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Jughead would do.
    While we cleaned up the kitchen, Mom chatted on and on about Mrs. Robinson. I could tell she was nervous about meeting a famous woman.
    â€œYou know, Steve, I admire Mrs. Robinson as much as you do her husband. She’s so elegant and beautiful.”
    I was a bit surprised that my mother had paid such close attention to Mrs. Robinson. I’d never heard her talk about any of the other Dodgers wives.
    â€œShe and Jackie met in college,” Mom added. “I read a story about them in the
Brooklyn Eagle
last year. University of California, wasn’t it?”
    â€œJackie lettered in four sports at UCLA in just one year,” I answered. “He was a famous athlete even before he joined the Dodgers. I read his biography.”
    â€œAnd Mrs. Robinson is a nurse, just like me.”
    â€œMom, it’s after ten,” I whined. I was impatient to meet our new neighbors. “Can we go?”
    I was blown away when Mrs. Robinson opened their door and smiled down at me.
She is pretty
, I thought.
And nice
. A little boy clung to her leg.
    â€œI’m Sarah Satlow and this is my son, Stephen. We live two doors down and wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood,” Mom said.
    â€œHow nice of you,” Mrs. Robinson replied. “I’m Rachel and this is my son. Jackie’s a little shy right now, but give him a few minutes and he’ll want to play. How old are you, Stephen?”
    â€œI turn nine in June,” I said, then peeked around Mrs. Robinson so I could see into the living room. There was no sign of Jackie Senior.
    â€œJackie is almost two and a half,” Mrs. Robinson told me.
    â€œSteve and I picked these from our tree for you,” Mom said, handing Mrs. Robinson the bouquet of flowers.
    â€œThey’re lovely! Thank you, Sarah and Steve,” Rachel said.
    â€œIs Jackie—”
    â€œStephen!” Mom scolded me.
    â€œI mean, Mr. Robinson at home?” I asked.
    Mrs. Robinson chuckled. “No, Steve. But I’ll tell him that you stopped by. Are you a Dodgers fan?”
    â€œYou bet!”
    â€œGreat! Would you like to go to a game with little Jackie and me this summer?”
    â€œYou’ve got to be kidding? Would I ever!” If I couldn’t go to the Dodgers opening home game with Dad, at least I’d be able to go to a game with Mrs. Robinson.
Pretty cool
, I thought.
    â€œI’m serious as long as your parents give you permission,” Mrs. Robinson replied.
    â€œPlease forgive my son, Rachel. Steve and my husband, Archie, share a deep love for the Dodgers and for your husband. He’s thrilled to meet you and a bit too excited to have you as a neighbor,” my mother explained.
    â€œI can imagine,” Mrs. Robinson said, then gave me another warm smile. “Jack and I love children, Sarah. You don’t have to apologize. I’d invite you inside, but we’re still unpacking boxes.”
    â€œOf course. I understand completely. It was lovely to meet you,” my mother said, tapping me with her elbow.
    â€œNice to meet you,” I echoed.
    â€œThank you for the warm welcome and beautiful flowers,” Mrs. Robinson said. “We’ll see you soon.”
    I was totally disappointed and didn’t feel like pretending. My head was hanging low as we left the Robinsons’ front yard. All I could think of was, would I
ever
meet Jackie Robinson?
    Every day during the two weeks leading up to the Dodgers opening game, I woke up thinking this would be it. I decided that the only way I’d spot Jackie Robinson coming out of his house was to be visible. I came up with a plan.
    On Monday morning, I got up at six, dressed for school, and had breakfast with my dad at seven o’clock. That left me with an hour before school to spot Jackie. I parked myself on our stoop, read the sports page, and kept my eyes on the redbrick house two doors down.
    After school, I played stoopball and