by Lari Smythe
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The following week we had tryouts everyday after school. Then on Thursday, the big hitting session. The weather had warmed up considerably so we were able to use the field. Everyone knew if you were on the bubble your hitting would be the deciding factor so there was a lot of pressure. I wasn't the worst outfielder, but there were definitely better. Sure, I probably had an edge since I was the quarterback of the football team—and it didn't hurt the coach liked me—still, I needed to perform. Alex was pitching when my turn came around, and he looked pretty good.
"Alright, Whitaker, lets see what you've got," Coach said.
"Right." I stepped into the batters box and tapped the mud out of my cleats with the bat. This wouldn't be as easy as the batting cages, and Alex wasn't going to go easy, he had to make the team too.
"Ready?" Alex yelled from the mound.
I nodded and dug in. If he kept to the same pattern as the last batter, the first pitch would be a fastball low and outside. I whiffed the changeup on the inside corner, fouled off the next two and then watched a high and tight fastball out of the zone. The catcher missed the next one low and in the dirt. I stepped out of the batters box while he chased it down.
"Dude," one of the freshman said from the fence to his friend next to him. "I thought you said this guy was next years varsity quarterback? He sucks. I can hit this guy."
I glanced over at the coach, he was writing something in his binder. I couldn't let it be nice at bat, but struck out. Damn, Izzy, wish I could hit like you did. Wait a minute, what was it she said about hitting? Yeah, yeah, that's it, she said the ball is lower than it appears to the human eye—swing low but level.
"Here we go," Coach said as the catcher tossed the ball back to Alex.
He's going to go outside again. I glanced back at the catcher. Sure enough, Alex's next pitch was just off the corner, but I strode toward the inside of the batters box and took the pitch to deep right field. Out of habit I started down the base path.
"Hold up, Whitaker," Coach said, "you're not finished yet."
I stepped back into the batters box. Okay, so the last one was an outside fastball so this would probably be something off speed on the inside part of the plate. Alex hung a curveball and I pulled it to leftfield. It cleared the fence by ten feet to the cheers of the guys in the dugout.
Coach was nodding his approval when I looked over. "You ready, Matt?" Coach called to the bullpen.
Alex looked dejected as he handed the ball to Matt and then walked to the dugout.
I let Matt's first pitch go to measure his speed. He definitely threw harder than Alex, but the guys with the real heat usually didn't have much else. On this level, if you had speed, you could usually just throw it by them. I needed to hit this guy, for Alex.
Matt's next pitch had to be in the mid eighty's, but right down the pipe—I drove it over the centerfield fence. I took his next pitch to the warning track in right. This was so surreal. I'd never been a bad hitter—nothing great—but I'd never had this kind of power—this was freakin' awesome.
"You warmed up?" Coach yelled out to Matt.
"Yeah."
"Okay, best stuff then."
As I dug in, I noticed the guys were all up against the fence, watching. I let the first one go for a called strike—it was a breaking ball, but not much slower than his fastball. I flexed my knees ready for the next pitch. If that was the setup pitch, this was going to be a fastball right down the pipe. Matt wound up from the stretch and delivered. It was a fastball as I'd suspected, but it rode up and in as it got to the plate. I'd already pulled the trigger so I kept my hands tight and swung up.
"Damn!" The boys yelled from the dugout as I contacted the ball. It looked to be a towering fly ball, but it just kept going and going. Matt tossed his glove onto the mound as the ball fell on the far side of the left field fence just inside the foul pole.
"Hollywood!" Alex yelled. If Matt was the best, then I just made Alex look pretty decent.
"Alright, Hollywood," Coach said through a toothy grin. "Take a lap, and nice hitting. Who's next?"
I grabbed a water bottle as I sat down on the far end of the dugout when I got back from my run. Not far from the school—coming this way—Mrs. Hall was walking with Cathy. I glanced back and saw that Alex was on deck. "Hey," I said as they stopped an awkward distance from the fence. "You're just in time, Alex is up next."
"Was that Matt pitching?" Mrs. Hall said. Cathy didn't look up from the ground.
