by Anna Cruise
An older guy with a big belly and a big straw hat on his head ambled over to me. His bright yellow golf shirt was tucked into his khaki shorts but appeared to be trying to escape.
His eyes scanned the clipboard in his fat hands. “You're Montgomery, yeah?”
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded and looked up from the clipboard. He adjusted the hat on his head. “What's your story, son?”
“My story?”
“Why are you here and not eating shitty dinners in double A somewhere?”
I laughed and shrugged. “Not sure I know the answer to that, sir.”
His mouth screwed up in agitation. “Where'd you play? Because I saw that throw from center to home and no one throws like that unless they've played somewhere.”
I cleared my throat. “High school ball in San Diego. Had a partial ride to Stanford but it didn't happen. Took some time off.”
He glanced down at the clipboard again. “Anything I need to be afraid of, son?”
“Sir?”
He looked at me again. “Drugs, alcohol, stealing cars, sex change operation? What am I gonna find when I start looking?”
My stomach churned and I took a deep breath. “I was on probation. Got in a fight because I was stupid and mad about Stanford. Nothing big, just a dumb move on my part. Came off the probation clean and I just finished a year of junior college classes. I put it all on the registration form.”
He nodded slowly. “Alright. I've heard way worse. Mighta done worse myself.” He chuckled to himself, adjusted the hat again. “Now here's the big question. Can you hit like you throw?”
I took the last swallow of water in the bottle. “If I don't try to pull the ball, yeah, I'm decent. But if I start trying to pull it, I'm awful. I can hit anything up in the zone, doesn't matter how high. Low fastballs give me trouble, but I can lay back and go opposite with breaking stuff. Probably not patient enough. Sir.”
He chuckled again. “I like that. Man who isn't afraid to be honest. Alright, Mr. Montgomery. Thank you for the chat. I'll be watchin'. And trust me. I may have been the only one to walk my fat ass down here, but so's everyone else. Your arm got everyone's attention. So remember who walked down to talk to you when all those squirrels come chasing you after you take some swings.” He winked, turned around and waddled back toward the stands.
I looked up to where Abby was sitting with her dad. She was looking at me and held up her hand, waving. I waved back. A year ago, I probably would've been too self-conscious to wave back. Now?
I didn't give a shit who knew I was with her.
I pulled the bat from the duffel bag. The size and weight were right on, but it still felt foreign in my hands. I dug out the batting gloves and tugged those on. I swung the bat easily, trying to get a feel for the barrel, where the weight came through, how it moved when it was level. I watched the guy pitching on the hill. He was throwing fairly hard and pretty straight. The intent wasn't to fool anyone. It was to see who could do what with the ball. They'd find out if we could hit breaking stuff later on. They were looking for short, compact swings, swings that didn't have massive holes that would take forever to correct.
Some guys could hit, some couldn't. They lunged at pitches, they swung too hard or they just couldn't drive the ball. Unless you were a pitcher, hitting is what separated the good guys from the really good guys. A good bat could always find a home. I saw a couple of guys who I thought swung it pretty good, but most looked overmatched.
My turn came and I stepped into the box, getting my feet set, digging in just a little bit. I took a deep breath, adjusted the helmet on my head, then nodded at the pitcher. He held up the ball so I knew he was coming. I wrapped my fingers around the handle of the bat and nodded again, waiting as he wound up and threw.
I whiffed completely on the pitch, swinging over the top of it as it zipped by me.
I felt the color rise in my face. I stepped out of the box for a second, pretending to mess with my gloves. I took another deep breath and stepped back into the box. The pitcher held up the ball again and I nodded.
Don't look like a douche.
I drove the next twelve pitches I saw into the outfield gaps, spraying the ball just enough to show I could hit to any field. The ball jumped off the barrel and my timing was good, the thwack of the ball hitting wood echoing through the stadium. I was balanced and getting through the ball.
The guy finally waved me off and I stepped out, the next guy passing me on his way into the box. I walked over to my duffel, dropped the bat on top of it and pulled off the gloves.
“Montgomery, right?”
I turned around. The guy who had brought us all together at the outset was walking toward me.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“You filled out the reg forms, correct?” he asked, looking down at the clipboard. “Your info is current?”
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded several times. “I think you'll be hearing from a few folks fairly soon. Keep your phone nearby.”
“Alright. Thank you.”
“No promises,” he said, smiling. “But enough people have asked for your info sheet and I nearly got run over after you stuck a couple of those in the gaps. Just wanted to give you a heads up.”
“Thank you,” I said again.
He nodded and walked off.
