Level One Little Leaguer - Chapter 2

Felix pitched the ball so fast that Noah barely registered it had left his hand before he heard it whistle past his head, the netting at the back of the batting cage billowing out dramatically before it rolled down uselessly onto the grass. They’d been practicing for half an hour, and still the thirteen-year-old hadn’t hit a single ball.

“How are you so bad at this?” his ten-year-old brother sneered cruelly. “A kindergartener could have hit that one.”

Noah brought up the bat defiantly, determined to hit the next pitch directly at Felix’s stupid gloating face - but of course he missed that too, swinging clumsily at the air and stumbling off balance. He just about managed to avoid falling flat on his face, barely catching himself using the lightweight bright orange aluminum bat like a baby flopping onto his walker.

The poor kid was totally exhausted, a pair of soggy dark stains already spreading from the armpits of his gray Tiger Cubs themed sweatshirt. Like nearly all Noah’s clothes these days, it was a hand-me-down from Felix - Dad decreeing that the stroppy teen’s previous wardrobe of video game gear, anonymous black apparel, and splotchy soiled underwear were hardly helping to mold him into a ‘proper boy’. Felix’s old collection of pirate ships, construction vehicles, and jungle creatures was much more appropriate, the faded articles drudged out from taped up boxes in the attic long since stowed away when Noah’s younger brother had graduated first grade.

This particular sweatshirt hailed from Felix’s tee-ball days, the playful orange paw print stamped on the front of Noah’s chest an adorable contrast to the roaring sharp-toothed maw of the silver tiger displayed on the proper dark blue little league uniform the bigger boy was wearing.

Somehow however, Noah’s pants were even worse. On his bottom half, the boy usually favored a pair of plain blue jeans made of a soft comfortable faux-denim featuring a thick elastic waistband. He knew they weren’t the most mature, but compared to everything else in his dresser drawers they were all but grown-up. Despite his fussing and whining and snotty red-faced crying however, Dad had insisted he couldn’t wear jeans to baseball practice. Thus, Noah had been forced to pair his tee-ball sweatshirt with some sickeningly babyish navy blue Paw Patrol sweatpants, the famous pups grinning goofily atop his right shin while two blocky serifed “P”s embossed with puppy paw prints and stamped on his left thigh in a cruel imitation of proper high school varsity letters.

Put the whole picture together - the childish outfit, the high-pitched whiny wheezes, the rosy red pouting cheeks, and the bedraggled sweat-drenched thicket of little boy’s golden honey blond curls - and you would be forgiven for thinking the weary teen was no more than five or six.

“You’re throwing it too hard!” Noah whinged, just about managing to pull himself into a full standing position again - holding his bat up limply by his side.

“I’m pitching.” Felix countered impatiently. “This is so hard you pitch.”

He didn’t wait for his brother to recover, quickly shifting back into an expert pose and lobbing the ball furiously at the back of the cage. Noah squeaked in fright, scrunching his eyes closed and flinching at the rush of air lifting his damp hair as it thundered past his head. “Stop it!” he demanded limply, his voice cracking. “Just throw it under-arm.”

“That’s for little kids.” he dismissed, retrieving another ball and preparing to throw again.

Noah let out a final harrumph of displeasure, dropping his bat onto the grass and flopping down into a sulky crouch supporting his hot red cheeks in his hands. “I’m gonna tell Daddy.” he threatened, glaring at his brother.

Noah always said ‘Daddy’ now: “You’re a toddler now. You should talk like one." Felix had decided one morning, threatening a pinch and a punch every time he heard him say a word ‘wrong’. There were a bunch of other words Felix wanted him to use too: ‘potty’, ‘wee-wee’, ‘bum-bum’ to name just a few - but ‘Daddy’ was the main one that had stuck. Noah was surprised to find the word tumbling out of his lips even when Felix was nowhere nearby. It was kinda like magic. Whenever Dad was mad at him, all Noah had to do was use that word and he’d soften in an instant. With Dad dangling the carrot and Felix the stick, it’d soon become second nature.

