Poser by Alison Hughes

glove as well. I mean, you either bat or field in baseball, right?
    â€œWell, we’re just trying to get across the idea of baseball, Luke. Just, you know, baseball . The ball in the window. Nobody’s thinking of the rules ,” laughed the photographer.
    So there I stood, stupidly wearing a ball mitt while holding the bat, and trying to look like I didn’t mind.
    We had just finished a series of shots where we were supposed to “shrug endearingly” (about fakebreaking the window) while looking straight into the camera.
    Try it: put your hands deep in your pockets, kind of straighten your arms, hunch up your shoulders near your ears, furrow your brow and smile kind of ruefully.
    If you’re super corny, like Cody, you might turn in your toes, or even push out your bottom lip. Photographers love that kind of stuff. That’s why Cody will go far in this business. He understands it. He believes in it.
    I felt kind of sorry for him.
    â€œYep, it’s a riot, Cody,” I said.
    Cody got serious all of a sudden.
    â€œMarnie’s leaving,” he said, looking like he was going to cry. Cody always assumed you knew who he was talking about. He’s the kind of guy who would get on a city bus, sit right behind the driver, blurt “Marnie’s leaving” and never once think, Oh, wait, this guy’s a total stranger who might not know Marnie or care about why she’s leaving .
    â€œOh yeah?” I said. “That sucks. Who’s Marnie again?”
    â€œMarnie? Oh, Grams,” he said, surprised. “You know, Grams. My agent?”
    Aaaah, the old lady Cody always came with. She was about a hundred and fifty. Grams. Maybe that was why I thought she was his grandma. Actually, I thought she was his great -grandma. I guess she’s his agent—or was his agent.
    â€œOh yeah, yeah, her,” I said quickly. “Where’s she going?”
    â€œFlorida. Forever,” he said, sounding lost.
    â€œHey, no snow shoveling there,” I said, trying to lighten things up. “Try and set up a visit every February, Cody. Work on the tan.”
    His big eyes brimmed with tears.
    I rattled on nervously.
    â€œSeriously, there are other agents, Cody. You’re really good. You won’t have any trouble finding another agent. They’ll be lining up...”
    I was talking quickly. We were on again in about five seconds. I could see the photographer and the props guy chucking their Styrofoam coffee cups in the garbage. Ever heard of the environment , you jerks?
    I turned back to Cody, hoping he wasn’t bawling now. And then a light went on in my brain.
    â€œHey, Cody, you should talk to my Aunt Macy. She’s my agent, and she’s really good. She’s started a modeling agency, and I know she’s looking for some new clients.”
    He brightened immediately, like babies do when you shake some keys in front of them. Shiny! Noisy!
    â€œThanks, Luke,” he said. “Macy even sounds like Marnie. I’m gonna do it! You’re a good friend. A really good friend.”
    Awkward man-hug alert! I stepped back just as Cody stepped toward me, so he kind of punched my shoulder instead, which was way, way better. I lightly punched him back, feeling guilty for all the times I got frustrated with Cody, said mean things about him in my mind and felt like he was a loser. He wasn’t a bad guy. Just kind of goofy and vacant. There I go again. He’s a good guy. Period.
    â€œBOYS?” bellowed the photographer.
    â€œTime to rock and roll, Lukester!” Cody whispered, his face lighting up.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    NORMAL-ISH BOY MODEL SEEKS HOCKEY TEAM
    I’m a big hockey fan. As big a fan as you can be when you can’t play on a team or watch almost any NHL games. But I always know who’s playing, I check the scores, and I cheer to myself.
    Chan and Frey play hockey in a league. As far as I can figure it out, this is how leagues