“What are you doing here?” she asked. “I thought everyone went out.”
Scott shrugged. “It wasn’t that fun last night, and besides, I’m trying not to break up with my girlfriend—and being around those guys could make it really hard.”
She had known that he often texted with a girl who was going to USC in the fall, and had assumed it was pretty serious.
“Did you not go, because you’re pitching tomorrow?” he asked.
That, too. So, she nodded. “Is it hard, keeping things up long-distance?”
“Yeah,” he said, and fed money into the machine, until two more Cokes popped out. “I think we’re already maybe broken up, but I’m trying to keep it going.” He shrugged again, looking far more pensive than she had ever seen him. “Anyway, Danny and I are bored. You want to hang out?”
Very much so, actually. “Sure. We could watch a movie,” she said.
Their room was something of a pigsty, so since Sofia had gone out somewhere, they ended up in her room, watching—for unknown reasons—The Lego Movie. And enjoying it.
At first, they all sat on the edge of her mattress, but that wasn’t really relaxing, and after a while, they ended up lying on the bed in a row, propped up on pillows, the way she generally watched things with Theo and Greg. There were still some snacks in the bag Mrs. Wilkins had packed for her, so they ate candy and granola bars, and drank Cokes—and it was nicer than anything she had done so far as a professional baseball player.
Which was how Sofia found them, when she came into the room, stopping short in surprise.
“My God, you look like children,” she said.
Scott nudged both of them. “Hit it!” he said, and they sang a rousing, mostly on-key version of “Everything Is Awesome!” together.
Sofia shook her head. “You all are children.”
Since they were three of the youngest players on the team—yeah, the description probably fit.
Jill thought she might get grouchy about the room having been hijacked, but after a perplexed moment of staring at them, Sofia helped herself to a package of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, lay down on her bed, and watched the end of the movie with them.
“Frozen?” Danny said, when it was over.
Sofia groaned. “God, no. I need some sleep, we have an early bus tomorrow.”
“We sing good, though,” Danny said.
Sofia shook her head. “Go away, boys, and leave me in peace.”
It was late enough now, so that Jill really did want to get some sleep, so she would be in good shape for her start. They agreed that they would watch Frozen in Williamsport—and try very hard not to let any of their teammates find out. Except, possibly, for Shosuke, who she now realized was equally unlikely to have gone out drinking tonight.
In the morning, Adler’s lone comment before she boarded the bus in her new polo shirt was “Go, Lions!”
They got to Williamsport right before noon, so they went straight to the stadium, instead of checking in to their new motel. It was one of the oldest minor league stadiums in the country, so not nearly as fancy as the one in State College had been. But, it was neat, the way it was right in the middle of a regular neighborhood, with houses visible over the outfield walls. Old-fashioned ballparks were her preference.
The stadium didn’t have a special area set aside for her, so she changed in an alcove off the trainers’ room. Showering at the motel wasn’t ideal, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world, either. The clubhouse was pretty nice, and must have been renovated in the not-too-distant past, because the lockers and carpet were in very good shape.
During team stretch, some of the guys were full of tales about their adventures in State College, which she tuned out. It got pretty raunchy, and at one point, Dimitri said, “Knock it off, you frackin’ morons!”, before Marcus had a chance to say anything similar, albeit probably more formal.
On her way inside for a pre-game pitching meeting, the Crosscutters’ public relations guy came over and introduced himself. He gave her details about the post-game press conference they were going to hold, and asked if she might be willing to meet with a Crosscutters personality known as the “Director of Smiles,” and a few groups of Little Leaguers and some youth softball teams the next day, and possibly a similar event with local veterans the following day. She agreed—because, really, what else was she going to say?—and she didn’t mind, anyway.
This was the first game the Retrievers would be playing against this team, so they really didn’t have any solid information about the lineup. But Sawyer was a damned hard worker, and he had come up with high school or college film on quite a few of their hitters, so she was able to see which guy she would work high, because of his uppercut, a guy who bailed out too quickly on inside pitches, and other helpful tendencies. Marcus was going to be her catcher tonight, but Ramón was going to catch the next night, so he joined them in a small circle of padded folded chairs to go over everything. Of course, it didn’t hurt that she could translate in both directions. Marcus did pretty well with baseball-related Spanish, but not in a way which captured nuances.
She was determined to do a better job of mental preparation and focusing tonight, and hoped that the media circus would be less elaborate. So, she fixed a Swiss cheese and mustard sandwich from the pre-game spread, grabbed a banana and a bottle of water—God, she was tired of bland, predictable food; no wonder she was never hungry anymore—and sat down at her locker, facing away from the rest of the room.
Earbuds didn’t shut out enough sound, and she wished she had thought to bring a pair of good headphones with her, but they were back at the Wilkinses’ house or had maybe been trashed during her “locker inventory”—she wasn’t sure which. Regardless, she didn’t have them. People were smart enough to know not to bother a starter before a game, but it was still too easy to hear almost everything else that was going on in the room.
