Page 5 of Praising the Pitcher

Twenty minutes into practice, I began feeling like crap, and immediately, an image of my dad’s smug smile flashes across my mind.

Now we’re in the homestretch, but I’m hungry, yet my stomach hurts and I feel slightly shaky. For most players, they probably ate worse before practice. But my body isn’t used to this type of food, because I’ve never really had it.

“You good, Geeg?” Harley asks, holding the ball in her hand, ready to fire it back at me. “You seem a little off.” She pauses. “And you’re never off.”

“I’m good,” I say, but inside, I’m thankful this practice is almost over. I’m dragging ass, but I also have an hour of strength training right after this.

Ugh. That’s going to suck.

It’s not like I can skip it or message the trainer to reschedule. My dad controls my schedule, and he’ll know. Part of me also doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction he was right—my body couldn’t handle eating like crap before all this. One time, when I was twelve and playing on a travel team, a mom of one of my teammates made M&M’s cookies and I ate two without telling him. Later that night at the team dinner, the cookies came up, and when I came down with a stomach bug the next morning, he convinced me it was because of the cookies. So when I let my team down and couldn’t play and they lost because I was supposed to be their starting pitcher … I never let myself live it down.

And neither did he.

“I’m going to cool down now,” I say, wiping the back of my hand over my forehead and walking closer to Harley to start cooling myself down with closer throws.

She pulls her helmet off, setting it on the turf beside her.

It may be chilly outside today, but in the indoor facility, it gets pretty toasty when you’re working as hard as we all are.

Pitch after pitch, I lob it toward Harley, who catches it and gently tosses it back since we’re so close to each other right now. Once I’m done, she pushes herself to her feet.

“You sure you’re good, Geeg?” Harley takes the last few steps toward me. “You look a little pale and kinda sweaty.”

“I’ve been pitching,” I deadpan. “You’re sweaty.”

“You usually don’t sweat unless it’s over seventy-five though.” Harley shrugs with a little wink. “I sweat when it’s above zero.”

“I just ate a crappy lunch and I’m paying for it now, that’s all.” I turn halfway away from her, jerking my chin toward Coach. “Come on. Let’s go finish up practice.”

She eyes me over suspiciously for a moment before we both walk toward Coach. The only thing I want to do right now is go home and go to sleep, which proves once again, just like always, my dad was right.

My friends give me a hard time because of how disciplined I am, but I have to be this way. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t perform on the mound the way I do. And if I don’t perform well, I’ll never lead my team to a Softball World Series.

And if I don’t do that … it’s all been for nothing really.

THREE

NOAH

The arcade is loud, smells like fried food, and my feet stick to the floors when I walk, but I love this place. It’s cheap, fun, and most of all … not stressful. Being in the prime season of football right now, that’s exactly what I need.

“Hey, loser,” Haven says, throwing an arm around me. “Aren’t you a little old to have your birthday at an arcade?”

“Oh, come on. You know deep down you love the arcade,” I toss back, knowing damn well she doesn’t actually love this place at all.

“Well, tonight, I’m going to have a few drinks, eat some fried, greasy food, and kick your ass at whatever game you’re playing.” She shrugs, and when she looks around, I know she’s thinking about all the germs in this place.

Next to her is her friend Gigi. As gorgeous and talented as Gigi is, anytime I talk to her, she blushes. And because of that, I talk to her every time I see her because it’s pretty fucking cute.

“Hey, Smoke,” I drawl, knowing damn well she understands why I would call her that. All she throws is fucking smoke.

She’s also a smoke show, but I’ll keep that to myself.

“Hey, Noah,” she says shyly, tucking a piece of blonde hair behind her ear. Her cheeks turn the slightest pink, and I fight a grin because I love that she has an innocence to her the way she does. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” I wink, laying it on extra thick. “Where’s my birthday hug?”

Haven grabs her hand, tugging her along when she starts to walk away. “Come on, Gigi, I’ll save you from my brother.” Haven glances over her shoulder at me. “Don’t forget—air hockey, me and you before the night’s over.”