by Ginger Scott
When I practiced this speech in the shower this morning, I kinda imagined the slow clap coming in right about now. My expectations probably make the silence feel more awkward than it is, but I’m still glad I said it all, every word.
“Thanks, Cannon. That displays leadership, and it’s what I hope to see from all of you, especially the seniors,” Coach says, nodding at me. Before he can continue his talk, though, my cousin’s fragile ego takes over the space.
“Fucking bullshit,” Zack utters. Whether it’s poor timing that he said those words in a quiet lull or he just couldn’t contain his aggression, all eyes are now on him. He’s got the stage, but he is not the one I expected to stand up in this spotlight. I thought Hollis would call him out, but not until we are dismissed. Maybe he’ll call himself out. He can make things right or he can drown—here and now—in his own bad choices. I kneel, letting him have his moment. I’d like to say I am rooting for him, but I’m not. I’m so damn ashamed of what he did and the person he’s become that I’m not being the bigger person. I want him to fall apart. I want him to fail.
“What was that?” Coach Taylor’s glasses are off, and there is no mistaking the direction of his stare.
“Nothing,” Zack says, trying to erase the last ten seconds and literally eat his words.
“No, you had something to add, clearly. We all heard it. Go on.” Coach takes a few steps and the freshmen on their knees in the front crawl out of his way. Nobody wants to get caught in crossfire.
A standoff is underway between Coach and my cousin, and for an uncomfortable and full minute, I worry neither will give in. Hollis’s dad is clearly fine standing in that spot all night with his arms crossed and his heavy brow leveled at my cousin’s head. Young and stupid, though, are two qualities that can be toxic when mixed, and my cousin is about to turn them into a back-firing grenade.
“I said it was bullshit,” my cousin finally says.
“I believe you used the words fucking bullshit, in response to a speech about character. Please, elaborate.” A few noticeable mumbles simmer around us. A few “Oh, my God’s” and “Oh shits.”
“Fine. I will. That speech was all just more fucking bullshit. My cousin doesn’t believe that crap. I’ve played ball with him before, for years.”
“Maybe I’ve grown,” I speak up. I’m a little surprised myself, but now that I’m in it, I realize exactly how much my speech and that made-up story about a school means to me—how much my own character means to me. I’m going to defend it.
“Ha, sure. Whatever. Or maybe you’re just in love.” There’s a collective gasp.
“Maybe you’re threatened by a girl.” My heart stops at the sound of her voice. This was my end goal, but suddenly I’m surprised to hear Hollis assert herself. I turn to find her standing several feet away, her arms folded over her chest, like her father’s.
“Sweetheart, I’m not—”
“Sexist? Is that what you were going to follow that up with? Or do you call everybody sweetheart?” Hollis steps over a few of the guys and brushes against my chest as she passes me and jets straight toward Zack. They’re toe-to-toe, and Jay and Roland are staring at the grass, too chicken shit to look her in the eyes.
“I’ll go head-to-head with you anytime and win.” Nobody else would notice the slight grit to my cousin’s voice, but I hear it. I also see the way his jaw is working. He knows he’s lying, but he’s paddling for air, frantic to save face with desperate words followed by more desperate words. What’s worse is his father is taking long strides behind him, crossing the football field on his way to see what’s going down.
“Ha! I wish that were the case, but you can’t handle a fair fight with me. You’re too afraid you’ll lose. You’re so afraid that—”
“Are you still bent over that little fun we had with the field hose on Friday?” His snarky laughter stands out in the sudden quiet. Even the breeze stops, and with darkness coming on quick, the air is cold and sound travels. My uncle is plenty close enough to hear that. Zack obviously has no idea he’s there, standing with about four rows of players between them.
Hollis steps in closer, turning four feet into two, then one, and eventually pushing at Zack’s chest with her finger. “You held me down,” she growls. “You belittled me in front of my teammates. You made them participate! I’m working my ass off, trying to earn respect, and at every turn you’re there, trying to strip it away. That story your cousin told isn’t bullshit. It’s true. Only that assault didn’t happen in Texas, did it Zack?”
