by Clay Cormany
Fast-Pitch Love
by Clay Cormany
Published by Astraea Press
www.astraeapress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
FAST-PITCH LOVE
Copyright © 2014 CLAY CORMANY
ISBN 978-1-62135-369-0
Cover Art Designed by AM DESIGNS STUDIOS
To the memory of my parents,
Harry and Shirlee Cormany
Chapter One
The skinny student recoiled from the push, his back thumping into the wall behind him. His books fell to the floor as he raised his hands to block the punch that seemed imminent.
"Don't hit me, Carson," the student pleaded. "I didn't mean anything by it."
Carson Ealy, all two hundred thirty pounds of him, loomed over the frightened student like a hungry bear. "How can you say you 'didn't mean anything by it'?" he snarled. "You asked her out, didn't you?"
"Not … not really. I just thought Stephanie might like to stop by my house to … to see my tropical fish. She … she … she lives just around the corner from me, and now that school's out –"
"Shut up!" Carson yelled. He grabbed the quivering boy under the armpits and lifted him until his shoes dangled at least a foot off the floor. "Stephanie doesn't want to see your stupid fish or your teddy bear or your doll collection. She doesn't even want to give you the time of day. And you know something else?"
The student, his face white with fear, shook his head.
"I don't want to either, and if you bug her again, I'm going to twist your head off. Capisce?”
The student nodded frantically. "Yeah, yeah, sure, I cap –"
Carson dropped the kid like an unwanted toy and watched him slink away. The handful of students who witnessed the encounter also began to walk on. Some might not have known what it was all about, but Jace Waldron did. He knew the skinny student made the near-fatal mistake of putting a move on Stephanie Thornapple. Jace had never made that mistake — but he sure thought about it.
A new student at Ridgeview High, Stephanie joined Jace's American history class right after Christmas break. She sat a little ahead of him, one row to the right, giving him a near-perfect position to admire her near-perfect beauty. Only minutes before watching Carson bully the skinny student, Jace had gazed at Stephanie while working on his history final. In the midst of answering questions about the Great Depression and the Cold War, he imagined himself making out with her.
Jace went to his locker and began cleaning it out. There wasn't much there. Just a few loose papers, a copy of Little Women, and the latest issue of the Ram Courier, Ridgeview High's student newspaper. As he put these things into his backpack, students around him checked pagers or made plans for parties and sleepovers. Some exchanged hugs with friends they might not see again until the end of August.
With his locker emptied, Jace headed toward the metal doors on the north side of the school, his gateway to summer vacation, and thought again about the confrontation he just witnessed. The skinny student apparently missed the news that Carson Ealy, starting nose tackle on the Ridgeview Rams football team, was Stephanie's boyfriend. The big guy corralled her almost from the moment she arrived, hanging out by her locker, eating lunch with her, and walking with her between classes. Carson wasn't smart or handsome. Jace thought that with a little extra hair, he could pass for Bigfoot. Still, he found the right words to discourage other guys who were interested in Stephanie: "Leave Steph alone, or I'll break your neck." Potential rivals knew he meant business and backed off.
Jace pushed through the school doors and out into the pleasing warmth of the June afternoon. While he headed to the parking lot, he took in the scent of lilacs and watched the gentle swaying of the crab apple trees that stood in a line between the lot and the tennis courts beyond. After a moment of searching, Jace spotted the blue and silver sedan that belonged to Stick Macklin, his long-time friend and cross-country teammate. Most days, he would be driving his own car, but that set of wheels wasn’t going anywhere without a new battery. He rode to school with his neighbor Mrs. Havener, who supervised the school cafeteria, and with any luck he could ride home with Stick.
Jace put his backpack on the hood of Stick's car and pulled out Little Women and the Ram Courier. He read the first few pages of the novel, followed by an article in the student paper about how the feared YtwoK disaster might affect school computers. Then he decided to do what he had already done several times that day — dream about Stephanie.
She held up a delicate hand and with an easy, graceful motion of her fingers, invited him to approach. Moving closer, he admired the marvelous curves that favored every vital part of her body from her gently rounded calf muscles to the shapely swell of her breasts. Closer still, he saw that Stephanie’s blue eyes were like pools of water, reflecting the same passion and desire that blazed within his heart. At last he embraced her and ran his fingers through her long auburn hair, caressing it, scrunching it, feeling its smooth, rich texture. He pressed the side of his face against her soft, creamy cheek and moistened his lips in anticipation of the kiss that would follow. When he saw her lips rise to meet his, he moved in to…
"What’s up, Romeo? Need a lift?"
Jace jumped at the sound of his friend's voice and almost knocked his backpack onto the pavement.
"Oh yeah, Stick, that’d be nice, but I’ll walk if you’re in a hurry to get somewhere."
"Nah, but let’s stop at Burger World first, okay? I’m starving."
"You’re driving, Fleetfoot Mac. Take us anywhere you want."
Stick pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the center of town where most of the restaurants and fast food places were.
"I saw you scoping out Stephanie during the history final," he said while they waited on a traffic light. "Man, you’re way out of bounds with her."
