“Yeah,” said Chris, turning back
around in his seat so he wouldn’t
have to talk to him anymore. Brian
always got on his nerves.
“Don’t believe him,” Nick
whispered. “He’s the worst bowler
I’ve ever seen.”
“But where will he get the
trophies?”
Nick shrugged. “Borrow some
from his dad, I guess. He’s really
fake.” The bus slowed down. “Hey,
this is my stop. See ya.”At home, Chris pulled out his
boxes of baseball cards. He liked
baseball—even played some. But
his real hobby let him express things
from his imagination, and that’s
what he liked most.
Sorting through his cards, Chris
began choosing some of the best
ones. He also thought about bringing
in the ball that Albert Pujols had
signed for him. And yet he didn’t
feel right about what he had
decided.Wait! There's the shirt!
Mi madre's favorite
player—Albert Pu ols—
the Major League
Baseball hitting champ.
What about
Mookie Betts?No time! Can't stop!
Gotta catch our
flight home!