by Clay Cormany
"The Firebirds. Good luck!"
Chapter Thirty-two
Jace stood behind the backstop and watched the Firebirds go through their fielding drills. If anything, they were smoother, more skilled, and more intimidating than they had been during their earlier match-ups with the Valkyries. Then he looked at Sylvia, kneeling in the grass near the Valkyries’ bench, taking pitches from Corey. He would wait until the game ended before asking her out. Didn’t know yet where they would go or what they would do. Neither did he know how he would break up with Stephanie or whether he even needed to. He only knew that Sylvia was the right girl.
Jace took off his cap and flicked perspiration off his forehead. Although the temperature had come down from its daytime high of ninety-five degrees, it was still miserably hot and humid.
"How’s it going, coach?" a voice boomed out.
Jace turned in surprise and saw Stick standing just a few feet away.
"Fleetfoot Mac! What are you doing here?"
"Came to see your team in action, Slo-Mo. They’re the talk of the town, you know."
"Yeah, and I’m Carl Lewis."
"Okay. They’re not the talk of the town. But I did come to cheer on the Vickie-rays, anyway."
"You mean Valkyries."
"Yeah, Valkyries. I want to see what they can do." Stick glanced toward Sylvia, who had paused from pitching practice to take a drink of water. "I also wanted to tell you about a funny thing that happened yesterday."
"Funny things are always happening to you," Jace said with a smirk.
"This funny thing’s about her," Stick retorted, waving a finger in Sylvia’s direction.
The smirk vanished and Jace leaned forward so abruptly that Stick took a step back. "What? What about her?"
"I was at Grigoro's for lunch and ran into this guy who knew both Thornapple babes when they were in the eighth grade at Arlington."
"No kidding. Which one was in the eighth grade with him?"
"Both of them."
"No, Stephanie will be a senior next year like us. Sylvia’s just a junior."
Stick shook his head. "I guess their folks held Sylvia back a year for some reason, but they’re the same age."
"But that would mean they’re twins."
Stick slapped him on the back. "Give yourself a cee-gar, Einstein! You just solved the riddle of the universe."
"I would never have guessed they were twins."
"Of course you wouldn’t," Stick continued, "they’re not identical, although according to this guy from Arlington, they used to look a lot alike."
Jace felt off-balance as if the ground beneath his feet suddenly shifted. He looked at Sylvia again. She had stopped warming up Corey and now walked toward them.
Stick looked at her, too. She wore white shorts along with her team jersey, and her hair was in a swirled ponytail tied with a purple band. "You’re right, Slo-Mo. Your fellow coach is no plain Jane. Not by a long shot. Hey, did you decide which sister –"
"Hi, Jace," said Sylvia, a catcher’s mitt tucked under her arm. "I got so busy with Corey, I didn’t see you ‘til now." A smile spread across her face. "Are you ready to win a game today?"
The game turned out to be a grueling battle that featured almost everything that could happen in softball competition. There were scorching line drives and towering long balls, including a bases-clearing triple by Lauren and a homerun by the Firebirds’ clean-up hitter. There were mistakes by runners who were thrown out at the plate or cut down trying to stretch a single into a double. There were brilliant plays by fielders — an over-the-shoulder catch by Kay—and blunders like the ground ball that went between Erica’s legs. There were slides, stumbles, and falls that put cuts and bruises on legs and arms. There was trash-talk that brought a warning from the umpire to both benches. There were shouts of joy, cries of frustration, and gasps of exhaustion. Through it all, the merciless July sun in a cloudless sky beat down upon everyone.
In the top of the sixth inning, with the Firebirds ahead eight-seven, Dana led off with a ground ball that looked like it would be an easy out for the shortstop. The girl gloved it but her throw went wide, forcing the first baseman to move away from the bag just to knock it down and keep Dana from running to second.
The Firebirds' coach jumped up from his seat and shouted toward his shortstop. "What happened? That was a routine out!"
"Sweat got into my eyes," the girl answered, throwing her arms up in frustration.
