Curveball (Barlow Sisters Book 1)

by Jordan Ford

  I don’t know why antagonizing her is so much fun, but I get a kick out of Maddie’s attention. Even if it is negative.

  “Heads up!” I spin and catch the ball Luke’s lobbed at me, squeezing it between my fingers before hurling it back.

  The stands are filling up way more than usual. We hardly ever draw a crowd. I scan the bleachers, my frown only deepening when I spot some unwelcome guests.

  Crap, what the hell is Velocity doing here? They never come to games.

  I glare at the band, wondering what they’re trying to pull. Cairo is leaning back in his seat, looking all casual, while Roman says something out the side of his mouth. Cairo snickers and runs his fingers through his long hair.

  He looks like a freaking girl when he wears it down like that.

  Latifa leans around Cairo and responds to Roman’s comment, and they all start laughing.

  Shit. It was probably some mocking dig about our team.

  Anger fires through me.

  This is just a friendly game; why the hell do they even care?

  My frown only deepens when the thought strikes me—they’re here to check out the girls.

  Double shit!

  I catch Luke’s ball and head off the mound as he runs towards me.

  “What’s your problem, man?” He spins his cap around and tries to get a read on me.

  “You seen the crowd? Even Velocity’s here.”

  “Yeah.” He scoffs. “I hate how curious this damn town is. Do they seriously have nothing better to do on a Saturday morning?”

  “I guess we should see it as support.”

  “Like hell,” Luke mutters. “They want to watch us fall, and laugh while we’re doing it. I don’t want those girls getting off the bench. I hope Coach doesn’t bow to the pressure or anything. We’re starters and we should play the game through. I don’t want them coming on and screwing everything up for us.”

  “They’re not that bad.”

  Luke’s blue eyes flash like I’m a traitor.

  I huff and scratch the back of my neck.

  “If they get on the field, I’m throwing the game.”

  I scowl at him. “What?”

  “Come on, it’s not like it counts for anything. And I don’t want the girls embarrassing us or outshining us. This is our chance to prove to Coach that girls shouldn’t be playing on this team.” His worried frown makes my stomach pitch. I know what he’s feeling. We’re kings at this school. Humiliation doesn’t look good on us.

  With a reluctant sigh, I hold out my fist and give him a short nod. “They won’t, man. We’ve got this.”

  He lightly taps his fist against mine and we jog over to the dugout for Coach’s pregame pep talk.

  We started the game strong, scoring two runs in the first inning. Winning is going to be a cinch. The Brazenwood Knights have always been the weaker team, and at the end of the third inning, we’re ahead by three.

  I wind up and fire a slider at the batter.

  “Strike!” the umpire shouts. “You’re out!”

  The player walks off slightly dejected while I run for the dugout with a smug smile on my face.

  The Knights pass me without a word. I’m tempted to say something cocky but keep my mouth shut. I’ll save my trash talk for the real games where I can get in their heads and do a little psychological damage.

  Luke’s the best at that. Being catcher, he’s got the perfect position to sling insults at the batters. I’m sure he’s won us some games by quietly pissing off one batter after another.

  I slap his shoulder and take a seat on the bench beside him.

  “You got this, man.” I give Kingston a high five as he passes me and walks out to score us another run.

  Adjusting his helmet, he steps up and gets ready over home plate. The pitcher hides his face behind the mitt. He’s just stepped up to the mound for the first time in the game. I haven’t seen him before—must be a new recruit.

  My eyes narrow as I study his stance, my forehead crinkling as he fires the best freaking four seam fastball I’ve ever seen.

  “Strike one!” the umpire shouts.

  My stomach jumps into my throat. “Who the hell is that?”

  “Doesn’t matter, man. We’re three up. We’ve got this.” Luke tries to reassure me, but the way he’s clenching his teeth is definitely not helping.

  Two strikes later and Kingston is shuffling dejectedly back to the bench.

  “So freaking fast.” He plunks down beside me and throws his helmet on the ground.

  “Faster than me?” I murmur out the side of my mouth.

  Kingston nods. “Yeah, man. We’re gonna have to watch out for him this season.”

  Luke and I share a look as Zane steps up to the plate.

  He strikes out too and before I know it, I’m heading back out to the pitching mound.

  “Frost, you sit back. I want to give Maddie a turn.”

  “What the hell?” Luke snaps.

  I spin and throw Coach an incredulous look. “Have you just seen their pitcher? We’re not in a position to slack off yet, Coach.”

  Maddie simmers, shooting me a glare over Coach Keenan’s shoulder before reaching for her facemask.

  Grabbing my shoulder, Coach pulls me close enough so he can whisper in my ear. “This is just a friendly. I need to see how these girls handle a game. This is the perfect low-risk situation for me to figure out if I’ll play them this season.”

  I have to concede that it makes sense.

  “Chloe’s pitching for you later too, so keep your mouth shut and just go with it.”

  Clenching my jaw, I spin for the mound, kneading the ball in my mitt as I try to get my anger in check.

  It’s just a friendly.

  It doesn’t matter.