Felix snorted in amusement, dropping his glove and striding forward to stand over Noah with his arms crossed. “What are you gonna tell him?” he demanded. “That you’re such a scaredy baby dork you can’t even handle an overarm throw?”

“No.” Noah moaned. “I’ll tell him you were being mean again.”

“Don’t be such a wimp.” Felix growled in annoyance, kicking the bat back towards him. He stood there watching him for a little while, growing more and more frustrated by his little older brother’s babyish moping. “Come on.” he tried to coax “I’ll throw it under arm for you.”

“No.” Noah muttered. “Leave me alone…”

Running out of patience, Felix grabbed him by the wrist, yanking him roughly to his feet. “Get up!” he demanded. “You’re meant to be thirteen! How are you this much of a baby?”

“You’re hurting meee!” Noah wailed, trying to pull his slender wrist free - but it was no use. “I’m telling!”

“Go ahead.” Felix retorted confidently “You’re such a little crybaby liar, he won’t believe you anyway.”

Noah scowled, but he knew it was true. As far as Dad was concerned, Noah was a terrible little fibber. The boy would admit he’d twisted the truth quite a lot in the last week, but it wasn’t like he didn’t have good reasons! Ever since Dad had decided to “start from scratch”, he’d been treating him like a total baby! How could he possibly be expected to actually go to sleep at his 7pm bedtime? It was only natural that he’d stay up under the covers and listen to his iPod for a little bit. And who cares if he skipped brushing his teeth once or twice? It was Felix’s fault for making fun of that stupid musical toothbrush Dad had got him!

After Dad completely took over his bedtime regime, including responsibility for teeth-brushing, Noah might have been expected to figure out that lying wouldn’t do him any favors - but in fact the problem had only gotten worse. As self-destructive as it was, Noah’s defiant fibbing was just about the only way he could feel even marginally powerful nowadays. So what if when Dad found out the truth he started spoon feeding him his vegetables at dinner or helping him get dressed in the morning? For just one brief moment, Noah was in control.

Just at that moment, there was a series of musical chimes - an electronic tinny version of ‘The Wheels on the Bus’ starting to play from the chunky plastic device strapped to Noah’s wrist. It was his potty watch - yet another consequence of his incessant fibbing. A couple of days after Dad had begun his new regime, Noah worked out that he could get out of just about anything by pretending he was desperate for the toilet. It didn’t matter if Felix was tutoring him at math or if he being forced to sit in Dad’s lap while they watched the football, all he had to do was squeeze one hand urgently atop his crotch, shoot the other into the air, and squeak pathetically that he had to go pee right now and Dad would let him scamper upstairs to ‘take care of business.’ He’d loiter there ideally for a few seconds before he’d slink off to Dad’s office to play Embergaze on his computer to his heart’s content.

He’d been particularly proud of that scheme - until Felix had caught him red handed. Now he had scheduled potty time every hour. Every time he heard the tune play from his potty watch, he was supposed to go to the toilet and sit there for at least five minutes. That way, Dad said, there would be no more ‘emergencies’.

Felix twisted his brother’s wrist around, pressing the small button on the side to stop the music. “We’ve wasted enough time on this.” he declared gruffly. “I guess you’ll just have to keep hitting from a tee - like a baby.” He yanked hard on Noah’s arm, dragging him forward out of the cage. “Come on, you’ve gotta go sit on the toilet.”

“I can go by myself.” Noah insisted in a weak whimper, not even trying to get free of Felix’s grip as he marched obediently behind him over towards the park’s public toilets.

“Dad told me not to let you out of my sight.” Felix informed him. He snorted to himself in amusement, looking over his shoulder to display a cruel smirk. “Don’t you wanna show me how you go potty like a big boy?”

Noah shuddered at the thought. Surely he’d never actually follow him into the stall, would he? He pondered the question as they waited in line, moving at a snail’s pace. When the alarm had first sounded, Noah hadn’t felt like he needed to go in the slightest - but now just the slightest niggle of pressure was tickling his bladder. He got up on his tippy toes, trying to see how many people were ahead of them, but he wasn’t anywhere near tall enough.

