Turns out the players hit foul balls all the time, because after Alex finds the first ball, it is only a few swings before he hears the bang, bang, bang of another ball bouncing against the seats, clattering like those big coins that fall through the maze when his grandpa watched The Price Is Right. He finds that ball, too, and then a third foul ball nearly hits him on the head and then one lands out in the left field seats, but he finds it. He carries his treasure in his shirt like a kangaroo. When he looks up from finding one by the visiting team’s dugout, he sees the old man is dragging the ball-spitting machine off the field and somebody else is pulling the screen back to the hole in the outfield wall and all the players have gotten rid of their bats and now have gloves and are throwing balls back and forth between first and second, first and third, shortstop and first, around and around like pinball. There are more people in the stadium now, fathers and sons and some old-people couples in black-and-gold T-shirts, stadium attendants in bright yellow helping people find their seats. Alex surveys the crowd. It looks like somebody is sitting in his seat now, and anyway, he wants to find Momma and show her all his balls.

But when he goes out to the concourse and looks for the sign that says HOT DOGS PRETZELS PEANUTS it’s not Momma but some lady he doesn’t recognize lining up hot dogs in the hot dog–spinning machine. There’s another place that looks just like the first, but Momma’s not there, either—it’s that lady she called Dot. The woman doesn’t pay attention to Alex even after he says, “Excuse me, ma’am? Excuse me!” It’s like he’s invisible even when he’s loud and polite. He goes the whole way up and the whole way back and he sees six HOT DOGS PRETZELS PEANUTS signs but he doesn’t see Momma anywhere.

“Hey, kid!” It’s Momma’s friend Troy. He has his scary hand on Alex’s shoulder again and Alex doesn’t like it, but he likes seeing someone he’s met before. “Whatcha got there?”

“I caught these.” Alex shows him his balls.

“My word, you’ve scooped up more than Willy Goslin.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.” His breath smells bad, sweet and stuffy and stinky all at one time. “Your momma was looking for you.”

“You’ve seen my momma?”

“She and that Randy fellow had to run out for just a minute. ‘An errand.’” The old man scratches his nose. “Here.” He hands Alex Momma’s car key. “She told me to tell you to wait in the car. And to put on the air because—”

Before Troy can say anything else or touch him with that gross hand again, Alex has snapped up the key and is running back to the car, fast but not too fast because he doesn’t want the balls bouncing out of his shirt and rolling away into a gutter or under a car, especially a car that’s still moving.