Chapter 13 → "Summer Park Games"
Summer arrived like a full breath of air Adrian didn't know he'd been holding. The days stretched long, sun hanging over Warsaw like a slow-moving guardian, watching children spill from their apartments onto the streets, parks, and playgrounds.
Adrian's world grew that summer, street by street, block by block.
And at the center of it all was the park—a cracked, uneven patch of grass behind a block of garages, dotted with patches of gravel and weeds poking through the dirt like stubborn soldiers.
It wasn't a baseball field. But to Adrian, it might as well have been a stadium.
By midsummer, the neighborhood games had become a kind of ritual. Kids gathered there every few afternoons, depending on who had chores, who was grounded, or whose parents had dragged them off on reluctant summer trips. Sometimes it was four kids. Sometimes ten. But Adrian and Julia were always there.
Julia took it seriously. She played barefoot more often than not, claiming it made her faster. Adrian wasn't sure if that was true, but he never doubted her confidence. It was catching, like laughter or a good story.
The rules were loose: sometimes it was "throw and run," sometimes "home-run derby" using old tennis balls, and other times it was something that almost resembled real baseball, if you squinted and ignored the fact that second base was an upturned bicycle tire.
And of course, Janek was there.
If Adrian was the spark of these games, then Janek was the flame—louder, wilder, often laughing mid-play, sometimes arguing just to argue. The rivalry between the two of them had grown naturally, like weeds in cracked concrete. Every time Adrian made a good throw, Janek made sure to hit the next one harder. Every time Adrian scored, Janek would one-up him with a faster sprint around their makeshift bases.
It wasn't mean, exactly.
But it wasn't friendly, either.
One afternoon, the summer heat hanging thick, Adrian stood on their agreed "home plate"—a piece of cardboard someone had stolen from a trash pile—and swung his bat slowly through the humid air. The wooden handle felt good, worn slightly now from so many afternoons of swinging.
"Ready?" Janek called from the pitcher's spot, adjusting the cap on his head backward like some kind of show-off.
Adrian didn't answer with words. He just set his stance, feet apart, eyes locked on Janek's hands.
Julia stood off to the side, cheering. "C'mon, Adrian! Smash it!"
The other kids laughed, joining in the noise, stomping feet or clapping sticks together.
Janek grinned and threw.
The ball came in fast—a decent throw for a kid their age—and Adrian swung hard. Crack. The sound echoed sharper than usual, bouncing off the brick walls surrounding the park.
The tennis ball shot past Janek's head and rolled deep into the weeds at the far end of the field.
"Run!" Julia shouted, her fists pumping in the air.
Adrian didn't need telling. He took off like a bullet, legs pumping, dirt kicking up behind his shoes. First base—an old school backpack. Second—an empty milk crate. By the time he hit third (a dented metal bucket), the kids were yelling, and Adrian could feel it—
That perfect, burning joy of being faster than anyone else.
But as he rounded toward home, Janek was already moving, darting after the ball, scooping it up, spinning, and—
"Hah!" Janek flung the tennis ball with a wild, looping throw, right toward home plate.
It missed. Badly. Overshooting the cardboard and landing somewhere near a sleeping dog that barked in protest.
"Safe!" Julia shrieked, jumping up and down, her braid flying behind her. "SAFE!"
Adrian skidded to a stop on the cardboard, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temple. The adrenaline buzzed in his arms. The wild laughter of the other kids echoed all around, and for a second, the rivalry between him and Janek melted into something else entirely—just kids playing, no scoreboards, no coaches, no trophies.
Just fun.
But of course, Janek couldn't leave it there.
"Lucky," Janek muttered, adjusting his backward cap again. "One lucky hit."
Adrian smirked, brushing dust off his shorts. "Better lucky than slow."
That got to him. Janek's eyes flashed, and Adrian saw the competitive fire flare behind them.
The trash talk had begun, and from that day on, it didn't stop.
Every hit was a challenge. Every run was a statement.
The rivalry was real now.
—
As the days rolled on, the park games became sharper, faster, more competitive. It wasn't long before other kids started choosing sides—sometimes lining up with Adrian, sometimes with Janek. Julia, of course, always stood by Adrian's side, shouting suggestions like an enthusiastic manager who took every throw and swing personally.
"Don't swing at the high ones!" she'd yell, despite the fact that none of them really knew what a proper strike zone was. "Feet apart! Breathe first, then hit!"
Sometimes her advice helped. Sometimes it didn't. But Adrian liked hearing her voice behind him all the same. Having Julia there made it feel like it wasn't just his fight, even though the rivalry with Janek burned hotter every day.
One afternoon, after a close game that ended with Julia throwing herself over "home plate" to beat Janek's wild throw by a hair, they collapsed in a tangle of limbs and laughter beneath the metal skeleton of the swings.
"You think he's mad?" Julia asked between giggles, brushing dirt off her scraped elbows.
Adrian sat next to her, the wooden bat laid carefully across his lap. "Probably."
Julia smirked, that gleam in her eyes again. "Good."
The truth was, Janek was mad. Not in a way that meant real danger, but the competitive tension between them was building into something that wasn't going away anytime soon.
The playful trash talk had evolved. Every hit from Adrian was met with an exaggerated eye roll or a sarcastic clap from Janek. Every wild throw Janek made was answered by Julia's sharp "Nice aim, champ!" from the sidelines.
One evening, as the long orange light of sunset spilled across the cracked park, Adrian stood on their makeshift mound with Julia beside him, their ragtag team behind them. Janek, on the opposite side, had gathered his crew, too. They were about to play what felt like the biggest game yet—no adults, no prizes, but everything on the line in the mind of a seven-year-old.
"This time," Janek said coolly, "you're not getting past me."
Adrian tightened his grip on the bat. "Try me."
Julia nudged his shoulder, her grin sharp. "We've got this."
Adrian nodded, feeling the worn handle of the bat against his palms. The same bat his father had given him. The one that felt heavier now in a good way. Like it belonged to him.
This is it, he thought. We're really playing now.
The first pitch came fast.
Adrian swung.
The sharp thock of wood on rubber echoed through the park.
The ball flew—higher than expected, a little wild, but good enough. The kids scattered after it, shouts rising in the humid summer air.
Adrian ran. Dirt kicked up beneath his sneakers. Julia whooped, sprinting alongside him.
It wasn't professional. It wasn't even organized. But to Adrian, running across that broken patch of grass with his heart pounding and friends shouting behind him—
It felt like the start of everything.
But for every rise, there's a fall.
And soon, Adrian would learn just how hard that fall could feel.
—
End of Chapter 13