Greetings!
I finally did it. I updated. Hopefully, my suckish updating schedule doesn't deter you from reading this.
We're close to being done, but it's getting better I promise.
Keep doing what you guys are doing.
Read, like, comment, and fan!!!!!
Love,
Elle
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I tossed the ball over to first base and waited as Miles continued to roll grounders to the infielders for warmups. The dirt was freshly raked and was one of the nicest infields I've ever played on. Being a major league field, they had to keep it up to par.
"Balls in," Eli yelled from behind the plate.
I jogged over to second to catch the throw down from him. The throw was on the money as always for Eli.
We threw the ball around the corners before meeting to give high fives in the middle. Miles at least slapped my hand and glove this game.
We were the home team, which meant taking the field first. Blood was pounding in my ears from pure adrenaline. This was it. We had worked all season to be in this game, and we had done it. There was only one mission left and it was to win this game.
The batter took his time getting in the box, digging his front toe into the dirt.
I glanced over at our dugout. Seriousness was written over each of their faces. Scanning the line of them, my eyes settled on Walker. He hung on to the fence to keep his balance because of the sprained ankle he had suspended in the air behind him. A trainer had come to securely wrap his ankle and tape an ice bag to his injured foot. He had been advised to keep all weight off of that leg, but Walker being Walker, refused to sit down. Now, he just resembled a flamingo.
Walker's eyes met mine and a smile worked its way to his mouth. He mouthed a "you got this," which I gratefully accepted with a nod.
A small swell of confidence rose in my chest. Over the course of camp, I had become aware of Walker's tendency to only tell exactly what he thought and not anything more. He will not sugarcoat the situation or say anything he didn't mean. Walker said everything straight, and the encouraging words were a sign he truly meant it.
Just in time, I looked in to see Eli giving the pitch call to Jackson.
An inside fastball.
I moved to my right a few steps to be ready for the pull or flare near the third baseline, two common outcomes of Jackson throwing an inside fastball.
The batter took the strike, getting the timing down for the rest of his at-bat.
Eli tossed the ball back to Jackson after framing it. Everyone milled around in their position, gloves off, kicking the dirt.
The sweat from standing out on the field was already forming on my hairline. There wasn't a cloud in the sky today, and the sun was once again beating down. It was cooler than one hundred degrees, but the humidity was still very much present.
Jackson readied himself to deliver the next pitch. I looked in to see a curveball being called.
I took a ready position as Jackson lifted his leg and prepared to step forward.
The pitch came in low and the batter let it go. The count was now 1-1.
I dragged my toe around in the dirt in front of me. My dad's hero stood in this very spot countless amounts of time. I had watched Derek Jeter walk around the same way as I was many times on TV. I never missed watching a Yankees game. The idea just kept me closer to the feel of my dad. I reached up to touch the silky blue ribbon in my hair. The familiar frayed ends brushing against my finger tips.
The next pitch came as a high outside fastball that the batter lunged at. He made contact on the end of his bat, sending the ball high and out to right field.
I jogged slowly to second, knowing that this was a routine fly ball for Tyler out in right.
Tyler easily cruised to get under the ball and caught the ball with both hands, always the cautious one. He threw the ball into second, which I flicked over to Jackson on the mound.
One down.
The next batter came up. Everything seemed to be happening at a snail's pace. The pitch, the umpire's call, the throwback and reset. It was methodical and only seemed slower from the heavy heat in the air.
Even my movements, like wiping sweat from my forhead, felt achingly slow.
The next batter grounded out to Danny at third after a five pitch at bat.
Jackson was throwing well, and getting the outs. We just needed routine balls for the whole game and it would most likely be a shut out.
The only problem with Jackson was that he sometimes tries too hard to get a batter to go for a pitch. He was a pitcher that threw lots of movement and placement, but those types of pitchers run into a problem when batters don't swing. They're all about getting the batter to go, so they get strikeouts, groundouts, or popouts.
Colton, on the other hand, is on the complete other spectrum. He throws pretty much only heat. It's always good at the beginning because no one can catch up, but when one person gets the timing down, we were in for problems.
Logan was an even middle between the two with decent pace and good control of the ball.
The next batter battled off several pitches from Jackson before finally hacking at a slider in the dirt to strike him out.
We all hurriedly jogged off the field to huddle near the entrance to our dugout.
"Nice inning," Danny commented, looking around the circle. He nodded encouragingly at everyone. "Get it started on three," he prompted, raising his hand to be in the air in the middle of the circle.
"Get it started!" we all said after Danny counted it.