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Well, an impressive piece of hitting, Jason. I think Matt was 6 & 0 last year as a starter, might have had a few saves in there as well."
"Sounds like you know a thing or two about baseball."
Mrs. Hall winked. "That I do."
Cathy glanced up momentarily. Alex's description of her was right on, she looked stoned—sad, but her face brightened momentarily when our eyes met. She quickly looked back down without speaking.
"Hey, Cathy," I offered.
She didn't respond.
"Oh look, dear, Alex is up to bat," Mrs. Hall said.
I turned to watch as Cathy stepped forward. Alex did alright at the plate, but he was obviously a better pitcher than hitter. When I glanced back, Cathy was at the fence, but she wasn't watching Alex, she was staring at me.
"Hey," I said.
Cathy didn't respond, she just kept staring, like she was in some kind of trance or something.
"You look good."
Still nothing.
"Mrs. Hall," Coach said, walking up next to her, "nice to see you, Cathy."
Cathy's gaze didn't change and I was getting a little creeped out.
"You plan on doing concessions again this year?" Coach asked.
"If Cathy is up to it, yes."
"That's great. I'd like to show you something new."
Mrs. Hall turned to Cathy. "Will you be alright?"
Cathy turned her head ever so slowly toward her mother and nodded, and then turned back to me.
I glanced back at the field. Alex had already jogged to centerfield. I didn't have much time. When I turned back, Cathy was pressed against the fence—her fingers probing through the links toward me like worms in a bait tin.
"You oaky?" This was really getting creepy now.
"Where is she?" Cathy mumbled.
"Who, Izzy?"
Cathy tensed when I said Izzy's name.
"I'm not sure."
"I need to touch you," Cathy said.
Okay, creepy up another notch.
"Please," she begged.
I glanced around and nobody was watching. "Yeah, sure, okay." I slowly reached out my hand toward her. Even knowing what I did about the unknown—the world humans didn't know about, I wasn't prepared for what happened. I swear there was a spark when our fingers touched. It wasn't a repelling spark though—no, it was more like magnets drawing our hands toward each other.
Cathy smiled. "You're human."
"Hey, you made it," Alex said, jogging up to us.
It was as if the polarity suddenly reversed and our fingers repelled. Cathy pulled back from the fence. There was a noticeable difference in her posture—she wasn't cowering—her gaze remained up and when she saw Alex, she smiled.
"Wow, you look great," Alex said. "See I told you getting out would do you good."
"You were right," Cathy said in a raspy voice that sounded like it hadn't been used in a long time.
Alex looked stunned. "You spoke."
"Cathy?" Mrs. Hall said, racing up next to her.
"Hi, Mom."
"Oh my God!" Mrs. Hall shrieked and then started kissing her. When she finished, she looked at Alex. "Alex?"
"Wasn't me."
They both looked at me.
I shrugged. "I just said, hey."
"Bring it in!" Coach yelled from the pitcher's mound.
"Can you stay?" Alex asked Cathy. "This won't take long."
"Can we?" Cathy said to her mom.
"You sure?" Mrs. Hall said.
"Yeah, everything's fallen into perspective."
"Cool," Alex said.
Alex and I ran out to the mound and took a knee with everyone else. Coach gave us a pep talk and told us how much he appreciated the effort we all put in over the last week. The good news, because it was a small school, there were going to be no cuts. That got a cheer out of all the guys.
"Varsity team roster will be posted on the front door of the gym at seven o'clock. JV practice is tomorrow at 8:00 AM sharp, Varsity at 1:00 PM. Great job guys, hands in—"
"Warrior's!" We all yelled.
"Dude," Alex said as we walked back toward the dugout. "Where'd you learn to hit like that?"
I winked.
"You kidding me, Izzy? What she say?"
"Hey, you're a pitcher—and a damn good one I might add—leave the hitting to me."
We both looked up at the same time. Behind the dugout, Mrs. Hall and Cathy's faces were beaming.
"What did you say to her?" Alex asked again.
"Hey."