YAS new chapter. I'm really feeling like after this is done, I'm going to make it into a real novel; like change around the names and stuff. Could I even make a movie? Idk what do you guys think. I think filmmaking could be really cool and I could convince my mum and dad to get me the right stuff if I did like a superawesome powerpoint pitch...

idk ilysm

-Tommy

"I'm thinking about doing a followup story, you know?" Gavin painted a rainbow across the horizon with a swooping hand motion. "Gordon Lachance pursues other interests in life while refusing to show me his work…"

Gordie rolled his eyes, shoving Gavin.

"I just don't have anything ready yet, alright?" He said with an offhand awkwardness.

"What about that journal you write in?" Gavin pressed, poking him in the arm. "What's in there?"

Gordie gulped, looking down.

"Nothing, really." He coughed into his hand to buy himself a few seconds of spare time.

"You say nothing but you mean something." Gavin stated, which was true.

"It's kind of like…a story of my life." Gordie muttered. "But I'm not letting you read it."

"Why not!?" Gavin asked in an accusing tone. "You read all my work and I don't have any problem with that!"

"I read what you put in the paper. I doubt that's all of your work."

"Well, it's most of it…" Gavin muttered.

"Yo, Gordie!" A voice called. Gavin and Gordie spun around to face the called. Caspar approached, moseying over with a baseball bat being used as a walking stick. "Hey, I have to ask you something…"

"Catch you later, alright?" Gordie heard Gavin say.

"Wait-" But he was already gone. Caspar stood beside him, his eyes wide and a buzz with slight excitement.

"Hey, you know tryouts for baseball are tomorrow afternoon, right?" He asked as they continued to walk. Gordie shook his head.

"Nope, didn't know that." He replied.

"So, will you be there?" Gavin asked. Gordie shrugged.

"I don't know…"

"Look, man, I've seen your arm. You're really good-"

"That was just a one time thing or something." Gordie shook his head.

"Gordie, I've been team captain for three years on that team and trust me, I know a natural when I see one."

Gordie shrugged again.

"Come onnnn…" Caspar stopped, placing a firm hand on both Gordie's shoulders. "What are you afraid of? You make it, you made it, you don't and you don't. No biggie." Gordie looked the other way. "I just said I was team captain for three years, didn't I?" Caspar looked him expectantly in the eye. Gordie squirmed under his dashing gaze. "Didn't I?"

"Yeah…" Gordie muttered, finally making eye contact.

"So I've got a good word in with the coach. You do well at tryouts and I can recommend you. He'll take my word for it." "Really?" Gordie asked sincerely.

"Yeah, man, sure." Caspar shrugged. "Not a big deal. Trust me. Look, we've got English, right?"

Gordie nodded.

"Yeah."

"We'd better go, then." Caspar looked around the empty hallway. "Class is going to start in, like, two minutes."

Gordie sighed, and nodded. A thought tugged in the back of his mind, something he desperately wanted to voice. He bit his lip, then spoke. "Hey, what's up with you and Gavin?" He asked timidly, kicking a crumpled up orange detention slip that sat discarded on the floor. "I mean, he seems kind of jumpy when he's around you, or am I wrong?"

Caspar's steps faltered, but he righted himself in a matter of seconds. Gordie could sense the stiffness in his friend now. His aura was not as calm as it once was.

"I…" Caspar whispered this, his voice suddenly horse. "Look…you have to promise not to tell anyone this because I…" He shook his head vigorously. "No, never mind."

"What?" Gordie asked, intrigued. "What is it?" He laughed, attempting to lighten the mood. "Come on, now you have to tell me." It didn't work. Caspar glared at him.

"It's not something stupid like which girl he likes, okay?" He said gravely. "I just…Sorry, Gordie, I mean, I really like you and all, but I can't tell you. I haven't told anyone. I swore…" He shook his head. "It's nasty-complicated. Just trust me that's it's at least partially sorted out and we're on good enough terms. I mean, we're both friends with you, aren't we?" He laughed, smiling, but the smile was fake, and the two of them knew it. Caspar was gone now, floating in a different universe. He wasn't anchored down, happy and smily. And it was in this moment that Gordie found another reason why he was such alike to Chris. He had something, a mightily secret. A burden over his shoulders.

And he could be trusted.

"Yo, look, man…" Caspar whispered in his ear. Gordie turned his head towards him. In the bright English classroom with the backlighting of the open window wafting summer air and summer sun, Caspar's corn-silk hair shimmered, haloed in the golden light. Gordie watched him, inches away as he spoke, but didn't hear anything. He just looked into his grey eyes and marveled at the fact that they looked like the surface of the moon…

"Huh?" Gordie asked after a few seconds, shaking his head vigorously.