My cousin looks down and to the side, rolling his eyes as if she’s crazy and making things up.
“Roland? Jay?” I call out their names to offer them a chance to stand up for her. They keep their eyes on the ground, but their silence is validation enough.
“Zachery!” My uncle’s voice booms over everything else, and my cousin spins on his heels, coming face-to-face with the man who should have been a better role model.
My chest squeezes with guilt I haven’t felt until now. What maybe should have been a private moment is now very public. I don’t feel as right about any of it as I thought I would, but I don’t feel wrong, either.
Hollis stands her ground, not giving my cousin a place to turn so he’s forced to face his father. Her own dad calls everyone’s attention back to him. I remain in this limbo where I’m paying attention to everything and nothing all at once.
“I think maybe we need to add something to our tryouts this year. An interview,” he says, and as I turn to face him, our eyes meet. “One about your character.”
I swallow, worried that he’s questioning mine after all this. It’s so hard to decide what’s right, and maybe I was on a crusade. Maybe I was in more than her corner with this; maybe I took up her whole damn room, siphoning the air and taking all the credit.
“Bring it in,” Coach says. Everyone scrambles to their feet and moves to form a tight circle around him. Everyone but the three of us.
Leaving Zack alone with his dad, Hollis turns until she faces me. I’m speechless, my face a blank slate, probably the same as hers. I don’t know if I let her down or lifted her up, but I do know I want to be a better person. I know she’s the reason. Because of her, I’m not as selfish, or I try not to be. I’m less closed off, and more open to criticism and coaching. I’m a better player for sure, but a better human too. I’ve still got work though.
“One, two, three—Eagles!”
“Hollis.” I say her name just as the cheer breaks behind me. She blinks twice, her expression never changing, then moves her focus to the dugout where her gear sits in a pile.
“Hey.” I reach out toward her as she moves toward her things. When she brings her arms in close to avoid my touch, I feel a punch to my gut. I didn’t do this right. I fucked this up.
I wallow in my own self-pity until my uncle marches back to his truck, leaving my cousin to swim in his alone. There won’t be any lights coming on. Tryouts are done when the sun sets, and with the gray sky looming above, that’s a little earlier tonight.
“Jennings.” Both Zack and I turn at the sound of our name being called. Coach’s form is barely visible in the dwindling light. He’s alone, most of the players well on their way to the parking lot. His daughter is in the dugout under the yellow glow of lights that barely work. She looks furious, something I can read from her posture even this far away.
“Both of you,” he begins, and we move closer to him.
My heart pounds in my chest, the rush of adrenaline from everything I’ve done and said, and the fear of being called out for something unexpected. Stronger than my fear of Coach, though, is my crushing dread that I messed things up with Hollis. That I broke her trust and told her secret. I’ll run a thousand miles if that’s what Coach asks me to do, if it means I might be able to make it up to her. My intent was good. She must know that.
“Sorry, Coach,” I say right out of the gate. My cousin doesn’t call me a kiss-up this time, and he’s probably mad that I apologized first.
“Fix this.” Coach wiggles his finger between us then points over his shoulder with his thumb toward Hollis.
“And you.” He shifts his position, closing me off so he’s speaking only to Zack. “I want you to look deep inside tonight and assess yourself. You have decisions to make.”
Zack swallows loud enough that I hear it.
“Yes, sir,” he says.
His eyes shift to me briefly. I can’t apologize for giving him his due. He did that all on his own.
“Come ready to throw tomorrow.” Coach’s eyes square with mine and I nod, uttering the same, “Yes, sir” that my cousin did.
