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Technically speaking, we’re not allowed on the practice field if we haven’t booked time, but I decided to take a risk and bring Mia here, along with my gear and a bucket of softballs. This field is behind the ballpark, so there’s enough light bleeding over to see, but it’s completely deserted except for us. I figure that if she’s mad, whatever the details of the situation, it couldn’t hurt to work them out with a little ballgame. I’ll return the softball equipment to its proper place as soon as we’re done.
Mia makes a face as she looks down at the neon yellow softball. “Reiterating again that I haven’t thrown a softball in years.”
“I think I’ll manage to hit it anyway,” I say. I rest my bat over my shoulder, adjusting my helmet. The metal is lighter than the wood of my baseball bat. It’s going to make the most delicious ring when I crush the ball with it. “Go on. Don’t be scared.”
She glares at me. “Rude.”
“Unless youarescared, in which case I guess you’re not up for my adventure.”
“Rude!” she says again. She winds up and throws the pitch.
I swing—and completely miss it. It nearly knocks me off balance. I can hear Mia’s laughter clear across the diamond.
“Oh, you’re right,” she says. “I feel loads better now.”
I shake my head, picking up the bat. “Again.”
She throws it again. Too low for me to hit; it rolls right past home plate. I shake my head at her. “Come on, di Angelo. You can do better than that.”
She grabs another softball, getting herself into position. I can’t make out all her features in the low light, but judging by her body language, she’s ready to go. She winds up and releases, and this time, I make contact with a satisfying smack. The ball sails over her head and into the night. I do an exaggerated bat flip, which makes her dissolve into laughter again.
“And the crowd goes wild!” she calls.
I jog to the pitcher’s mound, holding the bat out to her. “Your turn.”
“Oh, God,” she says. “I was not good at hitting.”
“Try it,” I say, wiggling it in front of her. “It feels good to hit things sometimes.”
“You’re lucky I heard that in context,” she teases, taking the bat from me. She grabs the helmet off my head and puts it on hers. “Same rules apply. You can’t laugh if I suck.”
“I’ll be cheering.” I pick up a softball. It feels gigantic in my hand, a grapefruit instead of an orange. Weird. Izzy played softball for a brief period before she settled into volleyball, and I remember how strange it felt to practice with her. “Because you’re gonna crush it.”
She rolls her eyes. “The only reason I played softball was because I had a crush on a girl on the team. And then I kept playing it after she left because it looked good on my college applications. The schools liked seeing that I wasn’t just a nerd.”
“Did you get with the girl?”
She grins. “Obviously.”
“So confident,” I say, deepening my voice so I sound like an announcer, “but can di Angelo back it up at the plate?”
She sprints to home plate with the bat held over her head like a sword. “Yes she can!”
“Hell yes she can!” I toss the softball into the air and catch it. “Righty hitter, nice.”
She drags the end of the bat through home plate before settling into position. “I forgot how weird this feels.”
“Stick your butt out more.”
“Is that a genuine suggestion, or are you just acting piggish?”
I toss the ball again. “Totally legit. Power comes from the lower half.”
She puts her hands on her hips, cocking them to one side.
I hold up my hands. “Hey, I’m just trying to help. If it happens to show off assets I appreciate, I’m not in control of that.”
She adjusts her stance, widening her feet slightly, and holds the bat over her shoulder.
