“Caroline? You okay?”
She only nodded her head in response.
“Did you know them?”
She looked up then. “Yeah. They’re from the baseball team. The one in the middle, doing all the talking, his name is Ryan. He’s my boyfriend.”
Connor coughed, working to hide the surprise that hit him. “You, uh, never mentioned you had a boyfriend.”
“That was one question you didn’t ask.” Caroline chuckled.
“Well, I guess that’s true.” Connor chuckled also. “So, a baseball player, huh? I guess that makes sense. Is he any good?”
“Yeah. He’s one of the stars of the team. He hit for the cycle in their game over the weekend.”
“That’s a big deal, I’m guessing?”
“Oh yeah, pretty rare. He’s been getting calls from major league scouts. He’s excited. And obsessed.”
Connor watched her face fall as she said the last part. “And what about you?”
“Me?” Her eyebrows crinkled in confusion.
“Are you as excited and obsessed as he is?” Connor grinned, trying to bring back the lightheartedness from earlier.
Caroline shrugged. “I’m happy for him, if that’s what you mean.”
“Kinda.”
“It’s all he talks about,” Caroline sighed. “I try to be happy and supportive, but it can be a little much for me at times, considering.” She glanced down at her right elbow.
“I can understand that.”
Caroline nodded her head at his words. “So, do I get to ask you all sorts of questions now? Should I go get some fries, or tater tots, or something to use as an incentive for you to answer?” Caroline smirked at him.
“You can ask me whatever you want, but…” Connor paused to pull his phone out of his pocket, checking the time. “I have a class to get to. I’m guessing you probably do, too?”
Caroline peered over the table to read his phone. “Oh, yeah, I do. I didn’t realize what time it had gotten to be.”
They both stood, and Caroline put her textbook and headphones into her backpack. Connor strode over to the closest trash can, disposing of the trash from his food.
“Which way are you going?” Connor grabbed his backpack and swung it over his shoulders.
“That way.” Caroline pointed.
“Me, too.” They walked through the union, managing to stay together as they navigated the crowd.
“Can I ask one quick thing? As we walk?” Caroline glanced over at him.
“Sure.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Caroline bit her lip to keep from grinning.
“Not at all what I thought you’d ask.” Connor chuckled. “No, I don’t have a girlfriend.
Caroline giggled. “Glad I could clear that up.”
Connor laughed. He opened the door for Caroline, and she giggled again as she passed through. He smiled at the sound, glad that at least for the time being, she had forgotten about the boyfriend who hadn’t noticed her waving at him.
Ten
The pitching circle and the entire game looked different from the dugout than from the field. Sure, Caroline had spent plenty of innings behind the chain link, when her team was hitting, or if she wasn’t pitching, but this felt more isolated. Like she was watching from a distance.
Which she was.
She was an outsider. She was no longer in a uniform, no longer a part of the buzz or the adrenaline. Her actions, her abilities, no longer had any effect on the outcome of the game. All she was doing was charting pitches. It was all she could do.
It was a reality that had become more and more clear ever since her talk with Connor.
What made watching and charting even harder was that the team was winning. Not just this game, but the whole tournament. Undefeated, they were now in the championship game.
Vanessa had hit a three-run homerun her last at bat, giving them a comfortable lead. They were headed to the top of the seventh inning, and Sarah was pitching a no-hitter. No one on the opposing team had been able to get a ball out of the infield.
“What did we throw this girl last time?” Coach Tara looked over Caroline’s shoulder at the clipboard in her hand.
Caroline studied the chart. Her job was to mark down which pitches they called in which location, in what order, if it was a ball or a strike, and what the hitter did with the pitch. “Two drop balls outside, a curve outside, then a screwball coming in, which she popped up to shortstop.”
“Thanks.” Coach Tara signaled to the catcher what she wanted Sarah to throw. “Drop inside,” she murmured to Caroline. She wrote it down and waited to see where it went.
Caroline watched as Sarah stepped on to the pitching rubber, took the signal from the catcher, and spun the ball in her glove, finding the right grip. Caroline imagined her fingers around the seams, and as Sarah threw the pitch, her muscles remembered how it felt: her wrist snapping by her hip, turning her hand over to get the right spin, to make the ball start in the strike zone, then spiral downward as it reached home plate. The batter swung, hitting a weak ground ball to Vanessa at third base. She fielded it and made a clean throw to first. One pitch, one out.
“Fastball in, then change up away.” Caroline finished writing down the last out as she told Coach Tara what they had done earlier to get the next batter. “She grounded out to Sarah.”
Coach Tara nodded her head. “Let’s go with a curve ball, outside corner.” She flashed the call to the catcher, her fingers moving through a set of numbers. Holding her breath, Caroline penciled it on to the paper and waited.
Again, as Sarah went through her delivery, Caroline imagined herself going through the motions. She stepped across her body with her left foot, just enough to give herself leverage to pull the pitch across from hip to hip, creating the spin that would cause the ball to dive away from the hitter.
“Strike!” The batter froze as the ump called the pitch. Caroline marked it down.
“Change up, in.” Coach Tara smiled at her as she wrote it down.