"Then wipe off your face," the coach scolded before sitting down. A few laughs came from the Firebird side, but Jace knew the man wasn’t trying to be funny. He looked at Dana, who was wiping sweat off her own face.
"This is our big inning," he said to her. "This is where we take the lead and keep it."
She nodded and maybe even believed him after Corey smashed a line drive that fell between left and center field. Before the Firebirds could get the ball back into the infield, Dana crossed the plate and Corey stood at third base. With the score tied and no one out, the prospects for a Valkyrie victory over the Firebirds never looked brighter, especially with Tina coming to bat. Her steady pitching had kept her team in the game, and now she could help even more by getting Corey across the plate.
"Come on, Tina!" Sylvia yelled from beside third base. You can do it, sis. Get a hit!" Her ponytail bounced defiantly as she shouted encouragement to Tina, and her face, damp with perspiration, somehow seemed to glow. At that instant, Sylvia looked more beautiful to Jace than ever before.
The first pitch to Tina came high for a ball. The second caught the inside corner for a strike, and the third went off the bat foul to the backstop. The pressure of the moment, along with the stifling heat, made it seem as if the game were being played on the surface of a giant frying pan. Parents, players, and coaches seemed awash in perspiration as they bellowed encouragement to pitcher or batter. Every unblinking eye followed the next pitch as it left the pitcher’s hand, arced through the air, and approached home plate. Every eye also saw Tina connect.
Although the ball was not hit that hard it was well-placed, bouncing between the pitcher’s mound and the first base foul line. The pitcher lurched for the ball but missed it. Meanwhile, Tina churned like a little engine toward first base, while Corey dashed home with the go-ahead run. Realizing it was her play to make, the first baseman ran forward, scooped the ball off the ground, and then ran toward her base, trying to get there before Tina. But Tina was faster. The lumbering first baseman was a good six feet behind her when she planted her foot on the bag.
Ever the good base runner, Tina kept going even after reaching the base. The big first baseman kept running, too. In a move that would have impressed Carson, she lowered her shoulder and plowed into Tina’s back. Unprepared for the blow, Tina flew forward, her arms barely quick enough to soften her impact on the ground. Shouts and cries came from both sides, but they were drowned out by the scream that came from Sylvia as she sprinted across the diamond to be with her sister. Jace knelt on one side of his fallen runner, and Sylvia, her face now wet with both tears and sweat, knelt on the other.
"Are you all right, sis?" asked Sylvia.
Before she could answer, the umpire’s voice rang out behind them.
"You’re out of the game!"
Jace glanced over his shoulder and saw that the man was speaking to the first baseman, who had recovered from the collision and risen to her feet. Standing next to her, the Firebirds’ coach seemed ready to say something until the umpire moved up to him and put a finger under his nose.
"Don’t even try to tell me this was an accident," the umpire warned. "I know your player tried to hurt the runner, so get her off the field now unless you want to forfeit the game."
Without waiting to be told, the first baseman trotted to the Firebirds' bench, but her coach remained on the field. "I didn’t tell her to do that, blue," he sputtered. "I play to win, but I don’t break the rules."
The umpire ignored him and stepped toward Sylvia and Jace. "
How’s your player?" he asked. "Does she need medical attention?"
By now, Tina had gotten up on all fours. Bits of dirt stuck to her face, neck, and arms, and a small cut ran across her chin, but she didn’t appear to have a serious injury. "I’m okay," she said.
"Are you sure?" asked Sylvia.
Tina nodded. With help from her two coaches, she moved to a sitting position and then stood up. She wiped off her face, took a few steps, and bent down to pick up her cap. The last motion made her wince.
"What’s wrong?" asked Sylvia.
"Nothing much."
"Tell me."
"My back hurts a little. That’s all."
"You can put in a pinch runner for her, if you want," said the umpire, who had been watching Tina’s efforts.
"That might be a good idea," said Jace.