When it was closer to game time, she would switch to get-pumped-up rock and roll—and, especially, movie soundtracks—but for now, she picked classical. Supposedly, they had done studies that found that students who listened to Mozart before tests scored higher than people who didn’t, and maybe it would help her pitching? It certainly couldn’t hurt.
When Sofia indicated that it was time to have her active stretching session, Jill nodded, turned off the music, and headed for the trainers’ room. They were increasingly relaxed with each other, and Sofia had already figured out that she liked to have some work done on her wrist—the better to snap off curves—and that extra time on her hips was a good idea, too. Jill was also finding that she really maybe didn’t like to talk much at all before starting, so when the session was over, she nodded her thanks, and Sofia nodded back, and held up an encouraging “You go!” fist.
One last trip to the restroom, and she returned to her locker, touched the dog tag, and then put on her game jersey and belt, and made sure that her cleats were tied in precisely the most supportive, yet comfortable, way. Last of all, she checked that her hair was secure, then put on her cap and tilted the brim ever so slightly to the left. Routine. It was all supposed to be about the routine.
When she picked up her glove and jacket, Marcus appeared in front of her locker, also ready to go. It had been easy to hear increasing rumbles from the fans for the past hour or so, and she assumed that it was going to be another standing-room-only crowd, along with a heavy press contingent.
Which it was, to the degree that she lost a step on her way out of the dugout, and damn near tripped.
“Just a walk in the park,” Marcus said.
Which wasn’t at all how she felt, but Jill nodded.
The dugout was completely open, with a small raised concrete ledge out front, while the bullpen was an exposed area along the left-field line, adjacent to a picnic deck, which was crammed with fans. They were excited, and noisy, and—mostly—happy to see her.
Even with security people and police officers posted in the general area, the crowd felt s
o close. Much too close.
She tipped her cap—camera shutters clicking everywhere—and then set her glove and jacket down on the grass just inside the foul line, before starting her regimen of jogging, sprints, and stretches. Bannigan had modified her routine since the first game she pitched, adding stretches that included more hip and torso rotation, and some high leg kicks.
He and Sawyer were standing nearby, watching, and Bannigan came out a couple of times to assist with some of the dynamic stretches, and to say things like “Nice and slow” and “Keep it easy.”
The very fact that she was worried about her focus meant that her focus wasn’t good enough. But, her warm-up went pretty well, even though her curveball felt less sharp than usual. Once she was finished, she looked for a little girl, tossed the baseball up to her, made sure she caught it safely, and then walked to the dugout with two security people and Sawyer on one side, and Marcus on the other.
Sawyer wanted her to stay with the four-seamer, two-seamer strategy, to whatever degree possible, and her primary goals were first-pitch strikes, showing enough command to keep tonight’s umpire from jerking her around, and setting a good tempo. She liked to work fast, and last time out, she’d done far too much dithering.
The guys scored a run in the top of the first—mostly driven by Hector’s hit-and-run single into right, which let Diaz advance to third and score on Scott’s liner up the middle. It might be a slim lead, but it was nice to have, regardless, as she walked out to the mound.
The crowd reaction wasn’t entirely positive, but it was damned good, considering that she was pitching for the visiting team. She felt a flash of nerves, and touched the dog tag chain for a second, to ground herself.
Since poor Geoff was presumably at home in Oregon, looking at months of rehab, Owen was playing third. After the ball went around the infield, he walked towards the mound, and then flipped it gently to her underhand.
He probably didn’t mean anything by that—but it pissed her off, and she caught the ball with an impatient snap of her glove. Being annoyed overrode the nerves, and her first pitch—a low, inside two-seamer for strike one—had some serious bite, and late movement. Enough so that the batter stepped out of the box, and made a bit of a production of knocking dirt from his spikes, before digging in again.
And zing, went the strings of her heart, whenever she saw a hitter show some anxiety.
He was gone in four pitches, the last one intentionally in the dirt—but, he swung, and Marcus blocked it, and then tagged him smoothly, before throwing down to third.
The ball went around the horn, and Owen underhanded it to her again.
Which bugged her—again, and she got the next guy on an easy grounder to short.
She changed speeds enough on the third guy, so that while he got his bat on the ball, it was a little pop fly—which unfortunately fell into no-man’s-land, in front of a hustling Schwartzman in right field.
Which meant that she had given up her first hit as a professional pitcher, and she spent enough time internally berating herself so that she stupidly left a ball up in the zone to the cleanup hitter, who pounded it into left-center.
She ran into foul territory, ready to back up third or the plate—but, Scott ran it down deep in the gap, making one of those catches that looked effortless, but were actually very difficult.
Whew, okay. She closed her eyes for a second, relieved to be out of the inning, and waited, so that she could smack her glove against his, on their way off the field.
“What happens when you leave the ball up like that?” Sawyer asked, as she came into the dugout.
“Your left fielder makes a highlight-reel catch!” Scott said cheerfully.
Hector laughed. “You didn’t even leave your feet, dude. It doesn’t count, if you don’t get some air.”
Scott stopped, and pointed up at the sky. “That sound you hear? Angels singing. Because they can’t believe what a beautiful line I took to the ball.”
