Page 6 of Saving The Shortstop

The best of both worlds. That’s what September is. And if it could be like this year-round, I’d be more than okay with that.

“Balls in! Coming down!” Harley hollers, her voice loud and bold. It’s always so much gruffer when she’s behind the plate.

I move toward second base to cover, while the actual second baseman, Maddy, goes behind for back up. And right from her knees, Harley throws a laser, landing it perfectly in my glove—just like she does nine times out of ten.

She isn’t the biggest catcher in college ball right now, but she’s certainly the best. We’re best friends off the field, and on it, we’re this dynamic duo, always catching runners trying to steal because not many are fast enough to outrun her cannon of an arm.

After feigning a tag on an invisible runner, I rush toward our pitcher, Gigi, flipping the ball into her glove before we proceed to do our secret handshake.

“You got this, G,” I utter, slapping my glove to hers before I turn away and jog back to my spot on the field.

The team we’re scrimmaging today, Casco Bay, is one of our biggest rival teams here in New England. It may only be a scrimmage and doesn’t count toward our regular season, but it might as well. The competitiveness between our schools goes back ages.

We’re out for blood, and so are they.

“Batter up!” the umpire calls, and the girl taking a few practice swings makes her way toward the plate. She must be over six feet. Every step she takes reeks of confidence, and there’s no wondering why because she’s a true power hitter, and our girls know it too.

Gigi winds up, releasing the ball seconds later.

“Beautiful, G,” I whisper more to myself as I watch the batter let that first pitch go by just like we all knew she would.

The umpire calls it a strike, but the girl at the plate doesn’t look the least bit concerned. It’s not uncommon at all to let the first pitch go by, but now we know to be ready.

Gigi takes a breath, and I watch her shoulders rise and fall before she gets ready to do it all over again. Harley flashes her glove as a target before dropping it down to the dirt. I get in my ready position as she winds up and watch as Harley’s glove subtly lifts to make the catch, but she never gets the chance because the sound of the ball hitting the bat fills the air, and I watch it fly out into center field, holding my breath and hoping it doesn’t hit the fence, making it a homerun.

Leave it to our center fielder, Cassidy, to heave her back against the fence to make the catch. And as she falls onto the ground, holding her glove up to show that she has the ball, our entire team erupts into cheers.

She stands, running toward us with the other outfielders by her side and throws the ball to me, and I turn and throw it to Gigi.

“Way to go, Cass!” I cheer, holding my hand up. “One out, girls. Let’s keep this momentum going!”

As I wait for the next batter, I inhale another crisp September breath. This is my junior year, and I sometimes wish I had a clock so I could stop the time from passing so quickly. Playing professional ball after NEU is my dream, but I know that it’s not a guarantee. It’s so competitive to make it onto one of the pro softball teams, and things like injuries can come up at any given second. So I’m going to enjoy the hell out of college ball, just in case this is it for me.

But I’ll be honest, I really hope it isn’t. I’m not nearly done playing this game that I love so much.

DALLAS

Standing next to the fence, I lean against it, my parents on each side of me as we watch Haven make the final out to end the inning.

“Whoohooo, Have!” my mom yells, jumping up and down.

Growing up, I’d seen Haven King many times and thought she was sexy. In her bikini at our parents’ beach houses. Sunning herself by the pool at home when I was hanging out with Noah. And at dances and proms when her dress hugged her curves so tightly that there was nothing left to the imagination—and everyone stared at her, secretly pissing me off. So, yeah, she’s looked good many, many times. But when she’s out in the field, moving with absolute confidence, like she damn well knows she deserves to be out there … yep, that’s really fucking hot.

“Hey, slacker,” a deep voice drawls before a hand grips my shoulder. I don’t have to turn around to know that it’s Coach King, but I do anyway to flash him a grin.

“You missed me already, so you had to find me?” I drawl.

“You know he did, D,” Anna says, coming behind him before finding a spot beside my mom.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he utters, shaking his head before standing beside my dad. “Looks like you picked a good game to come watch. They are rollin’.”

“More athletic than her daddy,” my dad says, clearly joking because Mason King was one of the best wide receivers ever to play in the NFL.

“Har-har.” Coach lets a fake laugh roll before elbowing my dad in the side.

“Is Haven still dating that boy?” Mom asks Anna, and I try my best to keep my two hands relaxed and slung over the fence, even though I want to ball them into fists.

“Well, you know Haven,” Anna grumbles with a slight laugh. “Not sure you can ever call it dating. In her words, she’s waiting for the right one to come along. Until then, she finds some poor soul to keep her company.”