I nod at her.
"Ah, what if we don't have a, um, a bat or a glove or anything?"
"Shelby and I both have gear for y'all to use, so don't worry about it."
She smiles, relieved.
"Anybody else?" When no one responds, I nod again. "All right. We'll take you one at a time when I call your name. If you don't have a bat and glove, Shelby has a bag of gear for the ladies, and one for the men. Gear up and get on the field."
I grab my glove and a bucket of balls and head to home plate. Molly passes me, wholly focused on trying to shove her glove on the wrong hand. Doing my best not to smile, I stop her, pull the glove off with no effort, and put it in her other hand. I ignore the color in her cheeks. I ignore the shy smile. I ignore how sheducks her head just a little so I can see the fan of her lashes across her flushed skin. Completely ignored. Didn't see a thing.
Once scattered on the field, I start hitting grounders and pop flys for us to catch. Hannah, the bubbly kindergarten teacher shoutsMine!every time one comes her way. Once, a pop fly heads right for Molly, and she gets under it to catch it, but at the last second, she screams and ducks out of the way. And when she picks it up to throw it back, the ball somehow comes out of her hand on the throw and ends upbehindher. She almost busts a rib laughing. The ball never makes it to Molly again, but she seems to be having too much fun to care. Shelby and I encourage the lot of them, give them tips, watch. Molly's going to need help. A lot of help. I only consider asking Shelby to do it for a millisecond before deciding to do it myself. Because I'm such a good coach and all.
When I call them in, it's to send them to the dugout to wait their turn to bat.
"First up--Darren," I shout.
"You got it, Coach!" he answers, ever eager. He's in his early thirties, the PE coach and a gym rat, his body shredded and his hand eye coordination utter trash. Still, he saunters up to the plate, hopelessly delusional.
I set down my clipboard and grab my gear, flipping my hat backward to put on my catcher's face guard. Glove on, I crouch behind the plate, my knees creaking like the hinges on a colonial door. Shelby pitches, and Darren swings like he's playing for the Yankees.
He whiffs it.
Frowning, he steps out of the box. "These stupid gloves are fucking new," he says, adjusting them before stepping back in. Shelby and I share a look, and she pitches again. Dude swings so hard, he almost brains me when the bat keeps going, swinging dramatically behind him.
"Easy, tiger," I warn.
"Sorry, Grey. Sometimes I don't know my own strength."
I hmph, raising my glove for another pitch.
He misses five more before he finally connects, and he only tips it. I send him back to the dugout and call the next one. Almost everybody does better than Darren, even Clara, the high school history teacher who gave up chain smoking for chain coffee consumption. You'd never think the wisp of a woman could smash a ball into the outfield, but I guess caffeineisa drug after all. She could probably flip a car, if pressed.
Molly is the last one up to bat. Her helmet is too big, her cardigan sleeves pushed up, eyes determined behind glasses, looking like she wandered onto the field in search of book club.
"Okay," she starts as she approaches, "I have to warn you that I've never hit a ball before."
"First time for everything."
"I haven't thrown one either. I mean not with intention."
One of my brows rises. "Ever?"
She shakes her head, holding the bat awkwardly with both hands, but off to the outside of her leg so her torso is turned. "My parents aren't really sportsball people."
I chuckle as I squat. "Don't worry. Anybody can do it. You watched them all bat, so you have an idea how to hold it, right?"
"I think so."
"Okay. Now, step into this box. You're right-handed?"
"Left."
"Then step into this box." I indicate the one on my right. "Now, if you're standing in this box, the pitcher can throw the ball whether you're paying attention or not, so make sure you're ready to hit if you're in it."
She nods, her batting helmet bobbing.
"All right. Now, position the bat over your back shoulder--"