Sarah nodded as the catcher gave her the call. Caroline closed her eyes, picturing her wrist staying stiff as she flipped her hand, taking about ten miles an hour of velocity off the ball. She heard the ting of the bat and looked out just in time to see Sarah fielding the ball. Two pitches, two outs.
“Alright, one more to go.” Coach Tara glanced over at Caroline. “How’d we get her?”
Caroline looked down at her chart. “Drop in, change in, screw ball up and in, struck out.”
Coach Tara went through a number of signs again, relaying to the catcher what she wanted thrown. The catcher turned and gave the pitch to Sarah, but before Coach Tara could tell Caroline what to mark down, Sarah shook her head no, calling off the pitch. The catcher gave another sign, and Sarah agreed.
“What’d she shake off?” Caroline clutched the side of the clipboard.
“Screw ball.” Coach Tara pursed her lips together as she studied the field.
“And we have no idea what she’s throwing?”
“Nope.”
Caroline stared out toward the mound as the pitcher worked to get her grip. She saw the girl line up her middle finger on the seam, and curl her index finger, just a touch.
Rise ball, Caroline thought to herself, not daring to tell Coach Tara. A rise ball was a strikeout pitch, something you threw when you were ahead in the count. Very few pitchers ever threw it as the first pitch, unless they were sure they could start it low enough to get it called for a strike. And that was when you were pretty certain the hitter wasn’t going to swing at it. Caroline wasn’t sure Sarah was experienced enough to do that, to have that kind of knowledge.
Please throw it for a ball. Caroline tightened her right hand into a fist, clenching it so tight that her elbow and pinky finger ached. She held onto the pain, remembering how to throw the last pitch she had ever thrown. Keep your weight back, shoulders behind your hip. Have a long arm, knuckles reaching toward the ground. Lead with your pinky, sna
p the doorknob open.
Sarah fired away, and Caroline watched as the ball started to rise, but then flattened out into the heart of the strike zone. The hitter made contact. A hardline drive to center field.
“Get there.” Coach Tara’s whisper was the only noise in the dugout. All eyes were glued on their center fielder, April. She was sprinting across the grass, eyes glued to the ball. Caroline thought it was going to bounce, but April dove, stretching her entire body out. The ball smacked into her glove. Three outs. Ball game.
No hitter.
Caroline wrote down the pitch and where it went as everyone around her began celebrating. She slid the pencil into the clip at the top of the clipboard and handed it to Coach Tara.
“That was close.” Coach Tara put the clipboard down into her backpack.
“Yeah. You may want to talk to her about using a rise ball as a first pitch.” Caroline stood and stretched her arms out over her head.
“No kidding. But not today. I’ll let her enjoy the moment. We’ll talk about it next practice.”
Caroline nodded her head as she watched Sarah give April a huge hug, thanking her teammate for the catch she had made to end the game. Everyone was high-fiving, chattering in their excitement over the win.
But she was in the dugout.
She turned away and got to work, cleaning up and putting away any equipment that belonged to the team.
As she reached for the broom, she saw Coach Sullivan jog out to the outfield where the team was huddled, waiting for him to start the after-game talk. In his hand, he held the game ball.
Caroline waited, leaning on the broom handle, and watched him present the ball to Sarah. The pitcher beamed, holding the ball with both hands as everybody clapped. Tears sprung to Caroline’s eyes, and she was grateful no one else was in the dugout to see.
What she would give to have that ball again. To be in control of the game, to dominate the other team. To have a purpose. To feel needed.
Caroline went back to sweeping, focusing on the clouds of dust she formed with each push of the bristles. She stared at the circling sand, letting it take her back to the first game ball she had received as a sophomore in high school.
§
“Let’s go, Maya! You got this!” Caroline wrapped her fingers through the chain link fence of the dugout and cheered for her teammate in the batter’s box. It was the bottom of the sixth inning of the state championship game. Neither team had scored yet, but they had a runner on second base, and one of their best hitters was up.
Caroline watched as the opposing pitcher delivered the ball, missing the strike zone for ball one. Maya stepped out of the box as the catcher threw the ball back to the circle, taking a couple of practice swings to stay prepared. She turned back to the plate and got ready for the next pitch.
The pitcher didn’t want to throw another ball, so she came into the strike zone. Maya swung the bat, hitting a line drive to right field for a base hit. Caroline and her other teammates screamed and jumped up and down as Tina sprinted from second to third. Their cheers and cries grew even louder as she turned for home.
The right fielder collected the ball and threw it toward home plate. Tina and the ball arrived in a dead tie, but Tina slid around the catcher, avoiding the tag, reaching through the swirling dust from her slide to touch home plate. The entire team erupted out of the dugout to celebrate when the umpire called her safe.
They moved their celebration back to the dugout, so the next hitter could go. Maya had moved to second base on the throw to the plate, and with just one inning left to play, they could use any run they could score.
Caroline resumed her spot on the dugout fence, hoping they could get that second run in. She had been pitching a great game, but another run of support would take some pressure off her. And the pressure was on.
She was throwing a no-hitter.