As far as Jill was concerned, she was one of the converted to whom he was preaching, when it came to that.
Sofia was strapping on her heat pack—she wasn’t crazy about the heat pack; they might need to come up with something different for next time—while Sawyer talked to her about not letting her front shoulder fly open, maintaining her focus, and staying aggressive.
She gave up a ground ball single in the bottom of the second, but otherwise escaped unscathed, getting a double play, and then a nice called third strike on a changeup, which caught the hitter off balance.
As she walked towards the dugout, two frat-boy types came rushing up through the stands and threw a bunch of small white objects at her. She ducked, but also reflexively raised her glove to try and catch them.
Some of the objects pelted her, and she looked inside her glove to see—several tampons.
Tampons? Really?
Dimitri, Raffy, and Marcus were within a few feet of her, and looked equally startled.
Owen, who was jogging past them to the dugout, glanced at her glove and smirked. “Good hands,” he said, and kept going.
“Those assholes,” Dimitri said, and it looked like he might leap into the stands to go after them. But, security people were already on it and waved him off, while they escorted the two guys away—and she assumed that they were going to be thrown out of the ballpark.
There were about a dozen tampons scattered on the ground, and she started to bend down, but Marcus’s hand closed around her arm.
“Leave them,” he said, his voice even—but angry. “Someone else can take care of it.”
He was right—it would not be dignified to scrabble around after a bunch of damn tampons.
Once she was in the dugout, she dumped the detritus in her glove into a big plastic trash can, resisting the urge to kick the can—or anything else she could find—as hard as she could.
“It was kind of funny,” someone—she wasn’t sure who—said tentatively.
“Yeah,” she said. “It was a scream.”
She still wanted to kick something, but instead, she slammed her glove and cap onto the bench, and then sat down.
Marcus took a seat next to her, and she could tell that his simmering was almost as close to a boil as hers was, but he didn’t say anything.
Hector and Scott and Shosuke came over and sat on her other side—which she absolutely appreciated.
Sofia approached with a heat pack, and she was going to dismiss her, but Marcus shook his head. So, Jill let her wrap the thing on with the usual ACE bandage. When she was finished, Sofia patted her on the other shoulder, and then went to check the hand—maybe he’d jammed a finger, when he got taken out during the double play—Diaz was holding in her direction.
The dugout, in general, was quieter than usual, but the team must have been fired up, because they scored six runs, and she went back out for the bottom of the third with a solid lead.
And, since she was pretty charged up herself, she set the side down easily, working off the changeup—which had great separation today, getting two easy grounders and a pop-up.
“Hey, Cafferty,” the Crosscutters third base coach said, as she strode towards the dugout without looking at the stands.
She paused.
“We all thought that was bush-league, too,” he said.
Which was good to hear, because it damn well had been.
CHAPTER 20
Her pitch count was low—she’d been very efficient—so, she was able to complete five innings, and left with an eight-run lead.
“Still pretty steamed?” Sofia asked, as they went back to the visiting clubhouse.
Jill nodded.
“Had a good effect on your pitching,” Sofia said.
Probably, but that didn’t mean that she wanted it to happen ever again.
Massage, ice, a flush ride on the stationary bike—and she was back out to the dugout in the bottom half of the seventh inning. Brumley—not Burney or Barney, as she’d thought—was pitching, and having
another rough night, because five runs were in, and there were guys on first and third. But, he was able to get through the inning without any more damage, and the back end of the bullpen—including the ever-silent Andrew—finished out the game, which gave her first professional victory.
Yay.
The local GM and public relations person both apologized, at length, for the tampon thing, and she assured them that it was no big deal, and that she wasn’t at all disturbed. A bunch of fans were gathered in the box seats, shouting things like, “We love you, Jill!” and she made a point of being approachable and agreeable, and signed autographs until she was summoned to the media room for a crowded press conference.
To her surprise, she saw Adler standing at the back of the room, with his arms folded, which seemed like an unexpectedly supportive thing for him to do. The GM gave a detailed statement during which he formally apologized for the behavior of the two fans, and said that he hoped she would not hold it against a baseball town with such a storied history, and she said, no, of course not, these things happen—and it all felt like a degrading waste of time, when she would much rather be inside the clubhouse, getting something mediocre from the post-game spread.
She knew the media people weren’t going to ask much about the way she had actually pitched—and they didn’t. But, when one of them wanted to know if she was going to file a criminal complaint against the two idiots, she was caught off guard, since that hadn’t crossed her mind.
“Um, well, you know, it was just paper products,” she said, and a few people laughed. “If I flip out every time I run across a couple of antediluvian”—Could she say “schmucks” to reporters? Probably not—“cretins, it could get pretty tedious.”
“Would you like to describe some of the gender harassment and abuse you’ve experienced,” someone asked. “For example, when your locker—”
Nope, she wasn’t going there. “I’d rather focus on the fact that almost everyone has been extremely welcoming,” she said. Should she throw Williamsport a Valentine? “I thought we had a great crowd here tonight, and I’m grateful for their support. I loved being able to play in a beautiful old stadium like this.”
A Season of Daring Greatly Page 22