Nathan and Tyler grabbed their helmets first and stood out by the on-deck circle.
I tossed my glove on to the bench and grabbed a water bottle, sipping it slowly. Cold water rushed down my throat and somewhat relieved the heat that surrounded me. I wiped the back of my hand along my hair line to brush away some of the preciptation on my forehead.
"How are you holding up?" Harrison questioned, coming up behind me.
"Good," I answered, "just sweating like crazy. There's absolutely no cloud cover today."
"I can barely keep the sweat from going in to my eyes, and I'm sitting."
I grinned softly at his statement.
"Same here," Walker piped up, hopping over to us. "I guess trying to keep your balance could be considered an extraneous activity that results in me sweating."
Harrison and I both chuckled at his joke.
"It's so much work standing up and holding on to the fence," I teased.
"You know it, girl," Walker replied, his voice going up a few octavies.
I laughed harder at his reply.
Walker only grinned and hobbled up to the top stair to watch the game.
Nathan stepped into the box and took his stance. The pitcher delivered, but it was low and away.
Ball.
I scanned the field and found Stephen, standing in left field. He wasn't looking my way, but just his presence sent cold shivers down my back.
The one thing I could look forward to is not having to worry about him again, since he lived God knows where. I'm only hoping it's no where near me.
The next pitch to Nathan came in on the inside as a strike. He only nodded in agreement and took a practice cut.
Nathan was not one to argue with umpires ever. He took strikes and balls as the blues called them. Not even an annoyed expression passed his face.
Now on the other hand, the worst arguer of them all is Danny for sure. He almost never agrees with them about anything. Danny hasn't been thrown out from a game in the camp season, but he's come close more than once.
Danny is pretty witty as well, so he makes the umpires look stupid in seconds. I almost feel like they're too scared to toss him because he'll just embarrass them some more. His at-bats are always entertaining.
Nathan swung at the next pitch and sent the ball in a line drive to right field, right over the first baseman.
Everyone in the dugout went crazy with cheering and whistling. Several whoops of excitement were also yelled.
Nathan clapped his hands at first base, giving us a little wave as well.
Tyler was up next and laid down a perfect bunt to move Nathan over to second. He almost got on himself, but a very quick toss from the catcher denied the chance. Either way, Nathan was now in scoring position for Eli, who was up next.
Eli had a humbleness about him and he didn't care to showboat coming up to the plate. He was short and to the point.
In the third hitting spot, a batter was considered one of the best in the lineup with the most contact and usually highest batting average.
The defense knew this and gave him some space. The outfield took a few steps back and moved to their right, expecting the pull. This was usually a good assumption to make about third hitters: they pulled the ball. However, Eli hit almost everything to the right side towards right field. He loved the outside pitch, which is not a spot many hitters like to go after unless they have to.
The pitcher took his wind up and delievered an inside pitch, hoping to have Eli hit right into the defense or get an early strike. Eli happened to be a first pitch swinger, which was not very common for third batters.
Eli got his hands through quickly, but his bat angle was back, allowing him to drive the ball out to right field.
The right fielder took off in a dead sprint, realizing his positioning mistake. Eli went charging down the line, but Nathan remained on second base with one foot on the bag. The ball had enough air under it to be caught, and it appeared that the right fielder had speed.
Even if the ball wasn't caught Nathan could easily get to the next bag, possibly score because of the area that the ball was hit.
The ball was beginning to make a descent near the back corner of right field.
The right fielder chased after it and dove to the spot. His arm reached back and to the right at the exact moment the ball fell to the spot.
As soon as Nathan saw the right fielder catch the ball, he took off for third.
Eli's shoulders sagged as he trotted off the field. The right fielder sprung off the ground as soon as he could. He threw the ball into his cut, stopping Nathan from advancing any farther than third base.
Cheers had erupted from the other dugout and their side of the stadium.
It was a nice catch, that was for sure, but now Nathan was at third, and Danny was up. We had a chance to score first if Danny just got a hit.
He swung his bat a few times outside of the box, running a hand over the barrel. Danny took his sweet time getting in to the batter's box, like usual. His confidence radiated over the field, especially being placed in the fourth hitting position (the most powerful position in the lineup), his swagger could not be hidden.
As confident as he was, Danny was not a super consistent hitter, which was expected in this position in the lineup. It was either a huge hit: double, triple, homerun; big flyball, or a strikeout. Nothing was ever recorded that wasn't those three.
The pitcher seemed slightly flustered at Danny's very open arrogance. He took his position on the mound to see the pitch called.