Coach Taylor turns his back on us and heads toward the back of the gym where his office is, whistling toward the dugout to let Hollis know to follow. My cousin leaves me standing there alone, too caught up in his own drama and misplaced rage to stick this out. I take every bit of my punishment, though, from her first steps from the dugout when the lights inside go out to the point where she reaches the walkway that splits in two directions. Hollis will either head toward me or her father’s office, and I can’t help but feel that the direction she chooses is a commentary on who makes her feel the safest.
I’m not totally surprised when it isn’t me. Still, it hurts like hell.
22
Hollis
I’ve already cried my cry. I’m not doing it again. I’m not living it again. I did it and it’s done. Every time my dad asks if I have anything he needs to know, though, the damn tears threaten to show their ugly side in the corners of my eyes.
“I need to know if I have to report something.” His face is stern, and it’s hard not to feel attacked. It isn’t fair; I’m not the person who should be getting grilled about this.
“It’s handled,” I say, leveling him with another blank stare. We take turns blinking at one another as if it’s a contest.
I don’t know why it’s our method, but it is. When I was a kid and did something wrong, my father would look at me, wordlessly, and blink through a long hard stare until I broke under the pressure and admitted to everything. As I got older, I learned the same trick worked on him, only I used it when he told me no for no good reason. Throw in a “Please, Daddy,” and the world was mine.
“I hate this world for you. You know that, right?” He finally gives in and doesn’t force me to make this into something bigger. Maybe it should be. What Zack did isn’t okay, but I don’t want to be the poster child. I just want to play baseball. That’s it. If my face shows up in the newspaper, I want it to be for an All-Star bid or for some college that’s taking a chance on a girl who can catch.
“I’ll change it. This world will be just fine when I’m done.”
He laughs at my confident response, but it’s a sad laugh. It breaks down some of my bravado.
“I might be a little late here, you know,” he says, holding up his scoring book filled with charts and notes he made from today’s tryout. He flops it down on top of the four others from his assistants.
“I’ll help,” I say, putting my finger on the spiral binding of one of them. He pulls them away and gives me a sideways glance.
“I know, I know. Coach’s daughter can’t be involved. No showing favoritism. Just . . . tell me. What did Coach Dixon think of my sixty time?”
My father smirks and a genuine laugh finally slips out from his wind-burned lips.
“I don’t have to read it to tell you he said you got a slow jump and need to work on breaking faster.”
I pull in my brow, scowling at him.
“You said that. And I know.” I sigh.
I sit back in the chair on the opposite side of his desk and put a foot up on the corner, near his mug that reads World’s Best Coach. I gave him that in Little League and we all signed it. Most of the signatures have worn off, but I love that he still drinks out of it every single day.
“Are you just gonna stare at me while I go through these?” He’s slipped on his reading glasses and asks me while glaring over the rims. It’s funny to see him old, though he’d be quick to put me in my place.
“Nah,” I say, leaning to the side and pulling out my pack of gum. I unwrap a piece and pop it in my mouth, then hold the pack out for him. He shakes his head.
“Suit yourself,” I say, pushing it back into my right back pocket then shifting my weight to pull my phone out of my left. I prop my device up on my knee and open the meme app that always makes me laugh. It starts off with a bang with a video of a kitten on top of a record player, spinning.
“I think I’d rather you stare at me than make that sound,” my dad says.
I glance up at him and snap my gum.
“What sound?”
He flattens his pencil on his desk and drops his head into his hands, pulling his glasses away so he can pinch the bridge of his nose.
“Sorry.” I shrink into my seat and turn the volume down on my phone, then spit my barely broken in gum into the wastebasket at my side.
My father continues to stare at me, and I know it’s because he feels guilty that I was somebody’s target again. This is exactly what I didn’t want. I don’t want sympathy, I want change, but that is going to be slow, and probably not fully happen in my lifetime. But if I start something, if I inspire someone—a little version of me? Maybe my great granddaughter will be able to go out for whatever sport she wants and get the respect she deserves.
“You know there’s a pretty decent guy hovering outside my door waiting to take you home, right?” My mouth drops because no, I didn’t.
