Page 27 of Switch Pitching

I haven’t pitched to him yet, so I switch the ball to my left hand and my custom glove to my right. A sweet, subtle flicker of confusion crosses Garcia’s face and I narrow my eyes. In almost every game, I pitch with my right hand, so that’s what opposing teams are briefed on. I still practice with my left, though, and I bring it out when I need to.

I wind up and push through. The ball leaves my hand, curving in toward the plate, and I wait.

Garcia swings, but he’s a split second too late. The ball connects weakly and sputters toward the infield. Will’s already on the move, and he scoops it up before firing it to first, beating Garcia by half a step.

“Out!” the umpire calls, and the ballpark erupts.

I let out a breath I was holding for too long. We got him. We actually got him.

I walk off the mound, my heart still racing. The team is coming in too, cheering me on as we head to the dugout. I catch Ethan’s eye as he jogs in from the outfield and he gives me a solid nod, the one that says he knows we just dodged a bullet.

We settle as we head into the bottom of the ninth. The game is still tied, but we’ve got a solid shot. The momentum’s ours, and it’s palpable. We only need one run to close this out.

Tim, one of the veterans, is up to bat. He takes a couple of pitches and lets them pass, racking up two balls. New York’s pitcher is getting a little antsy now and I can see him fidgeting.

The third pitch comes in right down the middle. The crack of Tim’s bat ricochets as the ball surges away, bouncing into the corner. Tim’s off, rounding first and gunning for second. They put up a good fight, but Tim plants himself on second base before the ball comes back in.

We’re in business.

Another one of our solid veterans, Miles, steps up. He’s calm and it shows. The pitcher tries to put on a brave face as he tries to regroup, but I can see his nerves creeping in.

He slips up and fires a fastball that ends up in a ball.

Second pitch. The ball comes in high, and Miles swings, making a beautiful, clean connection. It’s not out of the park, but it’s enough.

Tim launches himself to third, rounding toward home as the ball comes down just short of the wall. It’s sent back in, but it’s too late.

Tim makes it home, and the game is over.

The ballpark explodes in cheers as we rush out of the dugout to celebrate. I’m on my feet, adrenaline still coursing through me. It’s pure chaos, but it’s the best. Ethan’s right there in themix, grinning as we all pile onto the field. We pulled it off. One of the best career launches either of us could have asked for.

The aftermath is a blur as we shake hands with New York and collect ourselves. Ethan and I get approached by some journalists, and we answer their questions confidently with our media training in full display.

Our interviews wind down and we head to the locker room. I beeline for showers and strip off my gear in the fancy, renovated, freshly tiled stall. The cool water feels like heaven, leaving me refreshed and recharged.

Once I’ve cleaned up with too much of the expensive-smelling soap, I get dressed and meet up with Ethan.

The night’s cooling down as we step outside and we start the short walk back to our place. Ethan slings his arm around my shoulder, and I smile.

“You were on fire out there,” I say, bumping his shoulder.

“Says you and your switch pitching skills. I didn’t know you had that in you.” A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

I shrug, trying to stay modest. “Had to pull out something special for Garcia, that dude’s a beast.”

Ethan nods. “Yeah, but you handled it. That was epic.”

“Yeah, it was. Feels good to start the season off with a win like that.”

We don’t say much more for the rest of our walk, and we head straight to our own rooms. I toss and turn for a bit, but I can’t fall asleep. Groaning, I check my phone, and I see an email from the team manager. The subject doesn’t tell me anything useful, so I open the email for a quick scan.

In short, I’ll be alternating as the starting pitcher from now on, and Ethan’s being scheduled for more games. The reason? We both killed it out there tonight.

Jumping up, I race out of my bedroom and over to Ethan’s, almost too excited to even think.

“Yo, check your email!” I shout, turning the handle and walking into Ethan’s room.

“James—” he starts, and I skid to a halt.

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