It was the middle of fall baseball season at Jefferson Middle School, and practice was in full swing. Max jogged onto the field with his glove and water bottle, chatting with his friends Jordan and Xavier as they warmed up.

“C’mon, Max,” Jordan teased. “Try not to miss another tag at the plate today.”

“I didn’t miss it,” Max said. “Coach just didn’t see the angle.”

As they stretched and started drills, Max noticed someone sitting alone in the bleachers. It was a kid he’d seen before—quiet, always alone, always writing in a notebook.

“That’s the new guy, right?” Max asked, nodding toward him.

“Leo,” Xavier said. “He’s been at practice all week. Doesn’t say much.”

“Looks like he’s keeping score or something,” Jordan said. “Weird.”

Max kept watching. Every time a pitch was thrown or someone made a play, Leo scribbled something down. He didn’t cheer or talk. He just watched.

After practice, Max lingered a little longer, glancing again at the bleachers. Leo was gone.

The next day, the cafeteria was buzzing with noise. Max sat with his friends, swapping snacks and laughing about a pop quiz that morning. But as he looked around, he spotted Leo again—sitting alone, hunched over his notebook, just like always.

Max grabbed his tray and stood.

“Where you going?” Xavier asked.

Max shrugged. “Just curious.”

He walked over and stood at Leo’s table. “Hey. You’ve been watching our practices. What’s with the notebook?”

Leo looked up, cautious. “It’s just stats. Plays. I track baseball stuff.”

“You play?”

“Not really. I was the team manager at my old school.”

Max tilted his head. “So you like… analyzing?”

Leo nodded, closing the notebook slightly.

Max sat down. “Mind if I see?”

Leo hesitated, then handed it over.

Max flipped through the pages—batting orders, game notes, defensive positions, pitch counts. “You’ve got our whole team in here.”

“Just the games I’ve seen,” Leo said. “There’s a lot you can tell if you watch closely.”

Max pointed to a sketch. “Is this our double steal play?”

“Yeah,” Leo said. “You run it when there’s one out and a lefty at bat.”

Max let out a quiet laugh. “Coach always says that’s his secret move.”

“Well,” Leo said, “it’s not much of a secret if you use it every week.”

Max leaned back in his chair. “You coming to practice today?”

Leo blinked. “What?”

“You should come. Talk to Coach. He might like having someone who sees this stuff.”

Leo looked unsure. “I’m not exactly team material.”

“You already know more than most of us do,” Max said. “You don’t have to swing a bat to help.”

From across the room, Jordan and Xavier were staring. Max ignored them.

“You’re serious?” Leo asked.

“Yeah,” Max said. “Bring the notebook.”

That afternoon, the team was stretching when Max showed up with Leo at his side. A few kids exchanged glances.

“He’s not playing,” Max said quickly. “But he sees things—stuff we miss. He helped me figure out why I always miss those inside pitches.”

Coach Ruiz raised an eyebrow, then nodded. “Alright, let’s see what he’s got.”

Leo stayed quiet at first, but during warmups he pointed something out to the shortstop about his footwork. Later, he showed Max how his stance tipped off the pitcher when he was about to bunt.

By the end of practice, Leo was surrounded by questions.

“Did you really see that?”

“How do you know when someone’s gonna steal?”

Leo answered shyly, but confidently. He flipped pages, pointed out patterns, and even suggested a new defensive shift for left-handed batters.

As practice ended, Max tossed him a water bottle. “Told you we could use you.”

Leo cracked a smile and opened his notebook to a clean page.

“What now?” Max asked.

Leo clicked his pen. “Starting a new section.”

“For what?”

Leo glanced at the field and back at Max. “Plays that work.”

_{“Reading the Signs” by Nina D. Smith © 2025. Retelling of “The Great Big Man” by Owen Johnson from The Boys Scouts Book of Stories by Franklin K. Matihews, originally published in 1920.}