"I know," Jace answered. "But who says I can’t dream?"
"I wouldn’t even risk doing that, Slo-Mo. If that gorilla boyfriend of hers ever gets wind of what’s on your mind, your dream could become a nightmare real quick."
"Who’s going to tell him — you?"
"Are you kidding? He’s no friend of mine, although he might make a good pet if you could find a big enough cage."
The light turned green, and Stick shot through the intersection.
Jace shook his head and frowned. "I just want a chance with her. Just one chance. Maybe something could happen between us. If she’s not interested, okay. That wouldn’t kill me. What’s killing me is that I don’t know and never will as long as –"
"Carson's in the way?"
"Exactly."
Stick took a hand off the steering wheel and rubbed his chin as if he were a wise old man with a long beard. "King Kong is a problem," he admitted. "No doubt about that." Then a mischievous grin took shape. "But maybe not as much as you think."
"What do you mean?" Jace's voice betrayed both hope and anxiety.
At that moment, Stick pulled into Burger World and stopped in front of the menu board. A large globe with a painted-on face and a chef’s hat asked for their order.
Stick glanced at Jace. "Want anything?"
"No thanks. I’m not that hungry. Now what did you mean –"
"Well, I am. Give me a Global Burger with everything, medium fries, a
nd large vanilla shake."
"That will be four twenty-five," the talking globe said in its buzz saw-like voice. "Please pull up to the window." While they waited for Stick’s food, Jace again asked, "What did you mean when you said Carson may not be that much of a problem?"
Stick leaned back and put his hands behind his head. "I found out Carson might not be spending much time around Ridgeview this summer," he said.
"Why not?"
"He’s got himself a job at a lumber yard up in Michigan. Plus, he’s going to be visiting some colleges that want him to play football for them."
"How long will he be gone?"
"I don’t know. But Michigan is pretty far from central Ohio, so if he’s going way up there, he’ll probably stay awhile. A few weeks anyway, wouldn’t you think?"
"Yeah, makes sense."
"Long enough for a clever rival to make his move."
With Stick shoving food into his mouth, not much conversation occurred during their drive to the Waldron home on Bradley Road, but that didn’t bother Jace. Good friends didn’t have to talk to enjoy each other’s company. Over the years, they had been through a lot together: Cub Scouts, little league baseball, birthday parties, backyard camping, and now the Ridgeview High cross-country team. Jace didn’t refer to Stick as "his best friend," but that’s what he assumed they were. Their friendship drew its strength in part from their shared experiences as boys and from their camaraderie as cross-country teammates. Even more, it came from mutual respect.
Once during an evening run together, Stick told Jace he was "the most honest and decent guy" in his wide circle of acquaintances. He made that judgment years earlier, he explained, when during a sandlot baseball game, he smashed a ball pitched by Jace into the windshield of nasty Mr. Felderkampf’s new car. Every boy involved in the game ran away except Jace. When Mr. Felderkampf clumped out of his house, he stood his ground and took the tongue-lashing the old geezer dished out.
For his part, Jace believed Stick could be trusted with any secret. A gnawing worry, a hopeless crush, a foolish dream, or a broken heart could be shared with him without any danger of it ending up on the Ridgeview High grapevine. And that meant something, because with three siblings and his outgoing personality, Stick had at least a nodding acquaintance with nearly everyone in the junior class and with many older and younger students, too.
"Thanks for the ride," Jace said after Stick pulled into the Waldrons’ driveway and halted behind his mother’s station wagon.
"No problem," Stick replied. He finished off his last French fry as Jace got out of the car. Then he stuck his head through the driver's side window. "Are you going to ask Stephanie out?"
"I haven’t decided yet," said Jace.
"Whatever you do, remember to play to your strength, Slo-Mo."
"You, too, Fleetfoot. Play to your strength," Jace answered, firing back the phrase that their cross-country coach loved to say.
Stick drove away, and Jace walked toward his house. His body almost trembled with the rush of adrenalin. So King Kong would be away for much of the summer in Michigan. Alaska would have been even better, but just the same, Carson would be too far away to keep Stephanie under surveillance as he had during school. That cleared a path for — as Stick put it "a clever rival."
Chapter Two
When Jace opened the front door, he saw his sister Phoebe sprawled on the living room floor, her twig-like legs crossed at the ankles and her head buried in a Girl Scout handbook. She looked up as he closed the door behind him, his heart sinking faster than a torpedoed ship. He knew what was coming.
"Hi, Jace," she said eagerly. "Can you help me practice doing CPR?"
Jace had been thinking so much about Stephanie that he couldn’t come up with an excuse to avoid helping Phoebe work on her first aid badge. Now the best he could do was buy some time.
"Wait a minute, will you?" he shot back. "I just got here."
"When can you help me?"
"Let me unload these books and change my clothes."
Jace headed toward the stairs but stopped by the door to the kitchen and popped his head in.
"Hi, Mom, what’s for dinner?"
Martha Waldron, hands in oven mitts, held up a pan.
