He chewed his lip while he processed her response, perhaps trying to decide whether she was being unduly modest. “Okay, let’s see what you’re made of. Start by showing me your pitching.”
She obliged. Under Tyler’s watchful eye, she threw around a dozen fastballs, making certain each one stayed within the expected velocity for a junior female player.
Tyler pursed his lips and tried to appear unimpressed. “Not bad. Let’s see what you can do under pressure. Trace!” he yelled at one of the girls lounging in the bullpen. “You’re up.”
Trace roused herself and wandered up to the plate while Jay debated her next course of action. She wanted to acquit herself well. But not too well. She focused on Trace, who certainly didn’t seem to be in any hurry to take her place at the batter’s box. The girl tugged her gloves, fiddling with the clasps. She stepped in the box and something inside Jay’s chest tightened with—
Anticipation. It thrummed though her body, millions of little pinpricks dancing over her skin.
A sixth sense made her glance up at the bleachers and she spotted Matt and Caro picking their way toward Em.
She glanced toward Tyler, saw him watching her intently.
An audience.
Alien emotions coursed through her veins. Eagerness, a fierce glee, a craving to pit herself against another female. A desire to prove herself worthy enough to win a male’s approval.
That she wasn’t human, and shouldn’t care what any human thought of her physical prowess, didn’t concern her at this moment. She was caught up in the heady thrill of the coming confrontation. Pitcher against batter. Nerd against jock. Jay’s cyborg ability to gather, analyze and extrapolate data, and then perform a specific task, against this girl’s hands-on experience.
The game was on.
And then Trace stepped out of the batter’s box.
Jay choked on a guttural cry of protest. She’d been ready, poised to begin a precise set of movements that would ultimately end with the ball being launched. She could almost see the fastball she’d been planning whizzing right past the bat and thunking into the catcher’s mitt. That ball she’d been about to pitch, its trajectory and curve and speed…. It would have been a thing of beauty! The heat that’d flushed her skin abruptly drained, leaving her cold and shaking.
Trace took a practice swing, then set her bat down, wedging the knob under her belt buckle as she fiddled with her gloves again.
Jay bared her teeth in a soundless growl. What on earth did this girl think she was doing? How could she spoil the moment with such… such… nonsensical mucking about for no reason Jay could fathom?
Trace took a step towards the box then halted, adjusting her cap before she cast a glance in Jay’s direction. A challenging glance.
Knowing slammed Jay—a classically human “aha!” moment. She allowed the tension to drain from her body. This girl—Trace—knew Jay was “on”. She might have appeared to be distracted while Jay had been pitching one fastball after another, but she’d been paying attention.
Hitting was all about timing. And pitching was about upsetting that timing, so it might appear the pitcher ultimately held all the power. An intelligent hitter knew better. And Trace was smart enough to know she could slow everything down and perhaps affect Jay’s confidence and timing when she pitched. She hoped to control when Jay pitched the ball and puncture the momentum Jay had built up.
Now she knew what Trace was up to, Jay did not perform any pitching exercises or resort to any petty little delays of her own, such as examining the ball or slapping it into her borrowed mitt. She simply stood in place, waiting. Waiting for her opponent. “Take your time. When you’re ready,” she called.
Trace threw her a curt nod, tacitly accepting the challenge. She stepped into the batter’s box and this time her gaze flicked to Jay’s right hand, trying to spot whether she had changed her grip.
Jay’s estimation of the girl rose. The preferred grip to pitch a change-up was known as a circle-change. She would hold the ball deep in her palm with her forefinger and thumb making an “OK” sign. Or she could hold the ball deep in her palm, encasing it with all her fingers in a grip known as the palm-ball.
She kept her fastball grip, holding the ball loosely at her fingertips. She saw Trace take note of the grip. She saw the sly grin curving the girl’s mouth as she “read” her pitcher.
Trace tapped the plate with her bat.
“Don’t try anything fancy, Trace,” Tyler instructed. “Stick to the basics.”
Jay would also heed Tyler’s advice and stick to the basics so she had a base-line for her opponent’s abilities. She pitched her usual fastball at Trace, not even flinching at the harsh ping of aluminum bat contacting with the ball. She glanced at Em, and saw her face creased with sympathy for Jay’s plight.
“Nice line-drive!” Tyler yelled.
Trace allowed herself a full-blown smirk.
Jay snagged the ball the fielder lobbed at her. She knew she could pitch a fastball that would wipe that smirk off Trace’s face and then some. But that knowledge was not enough… even though it should have been. Jay knew she should stick to basic fastballs and not deviate from her average speed. She knew she should not do anything to stand out. But a deep-seated craving to do the unexpected had overtaken her. She wanted to impress Tyler. She wanted Em and Matt to launch themselves from their seats and clap wildly. She wanted to beat this batter thoroughly. And to do it was going to require skill—more skill than merely pitching a horrendously speedy fastball.