Felix was starting to get impatient too. “Jeez.” he sighed, an amusing thought making the corners of lips turn upwards. “You know, this would be a lot easier if Dad would get you one of those little plastic potties to carry around. Then you could go tinkle anywhere you like!”

“Shuddup.” Noah grumbled. “That’s not gonna happen.”

Felix grinned like a hyena. “No?” he pursued. “Maybe you can just go straight back to diapers then.” Noah let out a dissatisfied hum, crossing his arms and turning away - trying not to engage. Felix however, was not easily dissuaded. “What’s the matter, Noah?” he teased. “Worried you might not make it? Gonna go pee-pee in your little baby dork briefs?”

“No!” the older boy finally snapped. He took a step away, just wanting Felix to leave him alone. “I don’t even have to go.” he lied.

The younger boy looked vaguely annoyed. “Why didn’t you say so?” he accused. “We’ve been standing here for ages!”

Noah blushed. “I’m meant to try anyway…”

“Well I won’t tell Dad if you don’t.” He started to walk away from the line, gesturing for Noah to follow. “Come on. It’s almost time for practice.” The older boy took a nervous look back at the public toilets before he followed his brother, padding quickly in his footsteps over to the baseball field.

Dad was holding court by the bleachers - a small platoon of little leaguers all around Felix’s age gathered around in identical dark blue Tiger’s uniforms. It seemed like a good turnout, the sunny weather and balmy temperate tempting all 15 members of the team out to practice at the park. Felix and Noah were last to arrive, the thirteen-year-old standing awkwardly close beside his brother. He was all too aware of his Tiger Cubs sweatshirt falsely marking him out as a  much younger kid. The Tiger’s were all ten like Felix, right? Or maybe eleven? So why were they all so much taller than him? He craned up to scan the crowd, glad that he only recognized a couple of the other kids. The fewer people who knew the truth, the better.

“Alright.” Dad said authoritatively, getting things started. “I’m glad you all made it. It’s a nice day, so I thought we’d do something special…”

“Who’s the tee-ball kid?” A boy Noah didn’t know interrupted abruptly, turning everyone’s attention to him.

“Well, you all know Felix.” Dad explained, smiling down happily at his two boys. “This is Noah, his little brother.”  He waved his hand at the smaller boy, gesturing for him to come over. As nervous as he was, Noah couldn’t help but obey, traipsing reluctantly over and letting Dad put two possessive hands on either of his shoulders - displaying him to the group. “He’s going to be joining us for a little practice game this afternoon.”

There were a few skeptical murmurs, the ten-year-olds clearly a little uneasy about permitting some anonymous little scamp to join their ranks, but eventually the chattering died down - the kids acquiescing to their coach.

 “Let’s break into two teams of eight.” Dad announced, holding out a dividing hand. “If you’re on the right your fielders, if you're on the left you’re batting.” As the kids all broke off into their respective team, Dad leaned down to give Noah his own special instructions. “Go on and sit with your big brother.” he whispered, pointing to Felix stretching his calves by the dug-out.

Noah wanted to complain for the millionth time that he was the one who was older, but Dad had already got up and was jogging over towards a mean-looking kid taking up position on the mound.

“Hey there No-No*.*” He heard a familiar voice coo out encouragingly from the dugout. It was Mason, a tall broad-shouldered friend of Felix’s who he regularly had round at the house.  “Come and sit with us.” he patted the place on the bench beside us, a big smile on his face.

Noah nodded, and smiled back - happy to be included. Maybe this practice wouldn’t be so bad after all? Just as he was about to sit down however, someone grabbed him under the armpits from behind and hoisted him a few inches up into the air! It was Felix of course, his brother huffing with effort to heave him up onto the bench and sit him down snug on Mason’s knee like an oversized toddler.

“Hey!” Noah objected, squirming around trying to get free from Mason’s firm grip. He was really much too big to sit there comfortably, but the taller kid didn’t seem to mind - putting an arm down over Noah’s tummy to stop him from wiggling away. “No fair. I wanna sit on the bench.” the smaller boy complained, pointing at the empty space beside him.