"Meatloaf," she said. "It’s going in right now. We’re having mashed potatoes, too, and a tossed salad."
"Don’t put olives in mine." Jace screwed up his face in disgust. "You know how much I hate them."
"Yes, honey, I know. Oh, by the way, can you go over to the library after dinner and make copies of my team roster? Softball season is almost here."
"Okay."
Upstairs in his room, Jace tossed his backpack onto his bed and began to change his clothes. His khaki slacks and blue golf shirt went on hangers while his socks made a fast trip into the laundry basket. School clothes were replaced by cutoff blue jeans and the camo t-shirt that his dad had gotten him for his sixteenth birthday. He thought about his dad for a moment. Not much had been heard from him lately — a phone call at Easter, followed by two postcards, one from Aruba and the other from London. Dad and his new girlfriend sure liked to get around.
Jace pushed thoughts of his father aside and considered what to wear on his feet. He rummaged through a stack of old footwear in one corner of his closet, finally deciding on a frayed pair of running shoes that had been long retired from competition.
While he tried to think of something to delay his return, Phoebe’s impatient voice rang out. "Hurry up, Jace!"
"Quit bugging me," Jace shouted back, "or I won’t help you."
He slumped in the chair by his desk and considered an age-old question: Where did little sisters belong on the list of extremely annoying things? Were they worse than tooth extractions, jock itch, and algebra tests? Absolutely. The misery they caused lasted so much longer.
Jace stopped stewing over Phoebe, but that allowed thoughts of Stephanie to return. Carson’s temporary absence from Ridgeview gave him no guarantee of success with her. He still needed a plan or at least some idea of what move to make and when to make it. But it was tough to plan anything when he didn’t know how to reach her or what she might be doing during the summer. Even if he found out Stephanie’s phone number, it would be difficult to call her and not become tongue-tied. That happened when he talked to girls on the phone. Last year, when he called Ellen Jackson to ask her to the spring dance, he stammered so much it took her a minute to figure out what he wanted and to tell him she was going with someone else.
Jace picked up a paper clip on his desk and twisted it into different shapes. If he ever asked Stephanie out, he would have to do it face-to-face without other people around. It would be even better if they worked together on a school project or at the same job. That way, they could get to know each other more before he made his move. But what were the chances of him getting a break like that?
He threw the mangled paper clip into the wastebasket and thought of the one time he spoke to Stephanie. It happened after history class. She asked him how to get to the guidance office, and he, wanting to make the most of the opportunity, escorted her there. In the few minutes they were together, they small-talked about history class and how dull their teacher Mr. Buchanan was. They continued to chat outside the office until a red-haired secretary opened the door and jutted her head toward them.
"Stephanie Jane Thornapple?" the secretary said with a touch of irritation.
"Yes?"
"Please come in. Mr. Harshman’s waiting for you."
Before the door closed behind her, Stephanie beamed a dreamy smile toward him and thanked him for his help. She didn’t ask his name, and he didn’t volunteer it. That happened back in February, and for all he knew, she still didn’t know who he was.
"Jace, come down now or I’m telling Mom," Phoebe yelled.
Sighing, he rose from the chair and was about to head out the door when he noticed a tattered green t-shirt lying under his bed. He’d worn it on three neighborhood runs this week, and it needed
to join the socks in the laundry basket — but not quite yet. Off came the camo shirt; on went the green shirt.
"You be the accident victim, and I’ll be the life-saver," Phoebe said when he arrived back in the living room.
Jace rolled his eyes as he sat down, stretched out his legs, and laid his back on the floor. This had to be the tenth time they had gone through this routine.
Phoebe hovered above him, her brown hair looping around her ears and falling down like little waterfalls toward his chest.
She pinched her nose. "Jace, why do you stink so bad?"
"What do you mean?" he replied, pretending not to notice his overpowering B.O.
"You smell like a locker room that hasn’t been cleaned in a hundred years."
"I see," Jace said, propping himself up on his elbows. "You’re going to let me die just 'cause I smell bad. Some Girl Scout you are."
"All right, lie back down." Phoebe took her fingers off her nose, put her right hand over her left, intertwined the fingers, and began to thrust down on his body. But she positioned her hands lower than she should have, causing Jace to flinch in pain.
"Ouch! That’s my stomach, you klutz!" he blurted.
"Don’t be such a baby!" Phoebe snapped back.
"I’m not being a baby — you’re doing this wrong, dill-weed! CPR is a method of saving someone’s life, not finishing them off."
"Mom, Jace won’t help me!" Phoebe shrilled. "And he smells awful, too."
"Stop whining, and read the handbook," he interjected, hoping his mother had not heard her complaint. "Find out where you’re supposed to put your hands."
Phoebe consulted her handbook, mumbling to herself while she reviewed the instructions. Then she took her index finger and ran it along the bottom of Jace’s ribcage until she came to the lower part of his breastbone. At that point, she intertwined her hands as before and began to press down in a steady rhythm. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three. Stopping after fifteen compressions, she moved toward Jace's head. She opened his mouth and, placing her mouth a few inches above it, breathed out twice, simulating artificial respiration.