Danny sat deeper into his legs and waited for the pitch. It was outside and high. He let it go.
Ball.
He stretched the bat over his head and looked around the field. Danny was a big guy. All muscle, but he was big and intimidating. The huge cockiness only added to his size. Unfortunately, for the other team, they didn't know that he was just a big teddy bear. The other team was ready for him to hit a shot that could kill one of them.
He got back into the box and loaded into the next pitch. The ball was inside about belt high. Danny once again let the pitch go, but this time it painted enough of the corner to be called a strike.
The count was now 1-1.
Danny stepped out of the box nonchalantly, even giving us a smirk and a wink before looking at Coach for the sign.
Rust slid his hand down his arm and clapped. He wanted him to hit. We had two outs and at the moment, we just needed to get this run across the plate.
Danny tapped his helmet in understanding. He got back in the batter's box and anticipated the next pitch.
Danny unloaded on the next pitch that came over the plate, but instead, sent it soaring foul down the left field line.
His count was now 1-2, and because of that last foul ball, the outfielders took several steps back, realizing just how much power Danny really had.
"Come on, Danny!" I yelled from the dugout, clapping my hands together. The other guys cheered for him as well.
Nathan took his lead off third and watched cautiously as the pitcher leaned into read the pitch being called. His eyes flitted over to where Nathan bounced lightly on his toes.
The ball came into Danny's wheelhouse once again on the outside corner.
The ball flew off the bat like a shot and was a high sailing hit. Everyone watched in stunned awe as the ball stayed in the air for what seems like hours. It began to get closer and closer to the back fence. Everyone in the dugout held their breath, hoping the ball would go over. The centerfielder had shifted over to his left and stood at the back of the warning track.
The ball made its slow descent, but was a foot short from going over, so instead it landed in the glove of the expecting fielder. The dugout let out a gathered sigh of disappointment.
I grabbed my glove from the bench and jogged out of the dugout.
I could hear Danny mutter, "an are you kidding me?" Second time in a week that he's come inches to hitting a homerun.
I met Danny a few steps outside the door, giving him a high five and a reassuring pat on the back.
"That was a shot, Dan," I complimented, hoping to ease his obvious disappointment that the ball didn't go over.
"Thanks, G," he mumbled, dragging his feet into the dugout.
A tremoundous shot, but not enough.
...
The game continued just like the first inning. A hit or walk maybe scattered throughout the innings, but no more than two ever stringed together.
It was a pitcher and defensive battle, and the game was at a stalemate.
The one time I had been up to bat during the game resulted in a measly ground out to the shortstop. An inside fastball that I rolled over on.
Miles has kept his distance as usual, staying on the other side of the dugout, only venturing even close to me to grab a water from the bench.
It was now the top of the seventh inning and the sun was still blaring down on us. With no roof, we were left to bake like cookies in an oven. My skin was broiling and the sweat continued to drip down my forehead and neck.
Jackson was walking idly around the mound as the batter and umpire made a slow descent to the box. I pulled my glove off to let my left hand breath from the leather. Raising my head, I looked over towards the direction of first. Miles too, had his glove off, hanging loosely from his right hand.
It was like he felt my eyes on him, and suddenly, we were locked eyes.
It only lasted a few seconds before he looked away and turned his back my direction. A string pulled at my heart. Not a smile or look of any sense of encouragement were displayed on his features. I knew that was going to happen, but yet I was still disappointed in his reaction.
I shoved the glove back on to my hand when the umpire announced play ball to begin the seventh inning. Crouching low, I waited for the pitch. A strike over the outside corner started the batter off.
I glanced over to where my mom and Ellie were sitting and watching. My mom looked intrigued, but she glanced down at her phone now and then. The woman never stopped working, but she did try to keep it limited when she was at games.
For being an attorney for the state, she always found time to come watch me play. Granted, she is pretty high up in her job status. Unfortunately, that still meant many nights of me being by myself. She'd get home between midnight and two on the later nights, but always made sure to be home at seven at least three times a week.
Ellie would come over a lot of the nights my mom wasn't home to keep me company. It was usually after her practice though, so it was later in the evening, which meant she usually slept over or I would sleep over there sometimes.
At the moment, Ellie looked fascinated compared to my mom, but not because her best friend was playing. Her eyes were locked on the brunette standing on the mound. This was the most interested I had ever seen Ellie look during a baseball game. She complained to no end about how she was always so bored during games, and that I should consider myself blessed for having her as my best friend. She still dragged herself to every one of my high school games and the club games that were in Balitmore.
