Max Swings for the Fences Read Online Free

could ever say no to Molly.
    Max’s mom smiled. “Honey, are you playing baseball ?”
    â€œThat’s right!” Molly said. “He tried to get out of it, but we thought he might have natural gifts.”
    Max stopped. Had Molly hit those last words a little too hard? His mom seemed to be looking at her a little strangely, but just then turned and gave Max a smile. A few minutes later he was wearing sweats and sitting in the backseat of the Kinsman family’s SUV, Molly next to him.
    â€œMolly, what—”
    â€œShhhh,” she whispered, pointing to her father, who was driving. “We’re not going to practice. Look!”
    She held out a flyer. Max looked at it. And everything inside of him turned to goo. There were a lot of words, but only three stood out to him:
    Â 
    MEET BEAU FLETCHER
    Max gagged.
    â€œCan you believe it?” Molly whispered. “It’s a charity thing. My dad got tickets as an early birthday present. You get to get his autograph and everything!” She produced a baseball from her bag and held it out like an apple.
    â€œUh-huh,” Max said, very very very faintly.
    â€œSo, I think you should just tell him! Walk up to him and tell him who you are!” She looked at him expectantly. “You can do that, right?”
    â€œMolly, I—I don’t know.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “Max, come on. He’s a world-famous baseball player! He must have a kazillion dollars. He should be taking care of you and your mom! I mean, if he’s your dad … ”
    â€œMolly,” he said, though his throat was closing in, “I-I can’t do that.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    Max opened his mouth and closed it like a goldfish.
    â€œYes, you can, Max. I know you don’t like to make trouble. But if not for you, then for your mom! Anyway, don’t you think he’d want to know about you? His son? Isn’t that fair to him? Give him a chance to do the right thing .”
    Mouth opened. Mouth closed. And again.
    â€œAnd if you don’t want to tell him,” she said, “I will … unless you can give me a good reason not to.”
    Silence settled in the car then, thick like eternity.
    â€œNo,” said Max, voice like a strangled squirrel’s. Molly raised her eyebrows. Open. Close. Open. Close. “I’ll do it,” he said finally.
    There was no way out of this, that was clear. She would hate him if she knew the truth. He would be a laughingstock. He would spend the rest of the year hanging by his underwear from the flagpole. Max had made his bed, now he’d have to strangle himself with the sheets. He turned and looked out of the window.
    At best, Fletcher would just think Max was crazy. He would sign his baseball, wonder at this boy’s obvious brain damage. And move on.
    And at worst, at worst, well—
    Max closed his eyes for the rest of the car ride.
    Molly’s father dropped them off at a hotel, and they walked in slowly. Molly was practically buzzing. Max felt like toxic sludge. His intestines kept looping in on themselves. She led him through the lobby into a big ballroom and to their place in line.
    â€œYou want to do this, right?” she asked as they got in line.
    Max nodded weakly. The line might have taken six minutes or six days, Max wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, it wasn’t long enough, and soon Max and Molly were next in line to see the white-toothed, curly-haired, iron-jawed, big-eared pride of New Hartford, New York. Max had seen Beau Fletcher so many times on TV and on billboards and in the eyes of kids around him who thought maybe they could be great someday, too. And he’d always seemed like he only existed in two dimensions. But here Beau Fletcher was, a person. A very very large person, but a person nonetheless.
    â€œYou go first,” he said to Molly.
    Molly nodded. “Second thoughts?” she whispered.
    â€œNo,” he said. “No.