First Love

by G. L. Snodgrass

  Really, I think every girl should spend an afternoon in a baseball dugout with a bunch of teenage boys. They will learn quickly that boys are not only different than girls. They are an entirely different species in fact.

  First off, boys spit. I mean all the time. Even when they don’t have to, they do. And heaven help any bug crawling across the dugout floor. The boys will spend every bit of energy trying to hit the poor thing with a glob of spit and then yell with glee if they are successful.

  Next, they smell. I mean a few hours playing ball in the sun creates a real serious funk. What I find unbelievable is how oblivious they are to it.

  But at the same time, guys can be so unbelievably loyal. Two guys can be arch enemies. But if the other team messes with one, the other will be the first one out to charge the visiting team. Every time.

  I know I wouldn’t have done that for Cindy She-Devil, but guys looked at it differently.

  And of course. All they think about is sex. It is the first and last part of every discussion. I mean two guys can be discussing the inside fly rule and somehow it will end up about a girl in the stands that might have smiled at them.

  Really it was eye-opening just how different they were.

  I glanced down the bench at Grant then looked away quickly before anyone saw me staring. He wasn’t pitching today. Coach was saving him for later this week. Instead, he was hitting clean-up and had already raked in a couple of runs batted in.

  “Hey, Tara,” Coach Livingston said with a serious frown as he stared intently across the field and into the stands. “Where is Jenkins?”

  I shook my head, “Um, I’m pretty sure he’s on second. That’s what happens when you hit a double. And why the other team is making a pitching change.”

  The coach quickly looked out at second base to confirm I wasn’t lying. “Well, then what about Parker?”

  I frowned. “Remember, he got hurt in the first inning. That’s why our backup catcher, Jenkins is standing on second.”

  Coach Livingston sighed heavily as he looked up and down the bench, The guys were staring back at him with big eyes. It wasn’t like the coach to become flustered. Forgetful yes, flustered never.

  “Here, give me that,” he said as he pulled the scorebook from my hands. “Go warm up Grant.”

  My mind tumbled over itself as I tried to figure out what was going on. “Um … Coach, I’m not a team member, remember. I just help keep the scorebook because I’m weird.”

  He kept looking across the way then back at the team. “You’re the closest thing I have to a bench coach and I couldn’t have one of these guys warm him up. They’d get hurt.”

  I smiled to myself at his unintentional compliment. Hey, I’ll take them where ever I can get them. “You know we’re ahead by eight runs? Right? Why would you send in Grant?”

  The coach looked back across into the bleachers. “Because there is a scout in the stands.”

  My brow narrowed in confusion. “Coach, they’ve been scouting Grant since freshman year. What is so special about this one?”

  He leaned down and whispered. “Because this one is from the University of Washington. And if we can get Grant to take their offer, that means he stays local for a little bit longer and we get to live vicariously through him. It is either that or he gets drafted by the pros and sent to single A team in some far off Podunk town and we never hear from him again.”

  “Hey Grant,” I yelled as I scrambled to get my glove. When the coach was right he was right. “Let’s go.”

  Grant shot me a surprised look, then shrugged his wide shoulders and followed me up the line to the warm-up mound off right field.

  Thankfully, I was wearing jeans loose enough for me to crouch down and give him a target. As we walked, I put on my mitt and turned my cap around so I could see his pitch. You do not want to try and catch a ninety-five mile an hour fastball half-blind. This I can tell you from experience.

  The ball snapped into the back of my glove with that resounding sound that echoed off the scoreboard in left field. He smiled. And all was right with the world.

  He continued to throw. His body moving naturally as if it were designed for the specific act of throwing a leather-clad sphere. I continued to catch. Our familiar pattern that marked the rhythm of our life.

  But then, in the middle of his wind-up, he stopped, his eyes shooting over my head. Pissed at his lack of attention, I glanced over my shoulder to find the blonde she-devil herself, Cindy Lu and a couple of her worshippers standing by the fence watching Grant warm up.

