COLD OPEN – MATTHEWS KITCHEN, MORNING
Topanga flips pancakes shaped like baseballs. Cory wears a faded Phillies tee.
Auggie: Today I make JV. Also, call me August—it sounds like a walk-up song.
Cory: It sounds like a month that hits doubles.
Topanga: And hydrates between innings.
Auggie: Hydration is my brand.
Ava bursts in, backpack and boundless energy.
Ava: I brought protein muffins and twelve pep talks. We’re carb-loading your dreams, August.
Auggie: You’re the best chaotic coach.
Cory: Remember: baseball’s a game of failure. Even the greats miss seven out of ten.
Auggie: Encouraging.
Cory: Weirdly, yes.
Smash to titles.
ACT ONE
SCENE A – HIGH SCHOOL BASEBALL FIELD – AFTERNOON (TRYOUTS)
Whistles. Clipboards. A banner: JUNIOR VARSITY TRYOUTS.
COACH RUIZ (40s, warm but no-nonsense) watches drills. Dewey (cardigan traded for a cap) takes grounders with surprising hands. Auggie/“August” jogs to the plate, nerves tingling.
Coach Ruiz: Daniels—slick glove. Matthews—you’re up.
Dewey: Let’s be legends, August.
Auggie: Let’s be… adequate legends.
Pitch. CRACK. Dewey ropes a liner to left.
Mikey (big ninth grader, catcher’s gear, friendly) grunts, impressed.
Mikey: Didn’t hate that, Dewey.
Dewey: Thank you, terrifying friend.
Auggie steps in. First swing—late. Second—foul tip. Third—little dribbler off the end of the bat.
Coach Ruiz: Hustle!
Auggie sprints. Thrown out. He exhales, nods, goes back in line, keeps going. He makes three decent plays at second. One ugly overthrow. He keeps going.
From the bleachers, Cory and Shawn cheer like dads who still think they’re sixteen.
Shawn: He’s got hustle. I taught him that—indirectly—by never having it.
Cory: Your honesty is my favorite coaching style.
SCENE B – TOPANGA’S CAFÉ – LATE AFTERNOON
Topanga ties an apron onto Ava.
Topanga: Today: bakery science. We measure, we breathe, we resist the urge to turn on every mixer at once.
Ava: Is there a setting for “supportive cyclone”?
Topanga: Yes. It’s called “fold gently.”
Ava inhales, tries to “fold gently.” Flour poufs. She laughs, then focuses.
Topanga: We’ll make pretzel snickerdoodles. Philly energy for our favorite almost-Philadelphian.
Ava: Cory’s going to cry into the dough, isn’t he?
Topanga: That’s plan B.
They work—Ava’s bounce channeling into precision.
SCENE C – SOHO ANTIQUE SHOP – EVENING
Exposed brick, glass case of sports memorabilia. Cory and Shawn browse.
Shawn: Whoa. 2008 Phillies ball. Utley, Rollins, Howard… you can see the scuffs.
Cory: That ball is history. It smells like parade.
SHOP OWNER (Ms. RIVERA) steps into the back with a “be right back.”
Shawn: Let’s get it for the café—fundraiser, display, moral support for small cookies.
Cory: I’ll Venmo you.
Shawn: No, I’ll Venmo you.
They nod, each believing money has happened. Ms. Rivera never reappears. They chat, get distracted by a vintage lunchbox, absentmindedly tuck the bagged baseball under Cory’s arm, and stroll out.
Street. Beat.
Cory: …Did we just pay?
Shawn: Obviously. Probably. …Maybe.
They both stare at the bag.
Both: Oh no.
Smash to commercial-ish.
ACT TWO
SCENE D – FIELD, DUSK
A paper on the dugout: JV ROSTER. Players crowd.
Dewey: My heart did parkour.
Auggie: Mine’s in a rain delay.
They scan.
Dewey: (reads, stunned) Dewey Daniels. I—(to August) I made it?
Auggie: (forces a smile) Dewey, that’s—yes. That’s yes.
Dewey: (giddy, then notices August’s face) August…
Auggie: I’m… not on it.
Beat. Dewey wilts; he wants to fix it.
Coach Ruiz joins.
Coach Ruiz: Matthews. You’ve got baseball in you. Not… today. Your reads were late, your arm’s got work. But you show up. I like kids who show up.
Auggie: Thank you for not lying.
Coach Ruiz: How about you be our team manager? Stats. Charts. Practice reps every day. You grind now, you try again.
Auggie: (breathes, nods) Yes, Coach.
Dewey: We’ll practice after practice. I’ll bring the tee, you bring the unbreakable spirit.
Mikey: (gruff) I’ll soft-toss. Don’t tell anyone I’m nice.
Auggie smiles for real.
SCENE E – TOPANGA’S – EVENING
Cookies bake. Ava ices like a pro. Riley pops in; Maya snags a warm one.
Riley: These are illegal in twelve states.
Ava: Legal here, baby.
Topanga’s phone buzzes. She reads a text from Cory (“might have accidentally borrowed a ball”). She tries not to panic.
Topanga: Ava, want to learn customer-service crisis calm?
Ava: I was born for crisis. The calm is new.
Topanga: You’ve got this. Fold gently.
Ava nods, steadies herself, continues icing.
SCENE F – SOHO STREET / ANTIQUE SHOP – NIGHT
Cory and Shawn power-walk back.