Her and my mom were the best seatmates with their little fold-out bleacher seats. To make it even better, Ellie had their chairs embroidered for Christmas one year. My mom's said "#2's Mom" and Ellie's said "#2's Best Friend." Now when Ellie had them done, she had quite different title ideas for her chair. Luckily, I persuaded her to just do best friend.
Ellie's elbows rested forward on her knees with her chin between her hands. Her eyes were trained on the field, not missing a single thing Jackson was doing.
I rolled my eyes to the sky and let out a short giggle. We'll have to see if she even remembers who I am after the game. My number might get replaced from that stupid chair too.
Jackson was facing the third batter on the team and giving him a good fight. He was up 1-2 on him, not giving him anything good to hit at this point.
He threw his slider next, and because of the sharp tail downward it had late in its flight, the batter took a massive cut, but swung clear over the ball.
Strikeout.
I stole yet another look at my best friend to see her clapping crazily with an enormous smile on her face. Fan girl.
Eli stood up and tossed the ball to Miles down at first, who threw the ball to me at short. Miles's expression looked bored when his eyes came to rest on me again.
From shortstop, I sidearmed the ball to Dylan at second base. He caught the ball with ease and slung it over to Danny at third. Finally, it was thrown to its final destination on the pitcher's mound.
We'd thrown the ball around a few times this game for strikeouts.
I didn't think much as the fourth batter got ready to hit. Taking a ready stance, I prepared for the possiblity that the ball could be hit my way. The ball came in too low and outside to be called a strike, but something very different made me freeze in my tracks.
Standing on deck was Stephen. His dark hair still hung over his forehead and the dark eyes that haunted me at night stared blankly in my direction.
During his first at-bat, he had popped a ball up into centerfield that Nathan got under no problem. No worry for me since he would not even be close to me in proximity. Now, there was yet another chance for him to get on base and harass me.
I did my best to ignore the uncomfortable stare coming from the other team's on-deck circle.
Concentrate. If this ball comes to you and you're not ready, you're screwed.
My skin practically crawled as I stood there, waiting for the next pitch, knowing I was being watched by him.
The next pitch came in as a strike to the outside corner.
Keep it together, keep it together, I tried to encourage myself.
For the last couple months of sophomore year, this was how it had played out almost every day. Chris only had a few more months of school because he was a senior, which meant I still saw him every once in a while at school. I knew his schedule forwards and backwards, so I made sure to take a route to class that wouldn't cross his path. On several occasions, it took me twice as long to get to class, since I took the long way to avoid him. My number of tardies rose quite alot during those months.
Chris didn't try to ever approach me again after that night because he knew very well I could press charges. Instead, he did what Stephen was doing right now: just watched. It was in a way worse to know that someone is constantly watching you, even if you didn't see them.
I refocused at the crack of the bat, but the ball only skidded down the first base line, into Miles's awaiting glove. He scooped it up and jogged to first base a few steps behind him.
Two outs.
Miles threw the ball to me to go around the circle. I barely caught it in time before it went flying past me. I was so distracted and honestly, intimated by him, unfortunately.
I got the ball off to Dylan, but after alot of fumbling around in my glove for it.
When the ball eventually got back to the circle, Stephen got set in the box. He still continued to glance in my direction with his open smirk. The prick.
Either way, Jackson's first pitch was a strike again, starting him off ahead in the count.
The next pitch was a ball, followed by another pitch too far out of the zone.
The count was now 2-1.
Stephen looked unfazed as always and continued with his smug look.
He fouled the next pitch straight back, pushing the count to 2-2.
Come on, Jackson. Strike him out, I need you right now more than ever.
The next one delivered was just a little too outside to be called. I groaned internally at the umpire not punching him out yet.
It was low. The next pitch was too low, and he got walked. My teeth clenched, and I suddenly felt very sweaty. Please, please, please, get the next batter before he gets any ideas to get closer.
Stephen took a decent lead off first. Miles looked very unconcerned about the psycho behind him. Jackson watched Stephen from over his shoulder. I could tell from the tense position he had on the mound that he wasn't liking how large of a leadoff Stephen had.
Finally, it pissed him off enough to cause him to do something about it. He turned and fired the ball over to Miles at first to try to pick him off. Miles caught the ball and swung his arm down to sweep the tag before he could get back to the base. Unfortunately, his hand managed to slip in to grasp the corner. Bad for Stephen was Miles's tag. Instead of going towards the front corner of the bag like he usually does, Miles reached out in front of the bag to hit a bit more than hand.