"I said, look." He pointed out the window. Gordie's eyes darted over to the front of the room, but the teacher wasn't looking. "The Aston's girls are using the field…"

It was true. Gordie peered out and into the quad. A line of girls tromped over in full-on blue field hockey uniforms, sticks in hand, skirts fluttering in the wind. Ashton's was the adjoining girls school a few miles away. On days like these, their teams sometimes used Huntington's fields for their games when their's was in use.

Gordie knew exactly what Caspar wanted him to do. Watch the girls and muse about how the short skirts showed inches upon inches of exposed leg or how this one was cute or that was was hot. But Gordie felt…

He felt nothing…

"I know that one. She's Elizabeth Jackson." Caspar pointed at a pretty brunette at the head of the line. "Met her at a few dances."

"We have dances?" Gordie asked.

"Yeah, a few each year." Caspar informed him. Gordie blinked a few times, and was once again confronted with the question;

What was he doing?

Gordie tugged on the unfamiliar blue jersey clinging to his frame, shielding his eyes against the sun with a raised left hand. The baseball field laid ahead of him, sweltering heat radiating off the dusty ground like silken strands. A bounty of boys stood about, each in their gym uniform, some passing a ball around, others shuffling their feet awkwardly like he. Gordie looked around, trying to spot someone he knew, but didn't see anyone. He sighed, stepping onto the soil of the field. It was a hot summer, hotter, even, than in Oregon. New York, with it's cars and little trees doing nothing for the heat and the shade. The rusty-brown, chalky dirt came up in clouds underneath his sneakers. Even the fertilizer-infused green grass was crumbling in the summer weather under his shoes.

"Hey Gordie!"

Gordie looked up to see, of course, who else than, Caspar, his hair flopping over his eyes as it pressed across his forehead under the blue Huntington snapback with the school's crest of arms on the front. His face was lit up, his freckle-infected cheeks rosy from warming up around the baseball diamond. Sweat sprinkled across his forehead and hairline, his dark lashes squinting up against the blinding sun. Gordie smiled, coming forth.

"Hey." He said coolly, tucking his hands in his pockets.

"You came!" Caspar exclaimed as he came to stand near Gordie. "Glad you could make it. You nervous?"

Gordie shrugged.

"A little. Not too much." He admitted.

"Well, looks like it's going to be a pretty good year." He motioned around the field, pointing out people as he went along. "We've got Jack Simons, Mickey Dickens, and…" Caspar scowled. "We've got Kastler, but he's a pretty great pitcher…" He sighed.

"You alright from…you know…" Gordie asked him. Caspar shrugged.

"Got a pretty nasty bruise." He said, lifting up the corner of his blue jersey in dismay. Beneath a sturdy four pack of tanned stomach, a purple, blue and green-tinged bruise curled in grotesque waves under his skin. Caspar lowered his shirt. "It's alright, though. Still kind of hate him, but he's a pretty decent pitcher."

Gordie scowled at Arthur's beefy frame haunching in the distance. His thick arms beat through the air as he threw a powerful shot at a fence for practice. He cringed, listening to the sound of the spinning beige ball whizzing through the air. Gordie raised an eyebrow in surprise and slight fear.

"Oh, great…" He muttered.

"Yeah…" Caspar said in agreement, nodding. For a brief moment, with their words hanging in the open air, they watched the powerful boy in the distance, half in disgust and half in an almost envy. The silence was a quiet, nonchalant one, but it was there, and Gordie almost liked it, being able to feel the existence of another in such close proximity, thinking the same things, wondering the same things. Or, at least, almost the same things.

"D'Anthony!" A voice shouted. Both Caspar and Gordie looked up. A large, muscular and surly-seeming man with ginormous biceps and a shiny bald head stood at the edge of the field, waving at Caspar in a way to tell him to get over there. Caspar groaned.

"That's the coach." He explained quickly. "He'll be wanting me. Word to the wise, call him Coach Bentley or Coach. Not mister. Not sir. Make sure it's Coach Bentley. He'll freak out if it's not."

Gordie smiled a stiff smile, recalling the first time he'd said that to him. 'Word to the wise, I wouldn't wear that hat inside if I were you.'

"Will do." Gordie reassured him. Caspar grinned at him, and in an instant, me was gone.

Thwack!

