Page 399 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

Back at shortstop, Andrew paces,

his eyes a burning laser on me.

Then the dome’s tension peaks

when Gino steps up to the plate.

He wastes no time and steals every opportunity, pointing the end of his bat at me. “So, Allison, huh?” Gino calls out. “That’s your name? It’s pretty. Suits you, sweetheart.”

I don’t react, don’t feed it.

Across the infield,

the ice on Andrew’s face shatters,

breaking into a chilling, hateful grin.

He ducks his head for a split second, swiping his nose with his sleeve to bury an I’ma-fuckin’-kill-him laugh, before he locks his eyes back onto the batter’s box.

The next pitch leaves Danny’s hand,

and Gino takes a swing.

The bat connects with a nasty shrill, the sound splitting through the rafters of the dome.

The ball’s a white rocket, screaming straight toward Andrew’s chest.

Andrew doesn’t flinch, lifting his glove, catching it easy, eyes still on Gino, holding the tension for a brutal beat as he drags his thumb over the raised laces of the ball.

Ump calls out, and Andrew casually underhands the ball back to Danny—an insulting little toss, treating the entire Bronx lineup like they belong in Little League.

When the second inning starts, Gino walks out to the center of the diamond, his cleats chewing into the rubber of the pitching mound, and I can feel all the blood drain from my face.

Oh, fuck. He’s the pitcher.

A cold wave of fear slams into my chest,

my eyes darting from Gino,

who’s firing off a few warm-up throws,

to Andrew,

who’s stepping up to the plate first,

his stare fixed on the center of the field.

Gino greets him with a toxic smile. “Someone’s askin’ for another spankin’.”

The ump gives a tired shake of his head.

My knee’s bouncing again, ‘cause I have no control over the situation,

no way to protect him,

no way to help him.

I don’t like this feeling.