"No it isn't!" Tina shot back. Her voice sounded desperate. She turned to her sister. "Don’t take me out, Syl. I can still play."
Sylvia looked uncertain. "What do you think, Jace? Should we keep her in?"
Jace thought a moment before speaking. "Tina, let me see you run to second base and then back over here."
Tina took off. At first, she seemed to run as well as ever, but on her return from second base, her speed slackened and she began to hunch over. Jace could see the pain in her eyes by the time she finished.
"I’m sorry, but I can’t keep you in the game," said Sylvia, who apparently saw the pain, too.
"But I can –"
"No, Mom would string me up if I let anything happen to you, so get over there now." Sylvia pointed toward the Valkyries' bench.
Tina turned to Jace, who nodded his agreement. Slowly, her face a mask of dejection, Tina trudged off the field.
"All right," said the umpire. "Let’s have a new runner at first base and then play ball." Hearing his words, people put down cell phones, magazines, and soft drinks and refocused on the game. Jace sent Erica out to run at first base, where a new Firebird player replaced the one ejected by the umpire.
"Okay, Lauren!" shouted Jace, back beside first base. "Give us another hit. We need more runs." But there were no more runs. The injury to Tina appeared to take the spark out of the Valkyries and erase their momentum. Erica advanced to second base on Lauren's ground out but could go no farther when Denise popped out and Phoebe went down on strikes. Still the team clung to a nine-eight lead, and just three outs stood between them and a spot in the league championship game.
"Just get the ball over the plate," Jace advised Corey as she guzzled water before taking the mound. "If their batters are going to get on base, let them get there with hits, not walks."
Corey followed the advice. The first batter went down on an easy grounder to first base, and the second one popped to shortstop. That put the Valkyries only one out away from victory — one out away from gaining some revenge against the team that started the season by humiliating them.
But the next batter did not cooperate. After running the count full, she blooped a single into short center field. Now the Firebirds had the tying run on and the winning run coming to the plate. Jace gritted his teeth when he saw who was up next. The girl was not the Firebirds’ best hitter — but she might have been the strongest. Her baby face and pigtails made her look like a tee-baller from the neck up, but her tall, broad-shouldered frame could have belonged to a high school athlete.
Corey’s first pitch came inside for a ball. The second pitch caught the outside corner, and the third was fouled to the backstop, bringing the count to one-two.
"Strike her out!" Sylvia shouted. "You can do it!"
Another inside pitch evened the count. Two more foul balls and then a pitch that almost hit the batter made the count full.
"Come on, Corey, come on! You can do it. Strike her out now!" Sylvia pleaded. Jace thought she sounded hoarse, and when he looked at her, he saw that her face was red and glistening with perspiration.
"Settle down, Corey!" Jace shouted, hoping Sylvia would take that advice, too. "Just get the ball over the plate."
Corey complied, but the result was far from what Jace and Sylvia wanted. The ball jumped off the big girl’s bat like a bolt of lightning. As Jace watched the ball sail over the heads of the outfielders, he realized that this would be an extra-base hit in any high school ball park, maybe even in a major league stadium. He also realized that the Valkyries’ season was over.
The ball landed some thirty feet beyond Heather and Dana, who gamely tried to track it down. The base runner from first crossed the plate amid whoops and cheers from the Firebird fans. Seconds later, with the ball not even to the infield, the batter thumped her foot on the plate and was mobbed in joy by her teammates.
Jace watched the spectacle with a mixture of regret and admiration. The Firebirds were the best team in the league, he thought. No doubt about it. The Valkyries pushed them to the limit but came up short.
He felt Sylvia tug on his sleeve. She was still red-faced and sweating but had hope in her eyes.
"Jace, have the ump check her bat," she exclaimed.
"Why?"
"I think it might be too long."
"Too long? How can you tell that from here?"
"Just ask him to check it. It’s worth a try."
"But I think it won’t –"
Without waiting for Jace to finish his sentence, Sylvia bolted toward home plate, where the umpire stood after directing the celebrating Firebirds back to their bench.
