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Her words seemed to work because he let go of my arm. I hurried to my bedroom.
“Run, you little prick. You cause nothing but trouble.”
I shut my bedroom door, but it didn’t drown out the yelling. I heard Dad call me another bad name. Mom tried to say something, but then I heard the slap. Then I heard Mom sob. When the backdoor slammed shut, I knew it was safe to come back out. I tiptoed back into the kitchen and saw Mom crying. She tried to hide it, but I saw the tears run along the red mark on her cheek before she wiped them away.
“You need to stay out of the garage.” Her words were cold. I had never heard that voice before.
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“It’s always your fault. Now get in the car. You’ve got school.”
I hated my dad for a while, but right now, I hated my mom.
“Hey, you about ready?” Carter’s voice pulls me out of my reverie.
“Yeah, I’ll be right there. I need to say something to Jason first.”
“Okay, man. Don’t be too long.”
I push aside the uneasiness that punches through my veins and make my way to Jason. He’s about to head out the door with two other players.
“Hey, Jason. I was wondering if after the game—”
“Save it. I know the routine. The coach wants you to get to know me as part of his behavior modification, but trust me, there isn’t anything to know about me.”
“Come on. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we don’t have to talk.”
“Let me make this simple for you since you don’t seem to comprehend. We have nothing to discuss.”
“Man, what is your problem?”
“You. You’re the problem. You came here with a freaking attitude that you own this team. That you own my position.”
I just stare at him. Of course, the spot is mine. That’s what every player in any sport would think. You must show confidence. What is this tool thinking? Maybe I should put how he’s nothing but a tool in the report.Would that fly, Coach?I open my mouth, but before I can speak, Jason walks away.
“Let’s see who the best man is at the end of the day.”
And then he’s gone. I pick up my hat and head out the door. Isn’t this a shit kind of day?
And the shit day keeps getting worse. I think I played the worst game I’ve ever played. It’s the top of the seventh. So far, I’ve swung out once and ran through the stop sign at second. I slid into third in time, but that didn’t stop the ass chewing Coach gave when I got back to the dugout.
It’s hard to concentrate with Dad’s words still in my head. I knew I shouldn’t have picked up the phone. Stupid Carter. I bet he has a good dad. One that gives encouragement.
Focus.
I need to focus.
There’s a runner on third and first base with a two-two count. I played against the prick on first during the college playoffs. He’s known for talking smack, and I’m in no mood for his bullshit.
Our pitcher winds up.
“Hey, Boyd, what happened? You’re pretty worthless today.”
My teeth grind together as I try ignoring his taunts, but the word worthless rings the loudest. I should be numb to it. It’s been tossed at me my entire life.
The batter smacks a ground ball that heads straight to me. It should be an easy out. I bend down to field the ball but come up empty when I scoop my glove. The ball rolls between my legs.Fuck!That’s my second error of the game. The right fielder sweeps in and picks it up but not before the runner on third scores.
“Damn it.” I need to get my head out of my ass. I hope no one important is here at the game. I’d hate for them to see my debut performance. Jesus, it’s like the Bad News Bears out here.
