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At least this time she didn’t end up on the ground.
Shaking her head, she dug in, and I sent her a dozen or so more pitches, none of them getting anything more consequential than a foul tip. When my shoulder started aching, I tried to ignore it, but it looked like she could see the pain on my face.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. “Arm’s acting up. I think I’ve got one more pitch in me. Are you ready?”
“Are you sure? We can stop,” she said, pulling the ball cap from my old team off her head and swiping a runaway hair out of her face.
It was in the moment where she shoved the hat back down over her hair, the smile wide on her face even though there was concern in her eyes, that I knew I was completely in love with her. There hadn’t really been any doubt, not for a while now, but that sealed it. I was head over heels for Mallory, and suddenly, the idea hit me as to how I wanted to go forward. I grinned.
“I’m good,” I said. “One more pitch.”
I took the mound and stamped my foot into the groove in front of the rubber. I lobbed the ball in a high arc toward the plate. I felt like it took a year to get to her, but when it did, Mallory was ready.
She hammered the ball with every bit of her tiny, curvy frame, smashing the ball deep into the outfield. It might not have gotten out, but it came damn close. I watched it soar as she cheered behind me, and when I turned around, she was running the bases, pumping her arms like Kirk Gibson. I laughed as she ran all the way around and then inexplicably slid into home.
Running forward to greet her, I wrapped her in a big hug, and she leaned up to kiss me. I pulled her in deep by grabbing her backside, and she made a pained sound.
“Not there,” she said, laughing. “I think I bruised my ass.”
Together, we laughed and kissed once more, and I silently planned what I was going to say when the time came.
27
MALLORY
April dawned with gorgeous weather, cooling off the curiously hot March and bringing with it the glorious spring that I felt like only Texas had. Roses bloomed and picnics were had under the warming sun, and of course, baseball began again.
April first was April Fool’s Day, which was the perfect day to have the faculty game since I certainly planned on making a fool of myself. Many of the other staff were beyond hopeless as well, which made it hilarious to see them try to keep up with people like Mrs. Yancy and Graham. I was among those hapless fools, even after Graham took me out to do batting practice several times, despite being on the enemy team.
It looked like the entire student body had come out for the game. It at least felt that way. The benches around the park were as full as I ever remembered them being, including back when Graham had helped pitch the school to the state championship. I marveled at it at first, and then realized that at some point, they were all going to be looking at me and began an existential crisis.
No one had paid me much mind since I left New York, as far as a performer, that was. I hadn’t done any local theater; I hadn’t acted in the students’ plays at all. I had essentially retired from acting, or at least taken a hiatus. Now I was going to at some point have an at-bat in front of all these folks, and they would be looking at me, and I didn’t know how I felt about it. I should be thrilled. It should be a moment of performance, and yet, I felt nervous in a way I didn’t usually get before a show. I didn’t want to embarrass myself too badly. I didn’t want to embarrass Graham.
Everyone knew we were together by now. It hadn’t been hard to figure out, and I was sure some people had put two and two together the minute he showed up and we started having lunch together. But several weeks ago, I was approached by Principal Runnels with a waiver, casually mentioning that Graham had come in to sign one and that I needed to as well. It was touching in a weird way, and I happily signed the paper stating that I had entered into a personal relationship with another member of the staff and made all the promises one has to in a professional setting.
The students caught on quickly, and while I didn’t hear a whole lot about it other than the swooning of some of them about him, apparently Graham got ribbed about it a bit. He didn’t seem to mind. He said he would take a million jokes about it if it meant he still got to be with me.
The first two innings had zipped by without a whole lot of action on my part. Sticking me in right field was certainly the correct call. I was not great at catching the ball and tended to shy away from it. I was also pretty terrible at throwing it, too, so I was just a mess. But now in the bottom of the third, I was going to lead off batting for the ladies’ team.
Everyone expected Graham to pitch the beginning of the game, but at the last minute, it was announced that Principal Runnels would do it. Graham promised everyone they would see him pitch during the game, but that he wanted to give the principal the chance since he’d never gotten to pitch in school. He turned out to be pretty good, and as the bottom of the third came and I grabbed a bat, I was expecting to see him out there, blocking the sun with his rotund size and making me giggle with the ultra-serious face he made in his windup.
But as I walked out to the plate and the boys took their places on the field, I noticed Dustin was wearing catcher’s gear and heading to the plate. It confused me, and when he took his place in the backstop, I looked around for who the pitcher was going to be. I should have known.
In a wildly unfair move, Graham came trotting out to the field, abandoning his position at first base and taking the mound. Even injured and rusty, Graham only half-trying was better than everyone else the team had. My jaw was locked open as I watched him take the mound and begin to warm up, tossing a few pitches in and hearing the smack of the catcher’s glove matching the roar of the people in the stands. He was really slinging them in there.
It made sense when I thought about it. Of course, they did this. They wanted to see the showdown of the couple. It was theater. Suddenly, I felt much more at home.
If they wanted a show, I was going to give them one.
Waving dramatically as I walked to the batter’s box, I smiled at the crowd and took a few hard practice swings. I blew a giant bubble with the gum in my mouth, popping it and spitting it out behind the plate. I didn’t want the distraction. Lots of YouTube videos of famous hitters’ stances got me to find one I liked, and I kicked the dirt before settling into it. The bat bounced on my shoulder as I stared down at Graham, who was grinning.
You ready?he mouthed. I pursed my lips and glared back at him.
There was something awe-inspiring about seeing Graham’s full windup and toss from the batter’s box. Suddenly, in that moment, it was real, and I felt the unnerving sensation that I was sure many batters had felt facing him in the big leagues. That there was no chance I had to do anything to this man. He was in complete control, and I was going to be lucky to make contact at all.