I bent down and put all of the gear in the bag, pulled out the other bottle of water I had and zipped the bag up. I hoisted it over my shoulder, unscrewed the cap and downed half of it. I caught Abby's eye and motioned for her to meet me outside where we'd parted. She nodded, said something to her dad and they both stood up, heading for the stairs.
I walked off the field through the visitors dugout and up the stairs that led to the concourse. The shade and concrete was a welcome relief from the baked dirt, grass and scorching sun. A man at the top of the stairs wearing a U of A golf shirt, walking shorts, and leather flips took a step back as I hit the top stair, but smiled at me.
“You put on quite a show out there,” he said.
“Did I?” I shrugged. “Just did what they told me.”
“I don't think they told you to throw on a rope from center to home or send those guys shagging balls in the outfield running for their lives.”
I shrugged again. I saw Abby and her dad on the concourse, about twenty yards away. She looked at me, her eyebrows raised.
“I'm Ed Childs,” he said, extending his hand. “I'm a coach at Arizona.”
I shook his hand. His face and arms were brown from the sun and he looked a little younger than Abby's dad.
“Diamondbacks?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. University of, here in Tucson.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
“I was doing some work in my office and wandered out to see what was going on,” he said, his hands on his hips. “Caught a little of your act there.”
I nodded, unsure what to say.
“You were slated for Stanford, weren't you?” he asked.
I was surprised by the question, but nodded.
“I remember you,” he said, still smiling. “Watched a couple of your games out in San Diego a few years back. You hit the same way then. But I was late on you. Stanford had already lined you up.” He shook his head, the smile looking wistful now. “My mistake.”
Abby and her dad were now watching us, her eyebrows still raised.
“You mind me asking what happened with Stanford?” he asked.
“The scholarship was partial,” I said. “I couldn't pull together the funding on my end. Just...bad timing, I guess.”
“You haven't played since then?”
I shook my head. “I'm going to a JC in San Diego right now, but I'm not playing.”
“So you have all of your eligibility still?”
I thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, guess so.”
He pursed his lips and nodded again. He glanced out toward the field, then back at me. “Any offers from those guys yet?
”
I shook my head. “Probably be a day or two. If I hear anything.”
He smiled again. “Right. If you hear anything.” He chuckled. “Based on what I saw, you'll be hearing from them before you hit the parking lot.”
“You think?” I asked.
He nodded again. “Probably. But who knows. We all see things differently.” He adjusted the sunglasses on top of his head and squinted at me. “Can I ask why you aren't playing college ball?”
I didn't have a good answer. The coach at Mesa had approached me, but I'd blown him off. I wasn't in the right mindset at the time. I was focused on my grades and getting through probation.
“After the Stanford thing, I guess I just needed a break,” I said.
He folded his arms across his chest. “You see where I'm going here, right, West?”
“Maybe,” I said. “But I don't like to assume things.”
“Smart man,” he said, reaching into the back pocket of his shorts. He pulled out two small, white business cards. He found a pen in another pocket and handed me one of the cards and the pen. “Could I get you to write your phone number on this?”
I took the card and pen, wrote my cell on it and handed it back to him. He took a look at it, nodded, then handed me his card. “West, you can assume I'm interested in having you play for us at Arizona. I don't know where you stand on your education, but I can tell you right now. If you're interested, we'd love to have you here.”
His words raced through my head.
“There'd be a formal admissions process and all that, but assuming you're in good standing at your junior college, I can't see how it would be a problem,” he explained. “I know it might not hold up to going right into pro ball right now, but we might be able to tune you up with a couple years here in Tucson. Instead of an open workout, you'd be looking at getting drafted.” He put the card and pen in his pocket. “No promises, of course. But I think you get that.”
I nodded slowly, not sure what I was getting at the moment other than overwhelmed.
I cleared my throat. “I need to think about it.”
He nodded. “Sure. Talk about it with your family. Maybe wait and see if you get an offer from one of the teams here today. Who knows? They might come through with a pretty good offer. Normally, they're low ball, no guarantee deals that ship you off to low A ball. And maybe that's what you want. You need to decide that.” He smiled again. “But we could do some things for you, too, here at the U of A and get you your degree.”
I nodded, blinking several times. I glanced over at Abby and her eyes were huge. She held up her hands, wondering what was going on.
I looked back at Ed Childs. “Okay.”
He handed me the other card. “My number's on there. Call me after you have some time to think. Or after one of the teams calls you. Let me know what you're thinking. Or if you have questions.”
We shook hands and I stood there as he walked away. I stared at the card in my hand. His name was embossed next to the U of A logo. I ran my finger over the raised lettering.
“What was that all about?” Abby asked, coming up next to me.
I had absolutely no clue.
NINE
“Options aren't a bad thing,” Abby's father said.
