Page 50 of Harley

“Let’s go,” he said.

“See you all in a bit,” I called as we walked away. It didn’t take fifteen minutes to change, and with time to kill, we headed out to the field. Nervously, I stuck with Shutout, warming up with him and two of his fellow Cub teammates.

Today was about the Trusts. The baseball players present came from every team in the MLB. Rivals would play alongside rivals. Enemies would put aside their differences and try to beat the opposing team. Shutout took some ribbing and handed it back with good humour. Our team wore blue jerseys while the other side wore grey. On the backs were emblazoned the Trust’s logo and their number.

Mine was thirteen. It had been unlucky for most, but I liked the misunderstood number.

Music was playing as the stands filled and the jumbotron was flashing images of the rich and famous who were attending today. Mom and Dad had already been up there three times; the second time, the camera had caught them full-on kissing. Mom had blushed and waved at the crowds as Dad had linked his hands behind his head and winked. Catcalls had abounded.

Shutout’s coach was managing our team and called us together to give the usual pep talk, and we headed out. We were batting first.

I was third up to bat behind Shutout. Coach thought it better I follow him.

The game started, and the crowd went wild as the batter, Woodrow, walked up. Two strikes before he hit the ball and stole first. Shutout managed to grab first as Woodrow moved to second.

I stepped up. Strangely, I felt no nerves, nothing. I was focused on Gregson, the pitcher, and in the zone.

I took a few experimental springs and, digging my toe into the ground, took up a hitting stance. Gregson’s eyes narrowed as he recognised the stance of someone who knew what they were doing. There’d been some teasing from both sides about carrying me. Slowly, I grinned, and he spat on the floor.

I monitored his body language and recognised what Gregson was going to pitch before he did. Gregson wound up, the ball left his hand, and I swung hard.

Thwack.

That was a damn home run as I dropped my bat and started jogging. Shutout had taken off at speed, and I laughed as he twisted his head.

“Home run!” Shutout yelled, slowing down with his arms in the air in victory.

Grinning, I nodded and continued rounding the bases.

Oakley’s screams from the stands caught my attention, and I pointed at her, which made her jump up and down. She raised her hands above her head, mimicking Shutout, and cheered louder.

With a grin still on my face, I rounded third and headed for home. Shutout and Woodrow were waiting for me. I hit the two of them, and they hugged me tightly.

“Nice!” Woodrow crowed, ruffling my hair. Happily, I smiled at the veteran player and accepted his compliments.

Coach was staring at me thoughtfully as we approached. “Got any more of them, kid?”

“Home runs?”

“Yeah.”

“Probably; I could always outdo Shutout.”

Coach’s eyes grew wide, and he looked at me. “And you didn’t go pro?”

“I had a head injury that took two years to recover from. That weakened my arm. When I healed, docs told me I’d never play professionally,” I stated.

“Umm,” Coach muttered, dismissing Shutout and me.

We descended into the dugout, and I accepted the congratulations from everybody around me.

Slyly, I smiled. Everyone thought that had been a fluke, but Shutout and I exchanged a glance. We knew different.

???

I remained still, watching Gregson for a sign. We were on the third inning, and I was batting. Gregson showed me slightly more respect, but not much.

I studied his miniscule clues and guessed his pitch as he nodded to the catcher. The idiot’s body language gave it away every time. Gregson wound up, threw, and I swung.

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