"Excuse me, blue," she said. "But could you take a look at the bat the hitter just used?"
"Eh?" he said. "You think there’s something wrong with it?"
"I think it might be longer than the thirty-four-inch maximum the league allows."
The umpire flicked perspiration from his forehead and then plucked the dust-covered bat off the ground. He squinted at the thing while holding it vertically and horizontally, and feeling its girth. Realizing that something was going on between the umpire and Sylvia, the Firebird players stopped their celebration, and their head coach ran over to home plate.
"What’s the problem?" the coach asked, folding his arms.
"The Valkyries think the bat your hitter used might be too long," the umpire answered.
"That’s ridiculous. I checked all the bats our players use at the beginning of the season. They were all thirty-four inches or less."
"Couldn’t someone be using a bat that you didn’t check?" Sylvia asked.
"I told them not to." There was a strain in the coach's voice, and he seemed to grip his arms tighter.
"But that doesn’t mean one couldn’t slip in after you did your inspection," Sylvia persisted.
The Firebird coach glared at her but before he could say anything, the umpire jumped in. "There’s no need to argue. Let’s just compare the bat your last hitter used to one we know is thirty-four inches."
"I know my daughter’s bat is thirty-four inches because I measured it myself," the coach said. He unfolded his arms and walked over to his players, who clumped together around their bench. "Joanne, take your bat over to the ump right now."
A girl with short blonde hair grabbed a bat off the ground and brought it to the umpire. He placed the end of it on the ground with the handle sticking up into the air.
"Now give me the bat used by the last batter," he ordered.
The Firebird coach handed him the bat, refolded his arms, and took a step back.
The umpire placed the end of the suspect bat on the ground, parallel to the first bat, and inspected them from different angles, as did Jace, Sylvia, and the Firebird coach. Farther away, parents and players craned their necks to see what was happening.
The umpire edged the bats closer together, still keeping their ends on the ground, until they touched. At that point it was clear that they were almost the same length. Almost — but not quite. The home run hitter’s bat was about a half-inch longer than the thirty-four-inch bat.
"See?" said Sylvia. "The bat your hitter used is longer than thirty-four inc
hes, so it’s ineligible. Her home run doesn’t count."
The Firebird coach looked angry, bewildered, and frustrated all at the same time.
"You can’t be serious!" he yelled. "You want to take away a kid’s homerun because her bat is a half-inch too long? You ought to be ashamed of yourself. It’s a kids’ game, for crying out loud, not the World Series."
The coach stalked away, struggling to control his anger, before hurling his sweat-stained hat on the ground in disgust. He went to the umpire and raised his hands as if he were begging.
"You’re not going to call her out, are you? You can’t do that. I could understand their protest if the bat was four, three, or even two inches too long. But a half-inch? It doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference."
"If it didn’t make any difference, there wouldn’t be a rule about it," snapped Sylvia. "And didn’t you just tell us that you don’t break rules?"
"I don’t break the rules!" the coach sputtered. "I mean I don’t break them on purpose, I don’t ..." He stopped mid-sentence and again held out his hands to the umpire. "Come on, blue! Help me out here. You know what I’m trying to say."
Sylvia went to the umpire, too, with her shoulders back and her hands on her hips. "Please enforce the rules, blue," she said in a slow, controlled voice. "That’s all I’m asking."
The umpire, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere in the world but here, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, fumbled with it, and then dabbed it on his forehead. He remained silent.
"Well?" said Sylvia.
The umpire still didn’t speak, but Jace did. "I don’t think we’ll protest the homerun."
"You won’t?" said the umpire, surprised and relieved.
"Just a moment," interjected Sylvia. She walked over to Jace, took his arm, and pulled him several feet away from where the umpire and the Firebird coach were standing.
"Why did you say that?" she said in a voice just above a whisper. "I think the ump was just about to disqualify that homerun."
"But that’s not fair, Sylvia. That ball went so far, it would have been a home run, even if the bat were two or three inches shorter."