We'd stopped at a gas station for drinks and so he could fill up the tank. I'd told them about both the scout who'd approached me on the field and my conversation with the Arizona guy. Abby was smiling and her dad was thinking out loud.
“I mean, it gives you two ways to go,” he continued as he drove. “You could potentially jump into pro ball. Or you can slow down the train, get your degree and play for a top-notch college program. And maybe get better which might lead to better things.”
He was echoing what Childs said to me. I didn't disagree. It was just weird having woken up with nothing more than trying to figure out how to get Abby alone to now thinking about my future. It had all changed incredibly fast and I was having trouble keeping up.
“I don't know that either is a reality,” I said from the backseat. “They probably talked to a lot of guys.”
He caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “We heard the scouts talking about you. We didn't hear them talking about many others.”
I looked away.
“They were,” Abby said. “That guy that came down to talk to you? He was on the phone talking about you.”
“And West?” her dad said.
“Yeah?”
“There's no rush here,” he said. “You're in the driver's seat. You don't have to make a decision about anything until you're ready to make a decision. Don't forget that.”
I nodded absently and stared out the window, the desert coasting past. There was one thing that remained unspoken about the whole deal. The U of A was not a cheap school, especially for out of state students. And I could barely cover classes at Mesa.
Abby rested her hand on my arm. “Do you have your phone?” she asked. “In case anyone calls.”
“Crap,” I said, grabbing the duffel. I unzipped it and dug through it for my cell. It was buried beneath the batting gloves. I pulled it out and looked at the screen. “There's a text.”
Abby twisted in her seat so she was facing me and her dad kept his eyes locked on the rearview mirror.
I tapped the screen and pulled up the message screen.
“From the Arizona guy,” I said out loud.
West – good to meet you today. Wondering if you can come by the school tomorrow so we can talk a little more? Please let me know. Thx Ed Childs.
I read it out loud.
“Wow,” Abby said, smiling at me. “Nice.”
Her dad nodded approvingly.
“Are we doing anything tomorrow?” Abby asked.
Her dad laughed. “I think we can squeeze in a meeting.”
I just stared at the screen.
Abby nudged me. “Aren't you going to answer him?”
I didn't know what to say. To her and to the scout waiting for my response. She shook her head, a smile on her face, and grabbed the phone from me.
“What are you doing?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Answering him. You're free.”
I watched her as she tapped a message back.
Sure. Time?
He responded immediately.10 tomorrow morning work? Let's meet on campus at athletic offices?
Her fingers flew across the touch screen.See you then. Thank you.
“Ten tomorrow morning,” she announced, handing the phone back to me. “On campus.”
“Gee. Thanks for setting that up for me.”
“Is that a bad thing?” she asked. “To go meet with the guy.”
“No, I guess not.”
“You guess not?”
I sighed. “It's not bad at all.”
“No, it's really not,” she said, grinning at me. “It's actually pretty nice.”
Her dad nodded again.
“I guess,” I said.
He pulled the SUV into the resort and we passed the gatehouse. I leaned back in the seat, suddenly exhausted. I'd had about a week's worth of excitement in half a day and all of a sudden I felt drained and heavy. I just wanted to go climb on a raft and lay in the pool for the rest of the day.
Mr. Sellers pulled the SUV in front of the casita and killed the engine. He looked in the mirror again. “Thanks for letting me tag along.”
“Thank you for taking me,” I said. “And for suggesting it in the first place.”
He looked at Abby. “Maybe this'll show your mother I know what I'm talking about.”
She laughed and he got out of the car and closed his door. She opened her door, then realized I was still sitting there.
“You okay?” she asked.
“I don't know.”
She closed her door and opened mine. She laid her hand on my arm. “Hey.”
My head rolled to the side and I looked at her.
“Tell me,” she said.
“It's just...a lot,” I said
, frowning. “All at once. You know?”
She nodded. “Yeah. But it's a good a lot. And like my dad said, you can control it. No one can make you do anything. It's just for you to think about.”
I covered her hand with mine, played with her fingers for a minute. “How do you feel about going to school in Arizona?”
Her smile flickered for a moment. “I think...it might be an amazing opportunity for you.”
“I meant you.”
“I don't know,” she said. “I've never thought about it.”
“Well, start thinking about it,” I told her. “I'm not coming here without you.”
She pressed her hand against my chest. “You can't think like that. You need to do what's best for you first. We'll figure out us after.”
“That's not how I work, Abs. You know that.”
She leaned in the car and kissed me. She started to pull away, but I reached up and put my hand under her chin, holding her there for an extra minute. I needed her at that moment. I had no idea what I was doing and she was the only thing that grounded me.