“There’s no room.” Felix insisted, quickly spreading out his legs to make it so. “Just sit still. You’re gonna fall off!”

Noah let out an unhappy grumble, but stopped fidgeting. “You guys are so weird…” he complained. They ignored him. He supposed it could be worse. He knew Mason pretty well, and even though he too seemed to take great pleasure in furthering Noah’s second toddlerdom, he was nowhere near as nasty about it as Felix.

The larger boy pulled him up higher onto his knee, wrinkling his nose as he got a whiff of him. “Wow.” he observed, just a tiny hint of concern in his voice. “He kinda stinks, Felix.”

“Oh yeah.” Felix laughed. “That’s just his baby smell.”

Mason looked confused. “His baby smell?”

Felix shrugged. “I dunno. He just smells like that a lot.”

In reality, Noah’s “baby smell” was nothing but a particularly pungent strain of body odor. Although it was just about the only remaining indicator of his brother’s adolescence, Felix insisted it was nevertheless incontrovertible proof of his babyhood. Noah wondered if Dad might buy him some aerosol deodorant. Then, if Felix or Mason were ever being bratty about his “baby smell”, he could spray it right in their faces!

“Maybe he needs a bath.” Mason suggested.

“Maybe.” Felix nodded. “Or he might have just pooped his diaper!”

The two ten-year-olds exchanged a few giggles while Noah pouted in red-faced silence, fantasizing about his revenge. They’d see who was laughing when he gassed them with the deodorant spray. They’d be choking! As Mason got another whiff of Noah’s clammy sweatshirt however, his laughter was interrupted by a disgusted gag. “He’s just so sweaty!”

“Yeah.” Felix nodded. “I guess he needs to cool down.”

“Definitely.”

They seemed to move exactly at the same time. Noah was still daydreaming, not even given a chance to process what was happening before he felt a strong arm constrict around his shoulders and pull him firmly down to lay supine between the two younger boys' laps.

“Wha-?” he babbled, but the next thing he knew his Tiger Cubs sweatshirt had been yanked and off and pulled out of his reach and his Paw Patrol sweatpants were pooled atop his sneakers around his ankles, leaving him in just his underwear - a skimpy white sleeveless undershirt and a contrasting bright red pair of briefs complete with a cute soccer ball print.  “Stop! Give that back!” he demanded, trying to twist his torso around on his brother’s lap to grab for his sweatshirt again.

“Stop fussing.” Felix scolded him, balling up the sweatshirt and throwing it out of reach behind the bench. “We’re tryna help you out.”

“No you’re not! You stole my clothes.”

“You were too hot.” Felix explained. “We’re cooling you down.”

“He’s still kinda stinky.” Mason chuckled, dancing some ticklish fingers across Noah’s bare legs. The smaller boy kicked back weakly, but Mason soon got him under control - locking the little boy’s feet together.

“I guess he must have left a present in his underpants after all.” Felix teased, flicking the elastic on his brother’s soccer ball briefs.

“It’d explain why he’s so cranky.” Mason observed, steadily undoing the velcro on Noah’s shoes before pulling off his sneakers, socks, and sweatpants in turn. He prodded lightly on the bare soles of his feet, the resulting shivering sensation going up Noah’s leg and forcing a few involuntary giggles from his lips reminding him of the ever-increasing tingle in his bladder. “Coochie coochie coo!”

“Noah! You’re next!” Dad shouted suddenly from the field.  Mason pulled him up quickly to a sitting position on his knee, then slid him off to stand barefoot and bewildered in the dugout. He stood paralyzed, not knowing what to do. “Noah!” Dad shouted again, much more impatiently this time.

“Looks like you're up, baby dork.” Felix laughed.

Frightened into action, Noah stumbled out into the sun - the lazy breeze biting at his bare thighs reminding him he was dressed only in his underwear. All anyone in the park had to do was look his way and they’d all get a good view of his humiliating hand-me-down soccer briefs! Dad looked at him askance. “What happened to your clothes?” he asked incredulously.

