““For two months, Dad, it would be like you had a son. Someone to pitch baseballs to--” “I pitch baseballs to you.” “Someone to hit fly balls to--” “I hit fly balls to you.” “You’d have a real boy--” “He’s not Geppetto,” Tiffany said, “waiting for the blue fairy to touch us with her magic wand.” Maybe not, but I knew Dad had always wanted a son. What father didn’t? But that wasn’t the issue. The issue was: I wanted a boyfriend this summer, and to have a boyfriend, I needed to meet boys, and the Lonestar League was guys, guys, guys. Honesty time. I released a big sigh. “All right, so maybe I’d like to have a brother for the summer.” Okay, not so honest. ””
