I readied myself. The guy pitching was a hopeful to join the team this year, too. He didn’t pitch as well as Reece, I’d noticed right away in the first few innings, but he wasn’t someone I wanted to underestimate either.
“We want a hit! We want a hit!”
More metal against chain link.
“Hit it long, Mason!” Reece called.
“We want a hit!” Those girls were relentless.
“I believe in you, Brooks!”
Suddenly, it was dead silent.
Even the pitcher hesitated and looked toward the three rows of bleachers, empty except for the players’ girlfriends and a few stragglers from school.
I looked over my shoulder, because, yeah—whoever had yelled that was trying to be nice, but it was totally . . . weird.
Brielle was standing on the bottom bleacher, her baseball cap on her head and her straight hair hanging past her shoulders. She had her fist in the air and intensity on her face.
But—I believe in you?
It was so out of place, so . . . not baseball . . .
“Ooooo, your girlfriend believes in you, Mason!” Hunter, Claire’s boyfriend, shouted from second base.
I saw Brielle’s arm lower, and she looked around. The girl was used to baseball, sure, but not having a boyfriend as a player on the team. That much was apparent. She lowered herself onto the bleacher. A few of the girls laughed behind their hands. Claire settled herself next to Brielle and then—
I don’t know what happened next. I had a game to play. I turned back to face the pitcher. He wound up, threw a curveball, and I swung.
“Strike!” The ump shouted. Reece had told me the umpire was Hunter’s dad, Mr. Needles, and he’d agreed to come out tonight just for fun.
I repositioned myself. Refocused too. I could still hear a few of the girls who had now adopted Brielle’s cheer. “We believe in you!” They shouted.
The ball came at me again. I swung. The bat vibrated as it connected with the ball. I dropped it and ran. I forgot everything else, including Brielle. This was what I lived for. This moment, right here. The game. Everything else was secondary.
Chapter 11
Brielle
This whole girlfriend thing was super awkward. I’d wanted to sound more personal when cheering for my boyfriend, but instead, I sounded like a moron. At least Claire didn’t mock me, but I did find myself sitting back down on the bleachers and staying there even when Brooks hit the ball. He made it to second base, and Claire’s boyfriend Jake made it to third, because, frankly, the guys playing infield sucked. I knew at least two of them were tryout hopefuls. They needed to stop hoping. The one kid could hardly run, and I recognized him from Spanish II. He was a brain, not an athlete. But props to him for at least coming out tonight. Maybe he’d realize trying out for the baseball team this late in his school career was as bad as Babe Ruth becoming an accountant.
I reminded myself that this game was just for fun. Practice, really. Everything was a bit turned around tonight, but I was irritated that Brooks and Reece’s team was down by one. When I saw who was next up to bat, I leaned over to Claire.
“Game over. He’ll strike out.”
Claire shrugged. “Maybe.” She sounded hopeful. “Tyler isn’t that bad.”
“But he’s been swinging weak tonight,” I observed. “I bet he’s hardly practiced all winter.” I was right.
Three pitches.
Three strikes.
Game over.
It stung even though it didn’t mean anything in the scheme of the baseball season. I just didn’t like to see Reece’s teams ever lose, and now, with Brooks, I was more invested than I’d expected.
After the guys finished high-fiving each other and messing around with their equipment, they started trickling off the field and through the gate in the chain link fence.