  But I don’t want to be pitching to anyone other than Luke. We’ve been a solid team for the last two years. I don’t want anyone coming in and messing that up!

  I glance back at the bench, feeling my friend’s anger and resentment as Maddie walks to home plate. If he’s anything like me, there’ll be a threat of low-lying fear running beneath the surface.

  What if Maddie Barlow takes my starting position? I bet a hundred bucks that’s what Luke is thinking.

  I slow to a stop as I reach the mound.

  Maddie’s good.

  Luke knows it.

  I know it.

  So it’s time for me to play the best friend card.

  If I don’t want him losing his starting position this season, then I’m gonna have to make Maddie Barlow look like the world’s worst catcher.

  11

  Wasted Talent

  MADDIE

  So, Luke’s pissed.

  I refuse to glance in his direction as I walk to the back of home plate.

  The coach is trying me out at a friendly match so he can see how I play. It’s a test to see if he’ll risk taking me off the bench this season, so Mr. Frost can get the hell over it.

  It’s not like the game counts for anything.

  But it’s my time to shine.

  I want to show Coach Keenan that I’m just as good as any guy on this team and that I deserve to be here. After the game, I want to message Dorothy Peters with It’s official! We made it onto an all boys team!

  The girls back home have been rooting for us ever since we told them we were trying out for the Pitbulls. We’re doing this for all baseball-playing girls across the country. I can’t let them down.

  And I won’t.

  I’ve been playing ball since I was five years old. I know what I’m doing, and I’m not going to let some cocky pricks make me look bad.

  Crouching down behind home plate, I glance up at the batter, who looks down at me and snickers like a girl trying to play with the big boys is just pathetic.

  I’ll show him.

  Staring at Holden, I catch his eye and hope his pitches are as good as the ones he’s been throwing all day. The guy’s got skills, and I hate to admit how much I love watchin
g him.

  Every time he steps onto that mound, my resolve to think he’s a douche melts away. His stance is so strong, his muscles, the way his body moves so fluidly.

  It’s a freaking turn-on.

  Which is disturbing.

  Because he’s Holden Carter—a total…okay, I still haven’t come up with a good insult for him yet.

  I’m working on it.

  His blue eyes narrow as he looks at me over the lip of his mitt.

  I give him the signal for a splitter. I’ve been watching this batter all morning and he doesn’t do great with anything other than a fastball. Holden’s been working on his splitter over the last couple of weeks and it’s getting pretty good.

  He can do it.

  Holden nods and I prepare myself for the catch, only to find the ball veering to the side as Holden pitches a slider. The batter misses the hit, and so do I.

  I shoot Holden a confused frown and throw the ball back to him.

  Had I not given the right signal or something?

  Crouching down, I prep for the second pitch, indicating this time to go for a curveball. It’s not his best pitch, but I definitely know the hand signal for that. Again, Holden nods…then pitches a cutter.

  I only just grab it, but then the ball fumbles out of my mitt.

  The batter snickers while my cheeks flare. Snatching the ball, I hurl it back at Holden.

  He catches it, shooting me a cocky smirk before getting ready to pitch again.

  Because I can’t help myself, I indicate that he go for another cutter. He fires a fastball towards home plate and the batter connects instantly.

  Shit.

  Whipping off my helmet, I watch the ball arc and head for the backfield where Zane misses a difficult catch.

  The batter whoops and keeps running, jumping onto third base with both feet before pointing at me like he’s the king of the world.

  I huff and work my jaw to the side, throwing Holden a pissed-off glare before pulling my mask back down.

  We repeat the same infuriating process with batter number two, which brings batter number one swanning past home plate and puts batter number two comfortably on second base.

  If Holden screws up this next one, we are so having words.

  In an attempt not to let him goad me, I crouch down and instead of sending a pointless signal, I flip him off.

  He smiles behind his mitt—I can tell by the way his eyes crinkle at the corners—but then he stands there waiting for me to signal again.

  I shake my head. No way. It’s a waste of freaking time if he’s just going to throw me something I’m not prepared for.

  He gives me a pointed look and tips his head like I’m the one making things difficult.

  What a jerk!

  With an irate huff, I signal a fastball and he sends me a slider.

  I manage to snatch it, but not without a frustrated little scream.

  “I need to talk to the pitcher,” I snap at the umpire.

  He gives me a stern scowl for yelling at him but lets me march up to the mound.

  Holden calmly waits for me, fighting a grin as I thunder towards him.

  “What the hell is your problem? Don’t make me signal if you’re not going to throw me what I’m expecting!”

  He shrugs and looks away from me. “Maybe you’re not cut out to play with a bunch of guys.”

  Gritting my teeth, I step right into his space so our noses are nearly touching. “You listen to me, you arrogant asshole. I’ve been playing this game since I was five years old, and I don’t give a shit if you’re too insecure to handle a few girls on your team. Get over yourself and play the damn game.”

  By the time I’m finished, his nostrils are flaring and I can feel his breath on my cheek as he fires back, “I want to play with Luke. We’ve been a tight unit long before you came along to screw everything up. We understand each other, so get your butt back on that bench where it belongs.”