For her next pitch, she kept the traditional fastball grip and pitched a tried and true fastball… except she used her inhuman strength and skill to slow the ball’s speed, making it more of a slow fastball than a change-up.
Trace swung and missed, her timing completely out of sync with the ball. The wide-eyed shock on the girl’s face was Jay’s reward.
“Sterrrrrrike!” Tyler yelled.
Trace focused on Jay’s handgrip with slit-eyed concentration. Jay kept her fastball grip and held it up for the batter to get a better look. “Don’t quite know what happened with that one,” she called. “Guess I got lucky.”
Her next pitch would be a sinker. Just before she released the ball, she turned it over and ever so slightly increased pressure with her index finger. Her sinker dropped seven-and-a-half-inches more than her usual fastball.
Trace swung and hit a ground ball. When she stepped back up to the plate she glared at Jay, as if daring her to try that one again.
Jay didn’t bother to take her up on that dare. She checked to make certain Tyler was watching and wondered whether he would be as impressed as she hoped he might be. This time, she intended to perform a breaking pitch known as a knuckle-curve. Ideally, this pitch would spin like a curveball but wouldn’t be as fast. Plus, it would be more deceptive than a normal curveball because the pitching motion was similar to a fastball. It would be far more difficult for Trace to predict and respond to.
She pitched.
Trace struck out.
Em’s loud whoop pleased Jay no end but her elation died when Sara, who’d muffed the catch, had to scrabble after the ball.
“Sorry, Coach.” Jay knew she’d erred. A breaking ball—a pitch with a sideways or downward trajectory which didn’t travel straight toward the batter like a fastball—was far more difficult for a catcher to receive. In her desire to show up the batter, Jay had let down her catcher. It was not good teamwork. She waited for Tyler to tell her so.
“Fancy yourself a junkballer, huh? Would’ve been good for Sara to know that beforehand.” Tyler scowled as he approached Jay. And rightfully so.
“I’m not a junkballer. I was showing off. As you are no doubt well aware.”
Tyler draped his arm over her shoulder. “Showing off aside, if you can bat as good as you pitch there’s a place for you on the team.”
Jay glanced over to see Emma giving her the thumbs up. She returned the gesture, then switched her attention to Trace.
The batter threw her a rueful grin. “Rather have you on our team than the opposition’s,” she called.
Jay considered the offer. She’d enjoyed the physical and intellectual aspects of the workout, the thrill of beating the batter. Perhaps she could do this, share the camaraderie of belonging to a team….
Provided she reined in her regrettable tendency to show off and didn’t draw too much attention to herself. If she wasn’t cautious, she would end up pitching far beyond the physical capabilities of a mere teenage girl. If she allowed herself to be caught up in the delirium of the game, who knew what she might do? The provocative thrill of proving her superiority, and the even more intense thrill of performing for Tyler, had overridden all logic and commonsense out there.
Still, despite the risks, Jay was tempted. And then she spotted Rachel, the relief pitcher, slumped on the grass in front of the bleachers. Her hunched posture conveyed her misery and when she lifted her head and glanced quickly at Jay before turning away, so did the expression in her eyes.
If Jay took over as relief pitcher, Rachel would be left as an outfielder. Or worse, a spare who spent each game in the bullpen.
“Thanks for the offer, Coach,” she said, meaning it. “But I can’t accept a place on the team because I can’t commit to a full season. Besides, you’ve already got two pitchers.”
Tyler glanced at Rachel, and Jay knew he undertood.
“Fair enough,” he said. “Pity. You’ve got talent. Seems a shame not to use it.”
“Perhaps.”
Tyler beckoned to Rachel. “C’mon, Rach. Let’s see that fastball of yours again. The rest of you, do your drills.”
Jay headed for the bleachers to return Emma’s mitt. “Sorry to let you down, Em,” she said, taking a seat beside her.
“’S alright, Jay. I know why you did it.”
“I can’t believe you dipped out because of Rachel,” Caro said. “Tyler’s gotta be pissed.”
“He understands. It wouldn’t be fair for me to take her place.”
“Rach is an average fielder, and an even more average batter,” Caro said. “Tyler tolerates her in the team because she’s happy to play second string to Em forever. Everyone else knows Em’s too darn good. The only chance they’d have to prove themselves is if she was too injured to play.”
“Ouch.” Em faked a wince. “That’s a mite harsh, even for you, Caro.”
“Oh, really?” The challenging lift to Caro’s chin dared Em to disagree.
“She’s right,” Em admitted. “If I can’t pitch, we’re screwed. We could really do with you on the team.”
“Sometimes,” Jay said, “it’s not just about the team.”
“Try telling that to Coach if he’s ever forced to put Rach on ’cause I’m hurt or whatever.”
“You’d better start taking better care of yourself then, Emma,” Jay said. “You can’t afford to carry an injury.”
Tyler had wandered over just in time to hear her comment. “Yeah,” he chimed in. “No more roughhousing with your brothers. You’re gonna have to start acting like a lady, Em. For the team.” He kicked at a scraggily hummock of grass, spraying dirt in all directions.
