Page 14 of The Strike Zone

“Show-off.” She laughed.

That was the day my crush on Scout Davison grew roots.

I meant to ask her out. Idid.

I wanted to. But every time I planned it, something got in the way. Ace’s Opening Day, or one of her colleagues, or our insane work schedule, or the absolute douche-nozzle she started dating at the end of last summer.

I lost my chance. It was possible I sulked (not that I would ever admit it) for weeks. Okay,months.

Right before Spring Training there’d been rumors of her and the douche breaking up; I waited with bated breath for confirmation.Then, this morning, like a ray of sunshine on a rainy, miserable day, I heard the news.

Scout was single once again.

My plan not to waste any time in asking her out, lasted until approximately thirty minutes after today’s game ended and Coach alerted me to my emails.

My jaw clenched again.

“Okay, settle down,” Coach started, then stopped.

The door banged back and Jupiter Reeves walked in and whispered something to Coach, who nodded and made his way to the back like he had all the time in the world. Jupiter Reeves did things on his own schedule.

“Gentlemen.” He nodded to us, taking a seat next to Lux.

“Okay, can we begin now? No one needs a bathroom break? Snacks? Drinks,” asked Coach, moving to the whiteboard behind him.

“I’ll take some Twizzlers, Coach,” called someone nearer the front, which caused another wave of chatter.

Coach responded in his usual manner—to stare until we were silent—though the corners of his mouth were twitching in amusement. “Okay, first off. You did good today. A game in the bag, we are one for one.”

The energy in the room exploded. Whoops, cheers, hollers all echoed off the walls.

“Home runs, stand up. Weston…King…Jones…Velasquez…” Each time he called a name he tossed a piece of candy our way. I caught a packet of Skittles and ripped it open. “Where’s Watson?”

Ace stood up slowly. I could tell he wasn’t sure whether he was about to get called out for last year’s Opening Day performance, even though he’d more than made up for that. A Snickers was launched through the air.

“You pitched good. Let’s keep it up.”

“Yes, Coach,” he mumbled through a giant bite of chocolate and peanuts. “Man, I’m hungry.”

“Okay,” Coach held his palms up, calling for silence once more, “now let’s get down to business and what we can improve on for tomorrow.”

For the next twenty minutes, he proceeded to rip apart everything we’d done. How we’d let the Braves score, how we’d not been paying enough attention to where the ball was. Twice it had been missed in the outfield and dropped, allowing the Braves to make too many runs off the bases.

Ace, who’d he called out earlier for doing a good job, was now being ripped apart for showing off with too many fastballs. I shrunk down in my seat hoping that I wouldn’t also get picked on for calling them, because he was only doing what I’d suggested. More than once we’d gone against the coach’s guidance, even though they’d resulted in a strike.

Next up on the chopping board was Boomer Jones, first base, who’d fumbled a catch.

I let out a sigh of relief.

“Is he talking about the game we just played? This sounds like a blood bath. Was he this pessimistic last season every time we won?” whispered Tanner.

I shook my head. “Nah, this is because of Shepherd. He wants the trophy.”

“He needs to start by getting rid of that goddamn plinth in the lobby. Gives me the heebie-jeebies every time we pass it,” added Tanner ominously, letting out a dramatic shudder.

“Tell me about it.”

“Okay, housekeeping time.” Coach slapped his clipboard loudly. “It’s the start of the season and I’m only going to remind you once. This is not a frat house. The locker rooms are not there for you to dump all the crap your wives and girlfriends won’t let you take home. The laundry is not for your personal use…” He pulled his glasses off and peered over everyone until his eyes landed on Ace. “Watson, we’re clear on this, right? Get yourself a housekeeper.”

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