Gordie watched in slow motion as Caspar hit the ball with the metal surface of his heavy bat, the muscles in his arms bulging, sweat flying off his skin in hot droplets. His friend watched as the baseball soared through the sky, his eyes shadowed by the visor of his snapback. Gordie followed the path of the ball, watching as it curved all the way across the field and into the sky, landing with a thunk some fifty feet away. He whistled under his breath. Caspar kind of grinned, a half smile of self-pride. Licking his dry lips in hesitation, he swiped his hair away from his eyes and went to sit back down on the benches.

"Very good, D'Anthony!" Coach Bentley exclaimed, clapping his large hands together. Gordie tugged the edge of his shirt as Caspar took his seat next to him.

"Good job." He whispered horsily.

"Thanks." Caspar replied with a smile. "Guess I could have done better. That guy was a lousy pitcher."

Gordie smiled in a laugh.

"Yeah. Weak throw, man." He agreed. Caspar nodded.

"You!" Coach called. Gordie looked up. He was pointing at him. "What's your name?"

"Gordie Lachance." Gordie answered. The Coach nodded in recognition.

"Oh, I know you." He mused. "You were in the papers last week."

Gordie nodded nonchalantly.

"That's me."

"Well, 8th Grade Hero," the Coach said. "You're up."

Gordie nodded, took a deep breath and raised himself up from his spot on the wooden bench. His chest was on fire, his legs wobbly and scared. He balled his fists.

"Good luck." Caspar said from behind him, giving him a firm clap on the back before he set off towards the dusty home plate.

"Kastler, you're up for pitcher."

Gordie froze for half a second. Did the coach just say what he thought he said? He looked back. There he was; Arthur Kastler, proceeding to rise from his seat further down the long bench. Gordie breathed in quickly, pausing and taking the time to look back at Caspar. His mouth was slightly agape, his eyes beholding a mixture of horror, annoyance and rage. His dark brows furrowed between his eyes. Gordie shot him a helpless look over his shoulder, hesitating before taking another step towards the field. A step, another step, another, until he stood just in front of the plastic base. His hands hovered at his sides, staring down at the metal bat resting on top of home plate. He looked up. Arthur had already taken up his position towards the middle of the field. With hands shaking like leaves in the wind, he bent down, closing his fingers around the rubber-gripped base of the bat. He came to stand at the base, assuming the stance that he gathered was correct. It was then that he fully faced Kastler. He had a rough look about him; buzzed, light brown hair, a roundish face, thick arms and small, slim eyes that could have been blue or could have been an odd shade of green; Gordie couldn't tell. He was more focused on the set jaw of his opponent, and the fact that his hand gripped the ball so hard that his thick knuckles and pads of his fingers tuned white. Surrounding his left eye, a dark stain of a bruise curled over his face. Gordie smirked.

"At the ready…" He heard Coach Bentley call. "And…Go!"

With a steady swing of his arm, Arthur threw the ball with impressive speed, catching Gordie off guard as it flew fast through the air. Counting down the seconds until the perfect timing, Gordie corrected his stance, gripped the bat, watched the ball and swung.

Crack!

The metal surface his the bat made perfect contact with the ball, emitting a satisfying slap as it did, sending the ball souring across the field. Gordie shielded his eyes as he watched it go, traveling towards the sky and then defending, steadily losing air until it thunked onto the ground almost as far away as Caspar's did. He smiled to himself.

"Wow!" The Coach exclaimed. "Great job, Lachance. Didn't think you had it in you…"

Gordie grinned, beginning to step of home plate, but something stopped him.

"Wait, could we do that again?" Arthur asked in a sweet voice. "I feel like I could have gotten a little more speed into it."

"Well, I think it was fine." The Coach shrugged. "But sure, if you want. Gordie, you want to try it again?"

Skeptical, Gordie glanced at Caspar, whom he exchanged a worried glance with before turning back to and heading up the field again.

"Um, okay…" He muttered, picking up the bat again and assuming his position. He looked at Kastler, his hands shivering. A seemingly meaningless look passed over the pitcher's eyes, but to Gordie, it could mean so much more…

More powerful was the stroke of Arthur's arm this time, beating through the air, a soft slam, and then the ball was released. Gordie watched it again, as it soured, reading himself, but nothing could ready him for what came next.

He barely even registered it. Before he knew what was going on, the ball was headed straight for his face, and within a few moments, the baseball, flying full-speed, smacked against his skull. Gordie fell to the ground, dropping his bat, clutching at his eye. His vision exploded into sparks, fireworks going off in his right socket, just where it hit him.

"Gordie!" He heard someone cry out, but he couldn't hear much. Just ringing. The noises of his surrounding blended together, and his vision blurred. Someone yelled for the nurse. Beyond that, he could hear nothing.