Shawn: We confess, we pay, we buy extra coasters out of guilt.
Cory: We bring cookies as reparations.
They reach the door—closed. Ms. Rivera locks up, sees them through the glass.
Cory: We accidentally stole a ball!
Shawn: We’re sorry!
She points to a sign: “Closed. Back at 10.” She also points to the ceiling camera and smiles: “It’s fine, come tomorrow.” She mimes “keep it safe.”
Cory: I feel seen and also mug-shotted.
Shawn: We are returning in the morning with more money than the ball is worth.
Cory: And an apology that could win an Emmy.
They clutch the bag like it’s radioactive and head out.
SCENE G – AUGGIE’S ROOM – NIGHT
Auggie/“August” flops onto his bed. The door opens—Ava and Topanga with a plate of pretzel snickerdoodles.
Ava: For the manager of the century.
Auggie: (half-laugh) Is that what I am?
Topanga: Today, yes. Tomorrow you’re also a kid who didn’t make a list and still found a way to belong. That’s… adulthood.
Ava: And we’re fundraising for new nets and tees at the café this weekend. You, sir, are head of marketing.
Auggie: I can do marketing. (beat) I thought I only wanted one thing. Turns out there’s this other thing I can be good at—until the one thing catches up.
Topanga: People change people. Effort changes outcomes.
Auggie: (to Ava) Thanks for not pep-talking me to death.
Ava: I pep-baked. New skill.
They clink cookies.
ACT THREE
SCENE H – ANTIQUE SHOP – NEXT MORNING
Bells jingle. Cory and Shawn enter with the ball, a bag of treats, and absolute humility.
Cory: We are so sorry. We both thought the other paid. We are adults with receipts in our hearts and none in our hands.
Shawn: We absolutely want to make this right.
Ms. Rivera taps the security monitor replay—Cory and Shawn chattering, waving their phones, wandering out. Harmless, ridiculous.
Ms. Rivera: Relax. You two are exactly the kind of honest-idiot I can tolerate. Price is here. Tax is here. Add… a “don’t do that again” fee.
Cory: Gladly. Also, could we perhaps… purchase it for a school fundraiser?
Ms. Rivera: Even better. That ball should see kids.
Shawn: You’re a saint.
Ms. Rivera: I’m a small business owner. Also—(bites cookie)—whoever baked this can have my lease when I die.
They all laugh. Transaction actually happens. Cory clutches the receipt like a newborn.
SCENE I – TOPANGA’S – WEEKEND FUNDRAISER
Decor: mini pennants, a sign: “JV EQUIPMENT DRIVE: EVERY KID GETS A SWING.” Donation jars. Pretzel snickerdoodles tower. The autographed Phillies ball sits in a display with “Silent Auction.”
Ava works the counter with calm sparkle. Topanga beams.
Riley, Maya, Farkle, Zay run a raffle table. Zay’s got a sign-up for “Power Ballad Batting Stance—Find Your Inner Céline.” Farkle pretends to hate it.
Coach Ruiz shakes Cory’s hand.
Coach Ruiz: This? This matters.
Auggie in a “Manager” lanyard hustles—sticks labels on bins, helps little kids line up for a wiffle ball station. Dewey mans the tee.
Auggie: Ready? Back elbow up. Eye on the ball. And if you miss—cool—we’ve got a thousand more.
The kid smacks one. Crowd cheers. August whoops like he hit it himself.
Cory & Shawn step to a mic.
Cory: Quick story. Yesterday, Mr. Hunter and I accidentally shoplifted this baseball.
Shawn: Accidentally borrowed without money. We returned. We paid. We learned. (beat) We’re donating it to fund your gear and the school’s display case—if the bidding doesn’t get too spicy.
Laughter. The honesty lands well.
Silent auction ends. A local business wins the ball, then donates it back to the school. Applause.
Coach Ruiz: (to August) You’re already making the team better.
Auggie: I’m practicing.
Dewey: After this, park? Tee work? I downloaded seven drills and named them like gladiators.
Auggie: I love us.
Mikey lumbers past with a tray of cookies.
Mikey: These slap.
Ava: Thank you, terrifying friend.
SCENE J – FIELD – SUNSET
Empty diamond. Dewey soft-tosses. Auggie swings. Thwack… thwack… crack. A clean liner into the gap.
They both freeze, then cheer like lunatics. August’s grin could power the stadium lights.
Dewey: Legend behavior.
Auggie: Practice behavior.
They jog to pick up balls. Cory watches from the bleachers with Topanga and Ava, quietly proud.
Cory (to them): In baseball—and the rest—you own your outs the same way you own your hits. That’s how you stay in the game.
Topanga: And how you get dessert.
Ava holds up a cookie bag. August waves his bat. Fade.
TAG – TOPANGA’S, LATE NIGHT
The fundraiser’s over. One cookie remains.
Ava: For the manager.
Auggie: For the baker.
They break it in half. As they bite, someone HONKS outside. They glance; a familiar goose stands at the window, eyeing a pretzel sign.
Ava: Don’t feed him.
Auggie: I’ll make him a lane.
They prop the door and usher the goose along the sidewalk like two seasoned New Yorkers. It waddles off, satisfied.
Ava: We’re oddly good at this.
Auggie: Teamwork’s our brand.
They bump shoulders. Lights out on Topanga’s.
END.
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