Noah went to open his mouth to tattle, but he couldn’t form a single word before his eyes darted across at all the younger kids set out across the field all staring, sniggering and smirking him shaking like a leaf as he tottered up to the plate. His lips were shaking too, so nervous and embarrassed he was only able to produce a stuttering whiny whisper. “Fe-felix…” he began, but soon descended into breathless confused whimpering, not knowing how to explain.

“Nevermind.” Dad cut him off, busying himself hurriedly setting up a tee at the correct height on the plate. “Go get your bat. We only have the field for so long.”

“I don’t wanna…” he complained, feeling like he was about to cry.

“Don’t make a scene again, buddy.” Dad tutted, not even looking at him. “Please?”

Noah choked back his emotions, realizing he was only making himself look more pathetic. It was fine. All he had to do was hit one stupid ball off a tee and it would be over! He turned back to the dugout to retrieve his bat, but Felix had already grabbed it.

“What do you say, baby Noah?” he teased, holding it up high out of reach.

“Please.” Noah spat unhappily. He wasn’t in the mood.

“Please, what?”

“Please may I have my bat.”

Felix still wasn’t satisfied. “Who are you talking to?”

“Please may I have my bat, big brother!”

“Good boy.” he praised, ruffling his hair before he finally gave it over -  smirking back at Mason for approval.

Meanwhile, Dad was still preoccupied arguing with the mean-looking pitcher on the mound.

“It’s not fair.” The kid was complaining. “I can strike him out easy. Let me pitch.”

“That’s not the point, Lucas.” Dad explained, exasperated. “We’re just trying to have some fun. He’s only little.”

The argument made Noah’s tummy grumble uneasily. He didn’t need special treatment. He was three years older than all of these kids, not some dumb toddler. “Daddy…” he tried his magic word in a barely audible whisper, hoping no one else would hear him use the babyish title - but he was so quiet that Dad didn’t seem to hear him either. He tiptoed through the hot sand on his bare feet, tugging at his step-Dad’s shirt. “Maybe he could-”

“Alright, buddy.” Dad interrupted, hoisting him up under the bare hairless armpits and setting him down in the box, helping him get stanced up. “Just stand right there. Good boy. Legs apart - that’s right. Hold up that bat, and keep your eyes on the ball.” he concluded his spiel, readjusting Noah’s grip a little before he placed the ball on the tee. “Whenever you’re ready bud.” he whispered.

Noah’s heart was pounding so hard it felt like it had risen up into his neck. He clenched his bare toes against the hot sand, staring blankly at the ball on the tee. It was right there in front of him, a baby could have hit it, but still the boy was terrified he was going to miss. He imagined himself swinging over the top and falling off balance face first into the sand -  his dumb baby-dork-undie-clad butt sticking comically up on display for the whole team to laugh at.

“What’s taking so long?” The mean pitcher, Lucas, complained. “Just hit it dumb-dumb!”

The insult finally spurred Noah into action. He wound the aluminum bat all the way back, hardened his lips into a stern scowl, swung it forward as hard as he could…and brought it clanging directly against the metal tee. Noah dropped the bat - watching with gulping open-mouthed anxiety as the ball teetered back and forth atop the tee before finally dropping forward into the sand.

“Go, go, go!” Dad shouted, slapping the motionless boy urgently on his rear and pointing authoritatively over to first base. He did as he was told, hobbling clumsily forward like a baby horse - eyes fixed on the sand in front of him. He was just a few paces from safety, smiling stupidly to himself as first base grew ever closer with each stumbling step, when he felt a strange circular object punch hard against his bum. He tripped, falling down unharmed on his knees in the sand, looking over his shoulder in bewilderment to see what had happened.

“Out!” Lucas bragged, holding up the ball triumphantly. Noah let out a defeated whine. How had he been so slow? In all the time it had taken him to stumble from the plate to first, it seemed Lucas had sprinted over from the mound, scooped up the ball from where it had fallen limply from the tee, and caught up to Noah to tag him directly on the butt!

“No fair!” Noah complained on instinct, his voice a high-pitched petulant whine.