  “You are such a prick.” I don’t know what comes over me, but I give his shoulder a little shove. He barely moves, his rock-solid body acting like a freaking oak tree. His mocking snigger makes my fingers curl into a fist. “You need to give me a chance.”

  “I don’t want to give you a chance,” he bites back.

  My eyes narrow and I glare into those rich blues of his. We’re puffing like two rabid dogs, both unwilling to yield. Damn, his mouth is close. The heat and anger radiating off him is potent. It’s taking everything in me not to grab his collar and pull him in for a kiss, which is seriously messed up considering he’s an arrogant, cocky asshat!

  “Hey!” Coach Keenan yells from the fence.

  Our heads both snap his direction and he gives us an urgent “get the hell on with it” look.

  I huff and step down from the mound, pointing back at Holden. “Stop being such a dick and play the game!”

  He doesn’t say anything as I crouch behind the batter.

  “Lovers’ quarrel?” the batter mocks.

  “Shut up,” I grumble, hoping like hell that Holden will strike this guy out.

  No such luck.

  Cocky Asshat tries for a curveball that fails, sending the second batter past home plate.

  This freaking inning can’t be over fast enough.

  After our disastrous fourth inning, Coach changes things up again.

  Luke gets put back in as catcher. He and Holden get two strikeouts in a row. The Knights get one more player home before Kingston manages to run a guy out. It was a good play, but it doesn’t change the fact that we’re now behind by one. According to what I’ve heard, we’ve never lost this friendly match. If we do, all eyes will point straight to me and my sisters.

  Shit, if our batters don’t get a handle on this new pitcher, we could lose this game.

  I want to tell Max to step the hell up and show everyone what she’s made of, but she’s been kind of off form since getting to Armitage. I don’t really understand why. When I asked her about it, she mumbled something about missing our old team. I get that. I really do. We were an awesome team, and trying to fit in with a bunch of guys who don’t even want us here is basically impossible.

  But that shouldn’t change Max’s ability on the field!

  She’s a damn good player, but she hasn’t proven it to any of these guys yet.

  Damn, I wish she’d step up. I hate losing!

  I let out a sharp huff and slap my knee. Max flinches beside me and catches my eye. We stare at each other for a second and she reads me like she always does. After a long beat, she gives me a resigned smile. Then, with a quiet sigh, she stands and walks across to the lineup of batters.

  I don’t know what she’s saying to them, but two frown and one looks at the pitcher’s mound before he nods.

  His name’s Zane and he’s probably one of the nicest guys on the team so far. He’s kind of flirty, but in a cute, non-creepy way.

  Fitting his helmet on, he grabs his bat and then looks at Max again, like he’s trying to weigh up what she just said.

  I frown, tempted to go over and find out what my sister’s doing. She won’t catch my eye though and I have to suffice with sitting here, bobbing my knee and watching Zane.

  He sets up on home plate, gripping the bat and looking to the mound. His stance is strong…and he manages to connect with the ball, racing down to first base.

  Max smiles and claps before turning back and giving Kingston a pointed look.

  He’s dubious but bobs his head and steps up to home plate with narrowed eyes.

  Thanks to a decent hit, he gets Zane to third base and manages to get comfortable on first.

  “Can I have a turn, Coach?” Max reaches for a bat.

  Coach Keenan kind of gawks in surprise. “The way you’ve been batting? We’ve got two runners on. I need to send in someone who can get them home.”

  “That someone’s me.” She looks him in the eye.

  I grin. Max’s self-confidence is always delivered with such calm humility. She’s n
ot being arrogant; she’s just speaking the truth.

  Coach gives her a skeptical frown.

  Grabbing a helmet, Max nestles it on her head with a grin. “Look, I know I’ve been off form the past couple of weeks, but I’m telling you, I can get these guys home. We can get a comfortable lead on the Knights and win this thing.” Slapping his arm, she rests the bat on her shoulder and murmurs, “Trust me.”

  He doesn’t have time to argue before she walks out.

  Dad starts whooping from his spot next to Mom. I roll my eyes and try not to let it grate on me.

  “You got this, Maximus!” he booms.

  The crowd around him laughs at his nickname for her, and then some guy several rows back hollers, “Yeah, Maximus!” He raises both his arms before being tugged to sit back down.

  I recognize the guy but don’t know his name. It’s not until he plunks into his seat and I see him sitting in a row with his friends that I finally place him. He’s part of Velocity. Not the sexy one with the dark skin and long hair that all the girls seem to swoon over, but the shortest one. He looks Latino. His hair is dark and shaggy. I think Rahn said he was the drummer.

  Whatever. I don’t have time for idiots who are only here to mock us.

  My eyes snap back to Max as she walks up to home plate.

  Please prove these jerks wrong, sis. Please.

  She’s swinging the bat in her usual warm-up tradition, taking a few slow breaths before setting her stance and staring down the pitcher.

  He laughs like it’s a joke, glancing at Coach Keenan as if to say, “You serious?”

  The coach groans in his throat while I stand up and grip the fence.