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Everyone off the field claps and watches my father return to his seat. Some people extend their hands to him. Others pat his back. Off the field, Dad’s the leader of this community. On the field, I’m the man.
Out of the batter’s box, the batter takes a few practice swings. Two strikes. Three balls. And the kid knows I can bring heat. I whistle and gesture for Logan.
Beside me, Chris laughs. He knows I’m up to no good. Logan approaches with his catcher’s mask on top of his head. “What’s up, boss man?”
“Talk to me. ”
This is what a great catcher does. “The batter was sluggish, but he’s had a break, which means he’ll give it everything he has.
Your fast has been wandering outside and he knows it. ”
I roll the ball in my fingers. “He’ll be expecting fast?”
“If I was him, I’d expect you to throw fast,” says Chris.
I shrug my shoulder and the muscles yell in protest. “Let’s do a changeup. He’ll read it as fast and won’t have enough time to readjust. ”
A smile slides across Chris’s face and he places his glove over his mouth. “You’re popping him out. ”
“We’re popping him out,” I repeat, hiding my own lips with my glove.
I turn toward the field and whistle to get everyone’s attention. Chris goes back to short, slides his open hand across his chest, and taps his left arm with his right hand twice. The center fielder runs up, and our second baseman passes on the message. By the time I face the batter, Logan’s already sent the message to first and third.
Logan flips his mask over his face, crouches into position, and holds his glove out for the pitch. Yeah, I’m closing this out.
“SEE YOU TONIGHT, DAWG. ” Chris kicks my foot as he walks past. He cradles his bat bag in one hand and Lacy’s hand in the other. Chris and I met Lacy when our schools combined in sixth grade. I liked her the day she skinned her knee playing football with the boys. Chris fell in love with her the day she pushed him on the playground after he tagged her out in baseball.
They’ve been a couple since sophomore year—the year he grew a pair and finally asked her out.
Lacy pulls a rubber band off her wrist and twists her brown hair into a messy bun. I love that she isn’t a girly girl. In order to keep up with me, Chris, and Logan, a girl has to have thick skin. Don’t get me wrong—she’s hot as hell, but Lacy doesn’t give a damn what others think of her. “We’re going to the party tonight.
I want conversation and people and dancing.
There is more to life than batting cages and dares. ”
With our fingers frozen on unlacing our cleats, Logan and I snap up our heads. Chris’s face blanches. “That’s sacrilegious, Lace. Take it back. ”
Next to me, Logan shoves his feet into his Nikes and tosses his cleats into his bag. “You don’t know the thrill of winning a good dare. ”
“Dares aren’t fun,” she says, the reprimand thick in her tone. “They’re crazy. You set my car on fire. ”
Logan holds up his hand. “I opened the window in time. In my defense, the upholstery is barely singed. ”
Chris and I chuckle at the memory of Lacy screaming as she was doing forty on a curve.
The short story: a hamburger wrapper, a lighter, a stopwatch, and a dare. Logan accidentally dropped the blazing wrapper and it rolled under Lacy’s seat. One patented I’ll-kick-you-until-you-drop glare from Lacy shuts us both up. “I wish you’d get a girlfriend so she can drive your insane ass around. ”
“I can’t. ” Logan waggles his eyebrows. “I’m Ryan’s wingman. ”
“Wingman. ” She spits the word, then points a sparkly fingernail at both me and Logan, but I don’t miss how it lingers on me. “One of you needs to find a girl and commit. I’m tired of this testosterone bull. ”
Lacy hates the string of girls I’ve dated over the summer. She’s terrified I’ll influence Chris to drop her, though she should know better. Chris reveres her as his own personal religion.
“You didn’t approve of the one I committed to last time,” I say. “Why should I try again?”
“Because you can do better than evil. ”
I drop my tone. “Gwen’s not evil. ” Gwen and I broke up, but there’s no reason to talk trash about her.