  They had that open admiring stare that boys found irresistible. The stare that girls like Cindy Lu perfected at an early age.

  My blood ran cold. A pretty girl smiles at him and he stops worrying about baseball.

  Grant shook it off and refocused, but the pitch missed the target by six inches. I sighed, as I tossed the ball back to him.

  “Hey, I’m ready,” he said as he stepped down off the mound and started back to the dugout.

  As he walked by the gaggle of girls, He shot them a quick smile and dipped his head in acknowledgment. It took me every ounce of self-control not to slap him upside the head. But you know boys, it is impossible for them to ignore a pretty girl. Even more so when they look at him like he just cured world hunger.

  “Listen, Grant,” Cindy called from the other side of the short fence. “A bunch of us are getting together at the quarry. You should come. I know you would have a good time. I can promise you will enjoy it.”

  The suggestive look in her eyes told him exactly what she was promising.

  My gag reflex threatened to kick in. She was practically throwing herself on the ground and begging him to take her right there.

  Grant smiled at her. The boy was hopeless. Then he caught my evil stare and the smile dropped down a few degrees. If he knew what was good for him, he would be very careful with the next words to leave his mouth.

  He shrugged his shoulders and said, “We’ll see,”

  Cindy and her hangers-on pouted, I swear it looked like it had been choreographed. Each downturn lip like a little girl who didn’t get a pony for her birthday.

  I wanted to laugh but kept it in check, but I’ve got to be honest though. I enjoyed seeing them disappointed.

  Thankfully, at that moment, Sinclair struck out and the inning was over.

  I rolled my eyes and started to return to the dugout.

  “Why does she get to hang out with them?” Cindy Lu’s chief priestess. Jenna Cade, asked with an upset tone, obviously referring to me. “It isn’t fair.”

  Cindy Lu laughed and said, “Oh, don’t worry about her. She’s no threat. To them, she will always be just one of the guys.”

  My insides lurched. Miss Lucifer had hit a sore spot. She’d sunk her pitchfork deep and pierced my soul. Was she right? Was that why Grant was never interested in me? Because I was just another friend. One of many.

  And why had none of the other boys on the team ever asked me out? Never invited me to a party. I’d always assumed it was because they secretly knew how I felt about Grant. But what if the real reason was because they viewed me as nothing more than one of the guys.

  Fighting to catch my breath. I swear, it was like someone had hit me in the stomach with a Louisville Slugger, I marched back to the dugout with my head held high.

  “He ready?” Coach asked, referring to Grant.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “How should I know” I snapped.

  He shot me a quizzical look then turned to watch Grant on the mound take his last warm-up pitches.

  He needn’t have worried, Grant struck out the side. One batter tipped the ball back to the backstop, but otherwise, they couldn’t touch him.

  Coach smiled from ear to ear as the team hustled in off the field. “Good job,” he said as he slapped Grant on the shoulder.

  The big lug shook it off as his stare wandered out over the bleachers.

  “She’s not there,” I said. Referring to the she-beast Cind
y Lu.

  For just the briefest moment I saw a look of disappointment flash behind his eyes.

  I gave him my best evil stare and slowly shook my head. The corners of his lips twitched in a chagrined look as he shrugged his shoulders silently asking me what he could do about it. Girls just liked him.

  I rolled my eyes. The boy was hopeless.

  “Remember,” I said, my voice rising louder than it should have. “We had a deal. Not her.” I hated the idea of Grant being with anyone, not me. But to see him with Cindy would be too much.

  The tension inside the dugout had risen a couple dozen degrees. The rest of the guys were looking back and forth between us. First at Grant then back at me with a mixture of surprise and enjoyment. I swear Jenkins was going to break out some popcorn while he watched the show.

  Grant smirked while raising one eyebrow, “Hey, I can’t just ignore her and her friends. It would be rude.”

