The Missing Baseball

“It’s just a baseball,” Zoe Walker said to her brother, Zach. “You have lots of signed baseballs.”

Zach and Zoe Walker were eight, and they were twins. They didn’t look exactly alike, but they did think a lot alike. They just didn’t always think exactly alike.

Like right now, for instance. They were eating breakfast at the kitchen table before school.

Zach knew his sister was both right andwrong. He did have a lot of signed baseballs, that much was true. Some were gifts from his parents. Some he had gotten signed by professional baseball players. Zach and Zoe’s father, Danny, worked as a sports reporter on TV. Often, he would take Zach and Zoe to special events where they got to meet the players face-to-face.

But the ball they were talking about now was different from the others. Zach loved that ball more than the rest, and he was sure Zoe knew it. 

The twins loved competing against each other in almost everything. In fact, Zoe even made talking a competition. She seemed to be doing it now.

“It’s not just another ball,” Zach said. “Youknow it’s the ball Will Hanley hit for a homerun—the ball I caught!” It had happened a couple of weeks before. Their parents took Zach and Zoe to a gameat Fenway Park. Zach’s favorite player, Will Hanley, was playing. His team only visited Boston once each season. The family all sat inthe Monster Seats at Fenway. The Monster Seatsare on top of the famous wall in left field called the Green Monster. Looking down at the fieldfrom their seats, Zach couldn’t believe how small everything looked. It was almost as if they were watching a game in their backyard.

“I know Will Hanley is your favorite baseball player,” Zoe said. “And I know why. He’s smaller than just about everybody in Major League Baseball. But he plays big, same as you.”

“And he’s a second baseman, same as me,”Zach added, as he spooned cereal into his mouth.

“But even though he’s your favorite player, and even though you caught that home run ball,” Zoe said, “it’s still just a ball. ” She smiled to herself, like she’d just won the argument. Zach glanced over at their mom, who was grinning from across the kitchen.

She pointed to her watch, which meant it was almost time to walk to the corner to catch their
school bus.

“You know what I always tell you,” their mom said. “It’s not the souvenirs that matter.
It’s the memories that go with them.”

“But that’s the thing,” Zach said. “This ball is part of my memory.”