No one had said it out loud, so they wouldn’t jinx it, and she knew she shouldn’t have it on her mind, but she did. She wanted it, and she was three outs away from accomplishing it.
The clank of the bat on the ball got her attention. She watched as the ball sailed toward left field, her fingers clenching the fence as the ball sailed deeper and deeper, begging it to go out. But the left fielder tracked it to the base of the wall where she made the catch. Caroline sighed.
She would have to finish this with only one run on the board.
She took a minute, gathering her glove and pulling her ponytail back through her hat. She closed her eyes, refocusing on what she needed to do. A no-hitter or not, she needed to go win this game, the state championship. She had to throw strikes, to get outs. And that’s just what she planned on doing.
Caroline jogged out to the circle. Picking up the ball, she snapped it into her glove a couple of times, loosening her finger and her wrist. She lined her feet up and went through her warm-up pitches, the ball spinning away from her with ease. She was ready to go.
Placing her feet on the rubber, she looked down to the catcher forty-three feet away. She took her sign: screw ball. She went through the pitch in her mind, thinking of how to throw it. She fired, getting the batter to hit a dinky ground ball to the shortstop for the first out.
Two to go. Caroline got the ball back from her first baseman and walked to the back of the circle, taking a deep breath. She bent down and got a handful of dirt, rubbing it over her palm to help her grip the ball. Her throwing hand felt damp in anticipation as she wiped it on her pants, then stepped back up to the rubber.
Drop ball. She thought about the spin before she began her delivery. She wound and snapped, inducing another ground ball for the second out.
Caroline could feel the crowd’s anticipation. She could sense the energy pulsing through her team. Everyone knew this was it, the last batter she would have to face if she could get the out. The championship would be theirs. The no-hitter would be hers.
She forced another deep breath as she stepped to the rubber to get her sign. Another drop ball. She repeated the motion and spin she had just thrown for a called strike one. She got the ball back, replanted her feet on the rubber, and waited for the next call.
Caroline nodded her head, agreeing to the changeup. Keep your arm speed up, she reminded herself as she worked the ball in her glove to get the grip she wanted. She flipped her wrist as she released, slowing down the pitch for a called strike two.
The fans for their team stood up in the stands, recognizing they needed just one more strike to win. Caroline took the ball to the edge of the pitching circle, looking out at the center field fence, then up to the lights shining down on the field. The last beams of light from the sunset glowed over the top of the mountains. The May breeze ruffled the end of her ponytail. She closed her eyes. You can do this. Throw a strike. It’s that easy.
Turning back, determination echoing in each step, she took to the rubber. The catcher relayed the sign to her. Screw ball, up and in.
With two strikes on the hitter, Caroline knew she needed to make this a chase pitch, something out of the strike zone that would trick the batter into swinging and missing. She pictured where she wanted it to go, and off she went.
She gave the pitch a little extra oomph, grunting as she snapped the ball. It ran in and up, going right where she wanted it. The batter swung through it, missing by several inches. Strike three. Three outs. Ballgame.
State championship.
No-hitter.
Caroline threw her glove up in the air as her teammates invaded the pitching circle, throwing their arms around each other, sweat and tears mixing as they screamed in celebration. Their coach ran out to join them, stopping first to get the ball from the umpire. He pushed his way to the middle of their huddle to find Caroline.
“Great game, girls! Let’s keep celebrating! But first, Caroline, here’s your game ball!”
Everyone cheered her name as she accepted the ball, taking it in both hands, a large smile stretching across her entire face.
§
; “Caroline?” Coach Sullivan put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her from sweeping.
Caroline spun around. “Yeah?”
“I think the dugout is all clean now, if you want to quit.”
Her eyes snapped up and looked around. Everyone was gone except for the two of them.
“Oh. I guess I lost track of time.” She sat the broom back in the corner, behind the bench.
“You seemed like you were lost in thought. Anything you want to talk about?”
Caroline hesitated. Watching the tournament, seeing Sarah’s no-hitter, then going back to her no-hitter as a sophomore in high school had brought her to a startling conclusion. She had started softball to escape the pity her friends and family felt for her because of her accident. She had focused on pitching to help her heart move on from the pain of losing Beau. She had started something new, but only after letting something go.
Blinking, she realized she had to move on. Again.
“Actually, yeah, there is.”
“What’s up?”
“You remember how a few weeks ago, after you saw me trying to pitch again, you told me that eventually something would make sense again?” She stared down at her tennis shoes as she spoke.
“Yes, I do. Do you think you’ve got it already?”
“No, not even close. But I think my first step in finding what makes sense is leaving all of this behind.”
Coach Sullivan studied her, taking his time developing a response. “I’m guessing today was kind of hard for you.”
Caroline nodded her head in agreement. “Not just today. The whole weekend. And every practice leading up to it.”
“I can understand that. So, you’re saying you quit?” A small smile lifted the corners of the coach’s mouth.
Caroline gave a short laugh. “Yeah, I guess that is what I’m saying.”
Coach Sullivan came closer and gave her left shoulder a squeeze. “Alright, kiddo. If you decide you want to come back, please don’t hesitate. You’ll always have a spot here.”
Caroline's Purpose Page 8
