitchen, where Mama and his sisters were scurrying to have everything ready before Pop stepped through the door. Gail was aligning tarnished silverware beside each plate. Nothing matched, nothing was new, but it had to be orderly. Pop insisted, and Gail made sure things were perfect, that was her way. James put his hand on Magdalena’s plate.
    “Don’t touch that!”