For many years, Gregory had participated in this event. Shortstop. Cricket, Wallis, and I had attended as a family, posing for pictures, playing the game that was more important than the one on the field—humanizing Gregory, the senator. Unlike the majority of our required outings, I’d actually enjoyed this one. I could eat cups of ice cream and run around with other children. I didn’t have to wear tights or a dress.

Cricket had liked this tradition, too, especially as she became one of the veteran wives, leading the welcome committee for new families. She held court, kissed babies, and made friendly overtures to women on the opposite side of the aisle. And it didn’t hurt that Gregory always managed to make some pretty dramatic plays.

In the third inning, Miles tripled to left field on the first pitch, and we all stood and hollered like it was our job. And so maybe it was. Cricket, inscrutable behind her giant round sunglasses, took this as an opportunity to excuse herself for a bathroom break and another round of beers. As the crowd died down and the next batter came to the plate, I spotted just the person I’d been looking for a few rows below: Claire, the chief of staff for Senator Armstrong, Miles’s counterpart from Maryland. I knew she would make an ideal partner for a new initiative involving both our offices.

Since I had learned the source of my college tuition funding, I had been thinking of actionable, immediate ways to compensate for it. National Literacy Week was coming up, and I figured the two senators could jointly canvas Maryland, establishing Little Free Libraries at schools and community centers, inaugurating read-to-service-dog programs, promoting the 1000 Books Before Kindergarten campaign. All ways to remind elementary and middle school students and their families of the connection between reading and mental health before they left for summer break. Big impact, little money.

I grabbed the shoulder of Bo, who had been laughing with Wallis about the rep from Maine currently running the bases with his laces untied. He obliged me and hollered for Claire; we waved her over and she filled Cricket’s empty seat.

“You had me at service dogs,” Claire said, clapping me on the back when I finished laying out my plan. I’d always respected her unique combination of diligence and good humor. “Armmie will love this.”

Bo agreed. “We could end at the governor’s office. Make a resolution proclaiming May as Maryland’s reading month.”

By the end of the inning, we had a preliminary strategy in place and delegated the obvious first step duties. It was when Claire returned to her own seat that I realized Cricket wasn’t back. I guessed she’d been waiting elsewhere, having observed that her place was occupied, then got sidetracked socializing with an old friend.