Page 67 of The Way We Swing

They stood there like there was more to say. I tilted my head, trying to figure out what was coming next.

“Now it’s your turn to apologize,” Silas said.

Now I was confused. “For what?”

“You told the whole school we’re ugly. Not cool, man.”

By the time we hit the cafeteria doors, we were back to talking about our first playoff opponent like nothing had changed. But something had.

CHAPTER 24

We didn't need to worry about our playoff foes as much as we had. We tore through the district playoffs, winning the three games by a combined score of 27-2. Silas and Maddux had made hitters look like they were swinging underwater.

And me? I played the best baseball of my life. A weight had been lifted off my shoulders, and my swing felt effortless. I was locked in.

That success continued through the first two games of the state playoffs and most of the third.

It was the top of the seventh, and we were up by four in the semifinals. I bounced on my toes at second base, beating the pocket of my glove, my heart thudding like a drumline. We were three outs from the biggest game of our lives.

We went through the pre-inning motions—infield throwing crisp, ball zipping back to Maddux. He snapped at the ball with his glove and gave me a quick wave, calling me to the mound.

I jogged over, scanning the field. We didn’t need to talk. What was this?

“What’s up?” I said into my glove. I couldn’t risk the opposing team reading my lips.

“Check out the blonde behind the first-base dugout.”

I looked at who he was talking about and saw a boy our age with a hat on, staring at me and Maddux.

“Seriously?” I asked.

“Would you bang him?”

“Dude. Not the time.” I took a step back, already turning toward second. “Three outs left.”

I jogged back to my position, shaking my head. Silas and Maddux hadn’t kept their word about not making gay jokes. Instead, they’d embraced them, continuously asking me if I thought certain guys were hot. They had tried to set me up with no less than a dozen guys since I’d written my article.

Honestly, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. This was their way of showing they didn’t care at all.

Maddux breezed through the inning, striking out two and getting a lazy fly ball to our center fielder.

We were on to the state finals with a 5-1 win.

After we celebrated, Coach pulled me aside and told me a reporter wanted to talk to me. Having gone three for four with three doubles, I wasn’t completely surprised. I followed him behind the third-base dugout, where players for the next game streamed by us. In the distance, my teammates loaded onto the bus.

My family stood a couple of feet away in the stands; I flashed a quick smile and turned to the man sticking out his hand.

“Great game today, Tanner,” he said. He had salt-and-pepper hair and eyes that looked like they noticed everything. Pepper Carr—I’d read his stuff since I was old enough to know what batting averages meant.

“Thanks, sir,” I said.

“Your coach tells me you set a goal as a fourteen-year-old to win a state title with this team. Can we elaborate?”

I smiled, knowing there wasn’t a question I could answer more easily. “Well, the four seniors decided we wanted to prove we were capable of being the best our town has ever seen. We decided we were going to work out together every morning, and then more and more people came. That’s all it was—we showed up every morning ready to work.”

“That’s a high level of dedication to keep up for four years.”

“That’s what it takes at this level. That’s why Maddux and Silas were so dominant today. They’ve worked for this seven-game stretch for years.”