Page 140 of Hiding in the Outfield

I toe the grass and twist my foot back and forth. If it comes my way, I’ll be ready.

Ball in glove.

Ball in glove.

Crack.

It’s hit hard, high—right at me. I lock onto it, tracking its flight, my legs already moving before my brain’s caught up. I shuffle under it, and the ball drops neatly into my glove. Easy high fly. I blink at the white peeking out of my brown leather glove. My first big league out. I grin and glance skyward. Thank you, baseball gods, for handing me that one.

I fire it back to the infield and shake out my arm. All right. Got the first catch out of the way.

Let’s do this.

I clap my glove a couple times, then crack my neck. What a fucking game. Top of the ninth, one out, and we’re up seven-six. If we can just hold on to this, it’s over. Major league debut ending on a win. And I might not have crossed the plate, but I drove in two.

I was really hoping that hit was going to leave the park, but instead I clipped the top of the giant wall in center field. The giant breathing down my neck right now.

It’s a whole new skill set I need to learn—playing with that mammoth obstacle. I robbed home runs on the Clippers. Those days are over. The wall at my back is at least triple my height. Now I have to learn to play the bounce. I fumbled one in the sixth because I didn’t read it right. The runner ended up scoring that inning, and I’ve been kicking myself since.

Our closer, Deacon, fires in a heater. Big swing…and miss. Strike number three. Two down. One to go.

I bounce on my toes. One more. One more.

The next batter steps into the box. He’s one of the leading home run hitters in the league. I let out a slow breath. We’ve got this. I silently send every good thought I’ve got Deacon’s way.

He pitches from the stretch and—fuck. A clean snap. I know that snap. Big. Fucking. Hit.

The ball’s tearing my way. It’s not making it over the giant behind me, though. My pulse ricochets in my veins as I backpedal. This is all on me. My gaze flicks between the wall and the ball. Do I go for the catch or play the bounce? It’s coming in hot.

Wall. Ball. Wall. Ball.

Make a decision, Jackson.

If I choose wrong, he’s standing on third at best. I know I can gun it in, but that guy’s fast as fuck.

It’s high… It’s risky… But I go for it.

I pick up speed and launch myself at the wall. I dig my spikes into the padding and hurl myself up, glove outstretched. My muscles scream as I reach, eyes locked on the ball, me rising, it crashing down.

If I miscalculated, if I’m even half an inch off, this will have been the wrong choice.

My wrist bends as the ball smacks into the webbing. I squeeze.

Mine. Mine. I’ve got it!

And then I’m falling.

That’s the ground rushing up at me.

Fuck, that’s going to⁠—

I hit hard, air exploding out of my lungs. My fingers are locked tight. I can’t breathe. My vision dots over. But I. Will. Not. Let. Go.

I roll onto my side, chest burning as I fight for air. Finally, I suck in a gasping breath. I lift my glove to the heavens. Not being able to breathe has never felt better.

Out.

That’s the ball game, folks.