I look over my shoulder at the closed door with nothing but a slit window that’s dirty and impossible to see through.
“He’s texted me twice,” my dad admits. He twists his own phone around to show me, pushing it forward on his desk with one finger so I can read it. It feels a little intrusive, but it doesn’t stop me.
Coach, I am sorry if I caused problems today. If Hollis is still here, can you tell her I’m outside?
Coach, I’m still outside. Does Hollis need a ride home?
I don’t realize I’m grinning until my dad calls me on it, covering the screen with his palm until I look up and feel it sting my face.
“He was trying to do right by you,” my father says. He shrugs, then adds, “Be part of that change you want, you know?
I look down to my hands kneading in my lap and pick at the dry corners of my nails. I know he meant well, and the position I put him in, having to hold in a secret like that, was unfair. It’s just that I’m so tired of the fight. Every time, with everything—a fight.
“Go on. If you stay here, you’re going to get on my nerves.”
I meet my dad’s stare and it’s earnest, and he isn’t lying. I will drive him nuts for the next two hours. I’ll also spend the time sitting here wondering if Cannon is going to text me, if he’s still outside.
“See ya at home?” I lift my bag up over my shoulder.
My dad points at me.
“Promptly home. This is a school night.” He puts his glasses back on but lets his glare linger for a second. I snort out a laugh, mostly because it gets under his skin. He just looks down at his work and waves me off.
All of the sureness in my decision fades away the second I step outside. I look to my left and my right, adjusting to the stark darkness outside.
“Cannon?” I whisper his name, testing the sound. The only response is a whistle of wind against my face. I drop my bag to pull out my heavy sweatshirt and pull it on, then tug my bag up on my arm and light my pathway with my phone.
“Cannon?” I call out louder this time, my chest tightening. I’m afraid. I’m scared because I’m a woman alone in the dark. I’m so mad that I have to feel this way, that I’m looking for someone I trust while fearing those I don’t. Goddamn Zack for making me feel that way!
When my phone buzzes in my hand, I jump and flatten my back against the wall. I touch my screen to read the message, my pulse skipping for a good reason this time when I see Cannon’s n
ame.
Was that you? I’m still here.
I type back Yes and walk faster toward the parking lot.
“Hollis?” My name is called from around the building, so I rush toward the sound and round the corner, running into his chest, his arms swallowing me up. I’m crying on impact, and let it happen. It’s not a bad cry this time. It’s one born from relief, from happiness that he’s still here.
“I’m so sorry. I only wanted to help, and—”
I shake my head and drop my bag at our feet, holding his face between my freezing palms so I can kiss him.
“Shut up,” I demand. “I know. I know.”
As good as his kiss feels, it’s his hug that makes a world of difference. Every misfire in my chest rights itself, my breaths even out, and my eyes focus on the soft sweatshirt and hard chest in front of me, around me, holding me.
Cannon is an ally. He is a voice different than mine but up for fighting my battles along with me. He’s tender and honest and fearless. He gives me hope, and that’s all I ask for. Hope, and the chance to catch for a pitcher like him.
“Let me take you home, Hollis Taylor from Indiana.” His soft smile shines back at me. I rub my arm across my eyes to dry the tears and make room for the smile I mean with every bit of my soul.
There will be more to face tomorrow, questions from people who were there, accusations from Cannon’s uncle, and poor excuses from Zack. It’ll be ugly, and I wanted to spare everyone from that. But all I did was keep the negative for myself, take the abuse, and make myself small. I’m ready to live large again.
I thread my fingers through Cannon’s while he hoists my bag up on his shoulder with a heavy groan. Catcher’s gear is no joke, and he’s used to nothing but a glove. It’s about time I let someone else carry the load.
Epilogue
Cannon
When we first started this journey, there was snow on the ground. Never a lot, but it was there. Today, it’s unseasonably warm—a balmy eighty-five with humidity crawling up and down my ass. How Hollis survives in that gear beats me, but we’re literally one out away from going to state.
