Authors: Ellen Hopkins
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Social Issues, #Drugs; Alcohol; Substance Abuse, #Self-Esteem & Self-Reliance, #Dating & Sex
couple of weeks, she’s always
had an excuse not to see me.
Homework. Prom committee
meetings. Spring musical
rehearsals. Granted, she has
a lead, but still. Why should other
stuff come before me? Yes,
baseball practice has come
first for me lately, but it’s all
for her in the long run. Why
can’t she understand that?
She did promise to come
watch me play today, so
maybe everything’s okay.
Hope so. I’ve got plans for later.
Great Day For Baseball
Well, it is a little cool, but
hell, it’s barely March. At least
the sun is out, and we’re
playing at home, thanks to
outstanding snow removal
efforts on the part of our
grounds crew. Amazing,
what industrial strength
tarps and snowblowers can
accomplish. Not to mention
shovels and brooms. I am
stoked. Ready to kick
a little Reno High ass.
On the field for warm-ups,
I notice a couple of things.
One: serious-looking guys
in the stands with clipboards
and radar guns. Scouts.
Can’t know where from,
of course. But they’re there.
And two: Cara made it.
She’s sitting with some
girl I’ve never seen before.
Dark spiky hair. Cute, in
a kind of Goth way. Cara
points at me, and the strange
girl smiles. Then they both
wave. Nice. I wave back,
still wondering who’s sitting
beside my girl, when Coach
reminds me,
O’Connell!
We’ve got a game to play
here. Get your mind off
the bleachers or go hit
the showers.
Some of
the guys snicker, but mostly
because they’re jealous.
I glance at the scouts, one
of whom seems to be looking
my way. Get ready, dude.
First Inning
Reno High goes down,
one-two-three, thanks
to outstanding pitching
by Gary Bell. The scouts
are doing some serious
scribbling in their notebooks.
Our first two bats retire
quickly too, but the third
manages to slip one between
the short and second baseman.
Cleanup. That’s me. On
the way to the plate, I
peer up into the stands,
hoping Cara will smile
for me. But my good luck
charm looks distracted.
Maybe even worried. Hmm.
Batter up!
warns the ump.
Wonder what Cara…
Steeerike!
Goddamn it.
I try really hard to focus.
Catch a piece of a curve-
ball. Not a big enough
piece. It’s a short fly, but
thank God I run. The first
baseman misjudges, misses
the catch, and I arrive safely
on base on an error. Not
exactly going to impress
the scouts like that, but
better than an easy out.
Up comes Bobby, who’s as
average at the bat as he is
playing shortstop. Surprise!
He smacks the first pitch
deep into center field. Triple,
and I score the second run
of the game for the Grizzlies.
Rocky start. But I’ll get
my bat going yet. Won’t I?
Bottom Of The Eighth
Down two runs, I’ve yet to
get my bat going. Fielding-
wise, I’ve made a couple
of great plays. Just not
when we needed them.
Distracted, that’s what I’ve
been, and I can’t quite manage
to stay focused on the game.
Every time I look at Cara,
she’s talking to that girl, all
attention aimed toward her.
And the way she looks
at Cara… Damn, what
am I thinking? Right now,
bases loaded, one out,
I really need to get my head
back into the game. So why
do I turn my eyes toward
the bleachers? Only this time,
for whatever reason, Cara smiles.
At me. Bright and sweet
and real. And that’s all
the encouragement I need
to grab my bat, step up to
the plate, throw the pitcher
a “give it your best shot” look.
It’s the first time today he’s seen
me swell with determination.
His shoulders twitch. First
pitch hits the dirt in front
of the catcher. My turn to
grin, and he doesn’t like
that at all. Second pitch,
a big, lazy curve that I let
go by. I want a fastball. Come
on. Unbelievably, that’s what
he sends. Nothing for it but
to swing for the bleachers.
Clank!
It’s gone. Over
the fence. Grand slam.
The Reno pitcher deflates
as the Grizzlies crowd screams.
I start my trot, eyes scanning
the seats. Yep. The scouts
are taking notes. And Cara
is on her feet, clapping.
Not sure which one means
the most to me right now.
I’ll call it a tie. I round
the bases, cross home plate,
suck up the back slapping
and high fives. I barely
notice Bobby make our
third out. Barely notice
the top-of-the-ninth-inning
play resulting in our win.
What I do notice is how
the scouts pack up and
leave, right after Cara exits
with the spiky-haired girl.
Being The Hero
Ain’t all bad, and while part
of me wants to go straight
after Cara, most of me likes
soaking up the limelight rays.
We trade handshakes, head
for the showers, compliments
flying left and right. Cara
isn’t handing them out, but
other girls are, along with
teammates and even some
guys from the other team.
I get cleaned up, and when
I finally emerge from the locker
room, Uncle Jeff is waiting for me.
Great hit, son. Guess you saw
the scouts. One of ’em is an old
friend of mine. He’s at Louisville,
and I can tell you they’re very
interested. I know you’ve got
your heart set on Stanford,
but I told him you’d be happy
to talk. That’s right, isn’t it?
I mean, just in case things don’t
work out.…
He looks at me
cautiously. Does he expect me
to get all pissed? “Sure, Jeff.
We can always talk.” It won’t
make any difference. Stanford
will want me too, and it’s not
a bad thing to have interest from
more than one school. Uncle Jeff
looks relieved. Guess maybe I’ve
been a little short-tempered lately.