Em scowled at him. “Jeez, Coach. Do you always have to be such a smartass?”
Caro grinned. “Yep. He always does.”
“I was thinking—” Matt began.
“Don’t think too hard,” Caro said. “You’re only a boy. You might damage something.”
He exchanged an amused look with Tyler. “Is she always like this?”
“Oh, yeah. Pity me, much?”
“Envy, more like.”
“What?” Tyler rounded on him. “You seriously think I believe you want a mouthy thing like this for a sister?” He grabbed Caro and tickled her until she was breathless with laughter and had to cling to Em’s arm to stay upright.
“Who said I wanted her as a sister?”
Jay interpreted the blush blooming on Caro’s neck to mean Caro was not as unappreciative of Matt’s attentions as her sneer suggested. She wondered why Matt only hinted at his interest, and did not merely state that he found Caro attractive. And why Caro gave off such mixed signals, as though she was embarrassed to return his interest. Matt was no longer going with Vanessa, and Caro was no longer with Shawn, so what was the issue?
Tyler fidgeted, and Jay guessed he was reacting to the undercurrents flowing between his sister and Matt. “Actually,” he said to her, in what had to be nothing more than a blatant attempt to change the subject, “you know that offer of a cell phone? Can I take you up on that?”
“Of course. When?”
“Practice is over, so how about now?”
“Hey,” Matt said. “Don’t forget I’m giving you a lift home. You might as well catch a lift, too, Caro. Since you’re both going the same way and all.”
“How very gracious,” Caro said. “Perhaps you can offer Jay a lift, too. And Em.”
“What am I?” he grumbled. “A taxi service?”
“Tomorrow would be better for me,” Jay said. “You and Caro can both come over to my place after school and stay for a meal if you’d like.”
“Sounds good.” Tyler offered her his hand. She took it and allowed herself to be tugged to her feet.
“I’ve got cheer practice,” Caro said. “Can I come round after that? I’ll be an hour and a half—provided I can get through the entire practice without doing Vanessa me bodily harm, of course. If she clocks me one again, I’m not sticking around.”
“Of course.”
They all trailed Matt to his car and although he grumbled some more, he seemed more than willing to be a taxi service. Em was first to be dropped off, and then it was Jay’s turn.
“You live here?” Caro said, gazing at the street-level stores.
“Yes. My apartment is on the top floor of this building.”
“Cool!”
“Won’t be a sec,” Tyler said. “I’m just gonna walk Jay to her door.”
Matt peered at him over the rims of his sunglasses. “Whatever, dude. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Well,” she heard Caro say to Matt. “That sure leaves him a lot of scope.”
“You can scope me, anytime, babe.”
“Oh fergodsakes,” Caro said, and Jay could just imagine her rolling her eyes in mock-disgust.
Tyler reached for Jay’s hand as they walked to the entrance of her building. She felt a little thrill course through her body. What would Caro and Matt think if they saw? And what if Tyler kissed her again?
“See you tomorrow, Jay.” He squeezed her hand. Time seemed to slow. And then, just when the adrenaline-fueled anticipation pricking her body became too much to bear, he kissed her cheek. Heat flowed to that spot, warming her skin, sensitizing it and making her gasp.
Her gaze flew to his, and she saw him smile.
His walk back to the car was more of a saunter, as though he knew Jay’s gaze would be on him. She waved at him as Matt drove off. And she replayed the scene over and over in her mind, examining every possible nuance of tone, of touch, of possible intention.
If this feeling was a malfunction, a product of some anomaly she couldn’t yet detect, then she wasn’t at all certain she wanted to fix it.
She could still feel the warmth of Tyler’s hand in hers, a phantom reminder of the boy himself, as she unlocked her door. She was still smiling, remembering, savoring, when she stepped inside.
The stark emptiness of her apartment momentarily overwhelmed her. The emptiness seemed to take on a life of its own, morphing into a shroud which reared up to smother her in its cold, clinical embrace.
Jay stood frozen in her doorway, stricken, wondering at the aching hollowness in her heart. It took her a full minute to identify the feeling. It was a yearning for something an inhuman creature—a machine—could never have.
Chapter Eleven
Tyler and Caro arrived home with Matt in tow, and discovered their mother had gotten off work early.
Much to Tyler’s embarrassment, his mom made it abundantly clear she was thrilled to itty bitty pieces he’d brought a friend over.
Matt? A friend? Yeah, right. Not hardly. And Tyler only got her to quit plying Matt with cookies and sodas and pointed questions by dragging his “friend” up to his room.
Caro stuck her head through the doorway. “Watch out for that chair,” she said to Matt. “It bites.” And then, mimicking her mother with a skill that made the hair on Tyler’s nape stand to attention, “I think you’re mature enough to shut your door when you have a friend over, Tyler.”
Freaks of Greenfield High Page 15
