Another pitch.
Swing and a miss!
“You’re out!” The ump yelled.
With the top of the first inning over, I jogged back to the dugout, ridding myself of my catcher’s mask.
Coach was calling out the line-up.
I watched as Hunter went up to the plate. He made it to second. As we were cheering, I thought I caught a glimpse of someone wearing red in the parking lot beyond. I didn’t pay attention to it.
Reece stepped up next to me. “You’re next up after Dobbs.”
I nodded. I’d heard my name called in the lineup.
That person in red was running now.
Whatever.
Dobbs hit the ball. A ground ball past first, and the opposing team’s first baseman totally missed it.
With Hunter and Dobbs on base, I got that “no pressure” look from Reece as I gripped my bat.
At least, I thought that was what his look meant.
I shot him a second glance, and he gave me a weird grin.
The dude could be so odd sometimes.
Stepping up to the plate, I tried to focus. I kicked at the sand, gripping the bat with my gloved hands.
The pitcher was eyeing down the plate.
The person in red racing across the parking lot had long hair streaming behind her.
Brielle.
I ripped my attention from her racing form. She was late to the game.
Focus, Mason, focus.
Because I was distracted, I caught sight of the digital board with the score transition to a new ad.
Wait.
I squinted, totally taking my attention off of the pitcher.
What the—?
I really do love you, Brooks Mason. — Brielle.
I froze.
I did.
I admit it.
Everything about the game faded into the background as the message emblazoned on the sign took center stage. I jerked my head around to see Brielle stumbling to a halt outside left field’s chainlink fence. She was staring at the sign too.