Miles's glove made a direct hit to the side of Stephen's helmet. The tag made a cracking sound from ball hitting plastic helmet.
Miles seemed unfazed by the entire thing, but he most definietly did that on purpose.
Stephen got up in a huff, straightening out his helmet angrily. He was attempting to mumble something to Miles, but he simply ignored him, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.
My lips raised into a smile at Miles. That was most definitely payback. Consequently, Stephen was only given more of a reason to do something drastic.
I wiped my sweaty palm on my pants and watched him out of the corner of my eye. He took a slightly smaller lead at first base, but it was still far enough off to be considered pretty aggressive. Jackson looked over his shoulder at him again, giving him an intimidating glare.
Jackson finally delivered the pitch, a strike over the outside. Stephen didn't tempt to steal, thankfully. He jogged back to the bag when Eli pump faked at him. The tension that he was creating was very evident in everyone.
"Hey, don't worry about him," Rust yelled from the dugout, seeing everyone's obvious agitation. Jackson took another glance at the asshole at first before looking in to get the sign.
My heart jumped to my throat when I saw Stephen start creeping towards second as Jackson prepared to pitch. When he pulled his hand back, Stephen took off towards second.
"Going," the dugout yelled to alert Eli.
I ran to second to catch the throw. When I got to the bag, everything seemed to slow down. In my peripheral, Stephen was barreling towards me with no intention of slowing down. Eli's threw from his knees, and the ball sailed towards me.
My heart pounded in my chest as I caught the ball and went down to block half the bag. Stephen was going to be out by several steps, but instead of trying to do a slide-by, he came sprinting towards me.
I did my best to put my glove out front to shield myself somewhat. He slid late and with his leading cleat up. I was too late to react to his sudden change of direction. I was able to block his knee that was aimed at my right foot, but his leading cleat came to the left of me at my exposed thigh.
At first, there was nothing, no pain at all. As soon as I attempted to get up, there was a sharp pain in my lower left thigh and I became dizzy. Glancing down at my leg, the problem become apparent.
My pants were cut through cleanly by Stephen's metal cleat and he had been been able to get deep enough to cut open my leg. I placed my hand over the spot to try to stop the bleeding that was seeping out of my leg and on to my pants.
I was still sitting on the ground as Stephen jogged off, being called out by the umpire. He didn't look behind him or check on me. He knew what he did and it was very much on purpose.
The pain began to take over as I sat there longer, clutching my leg. The tears poured out of my eyes and down my cheeks.
I couldn't help but let out a shriek of pain as I tried to move to get up.
"Gloria." It was Miles. He was running in my direction with concern written all over his face. As he got closer, he realized I was crying and clutching my leg for dear life.
He skidded to a stop in front of me and knelt down.
"What's wrong, Princess? What'd he do?" he asked, panic laced his voice.
I couldn't even reply. Instead, I just cried harder and slowly lifted my hand from the gash.
Blood had seeped its way all over my pants in that area and some was on the dirt as well. The cut was deep in the skin and down by the right side of my knee on the inside of my leg.
Miles took a sharp intake of breath before springing into action.
"Keep the pressure on your leg," he instructed me. "Coach, Gloria is hurt, get the paramedics. Danny go beat the shit out of that bastard that just ran."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Danny toss his glove towards our dugout before stalking to the other side of the field. Eli and Jackson tried to hold him back.
"Miles, help me," I sobbed, not being able to control myself from the pain that was shooting through my leg.
"I'm trying, Glors," he got closer to me to wipe the tears streaming down my face. His voice cracked and he looked more worried than I had ever seen him.
"Miles, they're coming," Rust shouted back, jogging out to the field. As everyone realized this was a lot worse than they thought, they all started coming to second base. My hand was covered in blood now. It was thick and heavy in my hand.
"Make it stop," I whimpered, not sure what to do, other than hold the gash. More tears flooded down my face, on to the top part of my jersey.
Miles sat down on the dirt and pulled me into his chest. He placed his hand over mine and applied even more pressure. I leaned my head into chest. The familiar scent of his cologne made me cry even harder. I missed him.
The world was suddenly spinning and I could barely sit up straight. Black spots dotted my vision, along with my limbs becoming heavy.
"Gloria," Miles said, but it seemed like he was talking from far away.
I couldn't do anything about my body slowly sagging into his. My eyes were half closed when I felt Miles stand up, holding me bridal style. He began to jog, but I wasn't able to make out the words that he was saying or where he was taking me. Instead, I drifted off into black.