  An anger erupted deep inside of me. The boy was just too clueless to live.

  Our eyes locked, not in that sweet romantic way. More in that battle of wills way.The kind of look that could change the course of history.

  He just didn’t get it. He never would. The pain and anger continued to build inside of me until I felt a tear began to form in the corner of my eye. The realization that I might cry in front of everyone made me even angrier. No, this could not happen.

  “You’re a jerk,” I said while throwing my arms up, I stormed out of the dugout before I made a fool of myself.

  I swear I will never understand boys, especially boys like Grant Metcalf.

  Chapter Three

  Grant

  My forehead creased in confusion as I watched Tara march off in a huff. Her ponytail swinging back and forth in time with her hips.

  Hips? When did Tara get hips?

  Shaking it off, I put the sudden thought out of my mind and turned to catch Jenkins staring at Tara’s butt. The look of appreciation in his eyes made my blood boil.

  “What you looking at,” I snapped at him. “Get your eyes back in your head.”

  He shot me a quick sneer and shook his head. “You are such an idiot,” he said.

  That look of his told me I was missing something important.

  Tara? My stomach fell to my cleats. Tara? Yes, she was pretty. Everyone knew that. But she was out of bounds. Too valuable as a friend to ever let myself think of her that way.

  Raising an eyebrow, I continued to stare at Jenkins until he got the message and turned around to take off his catcher’s gear. I looked back to see Tara slip behind the bleachers and out of sight. My insides turned over, no, I would not allow myself to think of her that way. Besides, Tara would slap me silly if she ever thought I looked at her like she was a pretty girl.

  I could well imagine the scolding I’d get for thinking of her as an object. And she’d be right. She was so much more. The best of friends. Smart, funny, loyal. Everything a guy could want in a friend. No way was I risking that by thinking of her as anything but a friend.

  Sighing to myself, I tried to put the disappointment buried deep inside of me aside and focused on the game. But the memory of those hips, and the fire in her eyes kept creeping back into the front of my brain.

  After the game, I grabbed a quick shower and found Tara standing next to my car. Her arms were folded across her chest and her eyes shot flames as she watched me walk towards her.

  “Okay,” I said, holding up my hands in surrender. “You win, I won’t talk to Cindy. I won’t even look at Cindy.”

  Her shoulders slumped in relief as she turned and got into the car without another word. That was one of the things I liked about Tara. When she won an argument, she didn’t rub it in. She moved on quickly. As for when she lost an argument? In all honesty, I couldn’t remember that ever happening.

  “Did the scout say anything to you?” She asked as I pulled out of the parking lot.

  “No, but Coach said the guy was coming to the game on Wednesday and that I would be the starting pitcher.”

  Tara nodded, and all was right with the world again.

  We continued on in silence. But something had changed, not a lot. Just a little. I felt uncomfortable for some reason. Something wasn’t right, different between the two of us. A hint of awkwardness that bugged me at the bottom of my being.

  Swallowing hard, I tried to shake it off.

  “You shouldn’t have thrown that curveball to their second batter,” Tara said as she shook her head.

  “Jenkins called for it. You’re the one who is always telling me to listen to my catcher.”

  Tara scoffed, “Not Jenkins, the boy is as dumb as an empty Gatorade cooler.”

  I laughed, she wasn’t wrong. “But the batter swung and missed. That is sort of the object remember.”

  Again Tara scoffed and shook her head. Obviously, I was even dumber than Jenkins. “That kid couldn’t have hit your fastball if he had two hours to get ready. Showing him the curve, let the on-deck hitter see it. That was why he was able to tap it foul when you threw it. You need to be thinking ahead. When you get to big boy school they won’t let you get away with mistakes like that.”

  I sighed, once again she was right.

  “You think I should take the scholarship offer instead of accepting a signing bonus from the pros if I get drafted?”

