Chapter 1: Lawrence and Jackie

Lawrence felt the butterflies fluttering around his stomach faster and faster. They’d gotten here soooo early. They’d skipped church this morning — Dad said it was okay, that if Jesus were here, he’d wanna come, too — just so they could make sure to get inside. It was a good thing they had.

There were so many people. In all his eight-and-a-half years, Lawrence had never seen so many people. Especially so many white people — all sitting side-by-side, mixed up together in the stands. Lawrence figured that if Jesus had shown up, he better have shown up as early as them, otherwise even he wasn’t gonna get in.

Everyone seemed to be on their best behavior, almost like they were at church. Or maybe everyone else’s dad had also given them a stern talking-to.

“They ain’t just judgin’ Mr. Robinson, Lawrence,” Dad had said before they left this morning. “They judgin’ us, too.”

On the bus ride up from the south side, Dad had told him all the same stories. About how Cool Papa Bell could flick the light switch and dash under the covers of his bed before the lights went out. About how Josh Gibson once walloped a baseball so hard that it didn’t come down ‘til the next day. About how he’d seen Rube Foster strike out Honus Wagner. That was all just fine, as far as Lawrence was concerned.

But he was here to see Jackie.

His dad called him “Mr. Robinson,” but Lawrence was pretty sure he’d be okay with Lawrence calling him Jackie. He certainly wouldn’t mind if Jackie called him Lawrence, so why would Jackie be any different?

It’d been hours since they’d arrived, but he still couldn’t stop staring at just how green the grass was — it even climbed the walls! They weren’t Cubs fans, but even so, being here, in an honest-to-goodness big league stadium? It was like seeing every stadium he’d imagined in his head while listening to the radio or reading the box scores.

Everything was so much bigger than he’d imagined. Center field seemed to stretch on so far he couldn’t see how anyone could possibly run across it and catch a flyball, much less throw it all the way back to the infield.

The ease with which the players seemed to do it, though, was amazing, awe-inspiring — the grace, the way they so effortlessly loped and played catch in warmups, just like Lawrence and his friends did in the street. But on a grander scale.

Even during those warmups, the buzz in the crowd increased and a cheer rang out when Jackie emerged. Lawrence cheered, too. So did Dad. Even some of the white men in their straw hats clapped a little.

Once the game started, no one seemed awkward or stilted anymore — there was baseball to watch!

And when Jackie came to bat, in that billowing gray uniform, everyone stood — and Dad hoisted him up on his shoulders so he could see the great man swing. Lawrence clapped ‘til his hands hurt.