“I so don’t need a three-hour erection.” Eddie puts that one back, then fishes out what looks like a little lemon-flavored Pez block and pops it in his mouth. He dry-swallows and laughs. “The definition of irony: perks do not make you feel perky.”

Then he sits back, plucks his beer as if he’s plucking a flower from the earth, then takes a swig.

Shane leans over, whispers in Atlanta’s ear. “Should I try drugs?”

“What?” she asks, loud, maybe too loud. She lowers her voice. “Uh, no.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” The image of Shane ramped up on Ritalin or gone goofy on Percocet is something she could go her whole life without seeing. He’s already on a drug called Vitamin Shane. She snaps her fingers at Chomp-Chomp, who passes her the schnapps bottle, which she in turn passes to Shane. “Here, just drink this instead.”

He takes a drink, and when his mouth pulls away, the bottle makes a hollow ploomp sound. “Oh, that’s good.”

Suddenly, bright-eyed geek-boy Kyle Clemons hops over. He pushes his head out like a turtle and inserts it into their conversation. “Hey. You guys watching Sherlock?”

Shane’s whole face lights up like an arcade machine struck by lightning. “Oh my god. Dude! The end of season two where you think Sherlock is—”

Atlanta clamps her hand over Shane’s mouth. “Kyle. Can I have a word with Shane for one hot minute?”

“Yeah. Sure. Okay.”

She forcibly turns Shane’s head back so he meets her nose-to-nose. “You don’t need to be doing drugs and you don’t need to be talking to Kyle right now.”

“But I like Kyle.”

“Do you think Kyle’s pretty?” she asks.

Shane makes a face like he just ate a spider. “What? No.”

“And do you think Damita over there is pretty?” she asks, pointing to Damita Martinez, who sits talking to Eddie. She’s got a pretty face, if maybe a little too much makeup, and she’s got hips that go on for miles in those jeans of hers. “Well?”

“I . . . do.”

“Then you should go over and talk to her.”

Shane suddenly narrows his eyes. “Is this because we’re both Venezuelan?”

“No, it’s because she’s the only other girl here besides me, and you need to get laid.” His eyes go wide. “Dang, fine, if not laid, then third base. Or second. Or at least batting practice outside the dugout.”

Before Shane can say anything else, Atlanta calls over, “Hey, Damita. C’mere.”

Eddie shoots her a look and says, “Rude,” but then he starts laughing and she figures it’s okay. Damita hops up and shakes those hips on over.

“Hey, girl,” Damita says.

“Damita, you ever meet my friend Shane?”