  Tara shot me a quick frown. “If you get drafted?” She asked with disbelief, “The only question is will it be in the first or second round. As for whether to go to college or the pros, I’ve told you, I’m not getting in the middle of that. Only you can make that decision. Only parents or a long-term girlfriend can offer that kind of advice, not friends. We’re only here to play catch with.”

  “You’re more than that and you know it,” I said as I turned onto our road. “I really wish you’d tell me what you think I should do. You have no idea how hard it is to…”

  Tara snorted out a quick laugh. “Hard? You have it hard?” she said with shock and a hint of anger. “The great Grant has it hard. He doesn’t know whether to accept a multi-million dollar signing bonus or a full four-year free ride at one of the countries finest universities. Poor Grant, girls falling all over themselves to be with him, people kissing his butt. Yeah, you’ve got it hard.”

  “Hey,” I yelled. “You have no idea what it is like. Always being judged. Always having to be perfect.”

  “Ha,” she said with an explosive burst. “Being perfect is your default setting. You love being perfect. For you, it’s not hard. It’s normal life.”

  I bit down my response, the girl would never understand. But a guilty feeling flowed through me as I thought about Tara’s future. Her mom couldn’t pay for university. For Tara, it was community college, a ton of student debt and working nights as a barista. She was right, I really shouldn’t complain.

  It was all coming to an end I realized. In a few months, we would go our separate ways and things would never be the same again. The thought made my stomach clench up into a tight ball. The thought of Tara not being a part of my life was almost unthinkable.

  Who would yell at me when I screwed up. Who could I rely on to be in my corner no matter what? I knew with every fiber of my soul that the first time I struck someone out either in the pros or in college, She would be the person I wanted there to see it. Only she would really understand how important it was.

  Sighing, I pulled into my driveway and turned the car off.

  “Will you warm me up on Wednesday, before the game?” I asked.

  She frowned and asked “Why,”

  I shrugged my shoulders. How could I explain it was because I could see it all slipping away and I wanted to capture every last special moment before it disappeared completely.

  Instead, I said, “For luck.”

  She studied me for a moment then slowly nodded. Like me, Tara knew that you didn’t screw with luck.

  .o0o.

  A soft murmur was already starting in the stands as the guys warmed up. Wednesday af
ternoon was one of those special northwest days. High blue sky. A light breeze down off the mountains. The green grass had been cut the night before, leaving behind that fresh spring smell that calmed my soal.

  I stood on the bullpen mound and delivered a pitch just off the corner. Tara smiled and threw the ball back.

  God how I loved this. The way the ball smacked into the back of her glove. The feeling of power and control that washed through me with each pitch. I was made for this, I thought as I threw another pitch.

  When I felt loose, I walked off the mound and met Tara halfway. She looked around then raised an eyebrow. “What, no female admirers? I thought for sure Cindy would be here again.”

  I shrugged, “I sort of let her know I wasn’t interested. That I needed to focus on baseball.”

  Tara smiled at me like I’d just given her a Christmas present. My heart skipped for just a second. Her smile could light up half the world.

  “Hey Grant,” A man yelled from the fence.

  I turned and my stomach lurched just a little. It was the scout from the University of Washington. I’d met him a couple of times over the years. A nice guy. But he was going to want to know if I was serious about the scholarship or going Pro. And I just couldn’t make up my mind.

  “Hey Mr. Seaver,” I said as Tara and I walked over to him.

  “Looking good kid,” he said to me then nodded at Tara, giving her a quick smile. “And your girlfriend is pretty good as well.”

  My heartbeat hitched for just a moment, “Um… this is Tara Pearson,” I said, “And she’s not my girlfriend.”

  Tara shot me a strange look then held her hand out to shake with the scout. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Seaver.”

  “I like the way you blocked that slider in the dirt,” he said to her. “Can you hit?”

  Before Tara could be modest, I stepped in, “She’s been hitting my stuff since she was ten. I can’t get a curve ball by her on my best day.”