“Smokin’ hot! What a gal!” Huey inserted a grubby thumb and finger into his mouth, letting out a piercing wolf whistle.
Hearing it despite the clamour of the baseball crowd, the majorette twirled her baton, throwing it up and forward as the drummers marched on.
Pleased to be admired in her stylish gold-trimmed cap, jacket, and short white skirt she nevertheless felt disdain. Her mind recalled countless solitary hours perfecting drum rudiments – paradiddles, ratamacues, flams and others. Ha! What did they know?
Her smile returned as she reached out and felt the oak baton smack satisfactorily into her palm.
Featured in the book, To Cut a Short Story Short: 111 Little Stories
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