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Curve, low and away. Not my favorite, but I got it. The scouts like seeing the curve, even if it isn’t as polished as the slider. Personally, I found the curve didn’t work as well outside. Down and in, that was the ticket. They always swung like they were trying to hit a golf ball, and if they did make contact, it was either a lazy fly ball or they stung it right into the ground in front of them.
I wound up, spread, and pivoted my hips, nearly bouncing on the rubber as I shot my body forward as violently as possible, twisting my arm so the ball came out of my hand at an angle that was almost upside down. The rotation would make it appear to come in almost straight and then dive away, losing speed and curving instead of falling.
It hit the dirt right where Marcus’s glove was. He pulled it up and out, holding it above his head to an invisible umpire. It was theatrical, but it helped his game. Showing instincts like that meant he was a good framer behind the plate and had soft hands. Things scouts liked to see.
I was happy to do it for him. He was a good guy and a better batter mate. I knew that once we went off to college, we would lose touch, but for now I appreciated having someone behind the backstop who could dig balls out of the dirt and make it look like I meant to do it. Of course, in this case, and in most others, I did.
He tossed the ball back to me, and I did my traditional walk around the mound, bending over to bounce the resin bag on my hand and letting my body get loose. I was still only warming up. The speed gun behind the plate, connected to the big black and yellow electric sign, showed my fastball only hit ninety-three.
I could get it higher than that.
My mind wandered as I tried to loosen up my arm. Usually, I would stare out into right field and think about one of my classes. Maybe one of the books in English class, or some complicated math concept I was learning in trig. Not this time. This time it went to the cute, nerdy girl I’d helped get to the theater earlier. What was her name?
I realized I didn’t know it. I recognized her in the vague way I recognized any number of people who saw me in the halls and knew who I was. I was a celebrity in Murdock already. But certain people were always around. I wondered where I had seen her. She didn’t seem like a fan.
Whoever she was, she was cute in an artsy way. She seemed so excited about the play she was in, and it made me want to know more about it. More about her. I liked that kind of energy. It was the kind of energy I had for baseball, and I admired it when I saw it in someone else, regardless of the subject.
Shrugging, I shelved the thought of her for later. Right then, I needed to focus on my two-seamer. It had a little less miles-per-hour, but it made up for it with what coach called ‘stank.’ It certainly had some stank to it. I found my grip and took my spot on the rubber. I shook off two calls until he shifted to three fingers down. I nodded and set myself.
The two-seamer was going to impress. It always did.
As I got out of the locker room a little while later, I high-fived Marcus and nodded in the direction to Coach. Someone was in the office with him; I could see them through the glass doors. I didn’t care, though. It didn’t matter who it was. All that mattered was that Coach kept them away from me. I just wanted to focus on getting as good as I could on my own, without some representative offering his two cents.
I slipped into the school, which was quiet and dark. Mostly everyone was gone now, even the teachers who opted to stay late and grade papers in their classrooms rather than home. I enjoyed this time of evening. Tired, accomplished, and able to roam the halls peacefully with only the occasional janitor to say hi to before I made my way home.
It was then that I noticed a light on in a room in the distance. I walked toward it, thinking it might be one of my teammates or one of the teachers. As I got closer, I realized it was the theater workshop. Peeking my head inside, I saw the girl from earlier. Grinning, I opened the door and made her jump, dropping the brush she had in her hand as she worked on painting what looked like a scenic backdrop.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you,” I said.
“It’s fine,” she said, holding one hand over her chest.
“You don’t look fine,” I said, laughing. “Seriously, I just wanted to come say hi again.”
“Really, it’s okay. I’m sorry again about earlier,” she said. “It was a mess. I hope I didn’t get paint on you.”
“Nah, just a little spot of blue on my hand,” I said. “Was it hard getting all that cleaned up? It looked like it kind of got you pretty good. Your back is a couple different colors.”
She cringed, and I realized she might not have known. Turning to try to look behind her, she saw what I was talking about. I had been nice by saying it was her back. It was actually, primarily, her ass and the back of her legs. They were a variety of colors, but the most prominent was yellow. Her jeans looked like they were out of an early nineties’ music video.
“I haven’t gotten it all cleaned up yet,” she said. “I still have to go back to the spot in the hall and finish cleaning that up before I leave. I told the janitor I would do it.”
“I could help,” I said. “I mean, it was partially my fault.”
“No,” she said. “No, you don’t have to do that.”
“Really, I don’t mind,” I said. “I insist. It’s already late. You shouldn’t have to stay that much longer because some oaf ran into you in the hall. I could have been occupying any other space.”
She laughed, and her cheeks flushed. She was even cuter that way. Something about her was drawing me, and I could barely even acknowledge it, much less put a finger on it.
“Okay,” she said. “Just let me clean this up. I figure this is good enough for today.”
“It looks amazing,” I said, stepping a little more into the room and admiring the backdrop. It was a desert, with old Spanish-style buildings rising on either side and a road leading out of a long white building in the back.
“I can’t take all the credit,” she said. “Tennessee Williams was pretty explicit about how the thing was supposed to look.”
“Tennessee Williams… that’s theStreetcar Named Desireguy, right?” I asked.
Her jaw noticeably dropped, and she shifted to one foot.
