He looked up. Mrs. Gable wasn’t asleep. She was standing right behind him, reading the screen over his shoulder. Her glasses were pushed up on her forehead. Her eyes, usually milky with boredom, were wide and sharp.
“You put Amir Khan on the bench?” she whispered, horrified. “The kid has a .487 on-base percentage against lefties. And you’re playing Vicki Kawaguchi in center field? She has the range of a garden gnome.” backyard baseball unblocked
Leo was so locked in that he didn't notice the shadow falling over his desk. He didn't notice the smell of stale coffee getting stronger. He was too busy stealing second base with Pete Wheeler, who ran so fast his pixelated legs turned into a blur. He looked up
The digital ball sailed over the digital fence, past a squirrel that was frozen in a loop, and into a neighbor’s digital grill. Home run. Pablo rounded the bases with a stoic nod. She was standing right behind him, reading the
Leo slapped it. It made a dry, papery sound.