“I... it’s for a... sports economics project,” Leo stammered.
Leo slapped it. It made a dry, papery sound.
Leo shouldered his backpack, a real smile on his face. “You bet, Mrs. Gable.”
The digital ball sailed over the digital fence, past a squirrel that was frozen in a loop, and into a neighbor’s digital grill. Home run. Pablo rounded the bases with a stoic nod.
Crack.
Leo blinked. “You... know Backyard Baseball ?”