“Yes fair, little man.” Lucas bragged. “Welcome to the big leagues.”

Noah huffed, pulling himself to his feet and storming back grumpily to the dugout. Though he hardly relished the idea of milling around the bases in his underwear, it was the principal of the matter. He hadn’t been wearing any shoes! And he needed the toilet! How could he be expected to run fast?

He comforted himself with the thought that he could at least put his clothes back on. Back at the bench however, they were nowhere to be found.

“Where’re my sweatpants?” he demanded from Mason and Felix.

“Your sweatpants?” Felix teased, exchanging a melodramatic mocking imitation of a confused look with his friend.

“Yes!” Noah reaffirmed. “And my sweatshirt, and my shoes, and my socks!”

“Sorry lil’ guy. We haven’t seen anything like that over here.” Mason insisted through a tell-tale giggle.

“Yes you have. You took them!”

“Naw.” Felix denied. “I’m pretty sure you’ve always been wearing just your undershirt and your stinky diaper.”

Noah was going to tell Dad, but he was once again busy mediating some dispute out on the field. Giving up, the boy simply collapsed down on the concrete floor of the dug out,  staring up at the sky.

As the game dragged on, he had nothing to do but listen to Felix and Mason’s cruel jokes, think about how much he needed to pee, and sulk. By the time they were ready to change sides, the thirteen year old was so desperate for the potty that he had to waddle in baby steps out to the left field where he’d been assigned - hoping and praying they could wrack up three outs as quickly as possible. There was no such luck however, the game progressing at an agonizingly slow pace as the opposing team hit single after single.

Trying to distract himself, Noah fell down into a crouch and started to pick ideally at the grass. Bringing up his big leather glove to his face, he entertained himself for a little while peeking at Felix on the mound through the gaps in the bridge. His brother was getting more and more frustrated as he pitched no ball after no ball to Lucas on the plate, the younger boy shouting and cursing and stamping his foot. Noah giggled. Felix liked to pretend that he was oh-so mature, but he wasn’t past having a bit of toddler tantrum of his own. Why wouldn’t Dad make him “start from scratch”? He smiled, imagining Felix being made to crawl around the living room wearing nothing but a big poofy diaper and a baby bonnet.

Daydreaming about his brother could only entertain Noah for so long however, an ominous tug in his bladder reminding him of more immediate concerns. Surely it couldn’t be that much longer until potty time? He checked his potty watch. It was still a whole 20 minutes!

An almighty crack echoed through the field, Noah looking up and blinking blearily over towards the plate. Lucas was sprinting furiously to first base, the rest of Noah’s team scrambling around urgently staring up high in the sky. There was a thudding sound, the ball landing just a yard or so away from Noah and rolling steadily towards him across the grass to come to a stop against his bare foot. The boy didn’t react for a moment, still processing what had just happened.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Felix screamed at him from the mound. “THROW IT YOU MORON!”

Finally getting his wits about him, Noah went to pick it up - but it fumbled uselessly out of his hand and rolled a little further away. His bladder straining with pressure, he crawled after it on his hands and knees, finally managing to pick it up securely and lobbing it weakly under arm in the general direction of Felix. It only got about half the way however, and although Mason stationed on third base was quick to sprint to meet it, Lucas was already home and clear. A cacophony of celebratory hoots sounded out from the opposing dugout, while Felix was so furious he was practically frothing at the mouth.

“Noah!” Dad shouted at him from across the field, sounding a little frustrated. “You’re not meant to be daydreaming, buddy. Pay attention!”

The boy grumbled, a stab of desperation making him wiggle his butt and squeeze at his crotch to try and relieve the intolerable pressure. There was no way he was gonna last 20 minutes. He had to go now - game or no game. “I have to um… “ he started to shout back at Dad, jumping up and down. “I have to go potty!” he concluded, a nervous glance at Felix on the mound making him settle on the more babyish term. If his brother decided to give him a pinch and a punch now, he was sure to wet his pants!

Dad shook his head. “I’m not falling for that again, Noah. Be a good sport and wait for potty time. And I better not see you trying to sneak away!”

As the game resumed, Noah’s problem wasn’t going away. In fact, it was reaching full crisis point, the thirteen year old reduced to an infantile potty dance wiggling all of his extremities in a humiliating last-ditch attempt to relieve the pressure. He had no choice. He had to go, no matter what Dad said!

Still in the outfield, he ran just a couple of yards forward, getting a good view of the public toilets across the way. The line was still endless! To make matters worse, he was in full view of Dad - the coach standing observantly atop the bleachers surveying the whole field. He was sure to come after him if he even took one step off the outfield! Noah let out a horrified moan. There was no way out. He wasn’t going to make it. He was trapped.

The boy started to hyperventilate, panic setting in. There he was: thirteen years old, running around a little league pitch in his underwear, and about to pee his pants! Maybe Dad really would put him back in diapers. He was such a baby. He probably deserved it. Unless…

Noah made a split second decision. It was infantile, and it was humiliating, but so was peeing his pants! Perhaps if he was just quick about it no one would see. He turned his back to the rest of the players, fumbling looking around for the fly on his red soccer ball briefs before he remembered they didn’t have one. He yanked them down instead, squeaking in dismay as the frayed elastic waistband dropped all the way down to his ankles to reveal his bare bottom. Stupid second-hand underwear! He tried to readjust to pull them up again, but it was too late. He was already peeing!

Another almighty crack thundering across the field made Noah flinch, a little pee splashing back onto his leg. He took a calming breath. It was alright. He was almost done. But then he heard a thud directly behind him. His whole body went cold as he felt the ball make contact with the underwear around his ankles, rolling steadily across the grass with just enough momentum to keep going through his legs and come to a stop in the middle of his stream. He was peeing on the ball!

Following the trajectory, Felix’s eyes landed on his brother. Seeing that he hadn’t caught it, his first instinct was rage, but that soon turned to a strange mixture of disgust, amusement, and baffled incredulity as he saw that the kid had his pants down! Was he…peeing? He abandoned the mound, running over to Noah as fast as he could and wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Oh my God. What are you doing?”

Hoping to secure the ball, Mason had run over too from third base, but came to a sudden stop when he saw it. “Gross!” he observed, “He peed on it!”

It took a few moments for everyone to work out what was happening, but then the game was well and truly abandoned - both teams breaking off what they were doing to giggle guffaw and gawk at Felix’s babyish little brother going pee-pee slap bang in the middle of the left field.

Dad ran over too, his face hot red in anger and embarrassment. “Noah!” he shouted. “What on earth…how could you think…oh buddy…”

Although he had now finished peeing, the very public display was simply too much for him to handle. Noah started fully crying, tears and snot streaming down his face. He tried to reach down to pull up his underpants, but he stumbled and tripped backwards onto his bare bottom. Completely defeated; looking, sounding, and acting just like a real baby, there was nothing left to do but let out a long piercing wail. Dad intervened quickly, making gentle shushing noises as he hoisted up Noah’s pants for him and pulled him up to his feet - embracing him in a hug.

“I’m sorry…” Noah tried to apologize through his streaming tears. “I was really desperate, and I was gonna pee my pants, and…and…”

“Punish him, Dad!” Felix interrupted with a cruel sneer, angrily kicking away the pee-drenched ball on the ground with a disgusted poke of his sneaker. “Give him a spanking or something.”

“Nooo…” Noah sniffed, burying his face in his Dad’s jersey. “Please…I’m sorry.” He showed his step-Dad a set of big wet puppy dog eyes, trying his magic word. “Please don’t daddy.”

It worked like a charm. Dad glared at Felix, tutting at him dismissively. “That’s enough, Felix.” he scolded him. He rocked his littlest oldest son comfortingly, wiping back his sweat-drenched hair. “It’s okay, Noah. I know you didn’t mean to.”

“But Dad!” Felix interrupted, outraged “He peed on the ball!”

“I said that’s enough.” Dad repeated. By now the whole team had gathered around, watching the ensuing scene in fascination. “I think we should call it there for this practice.” Dad told them all. “This little Tiger Cub needs to go home.”