3. Ethan
3
ETHAN
Deep breath in.
Let it out.
It’s my first exhibition game of spring training, and I can do this. I’ve been waiting forever to prove myself, and now I finally have that chance.
A warm, soothing glow settles over the open-air ballpark as the day fades, but the air is still thick with humidity. Washington’s in town, and even though it’s an exhibition game, I’m still fighting off jitters. James stands next to me in the clubhouse, stretching his arm and going through a series of light exercises like he’s been doing all afternoon. He looks determined. I catch his eye, and he sends me an upward nod.
“You ready?” he asks, his voice carrying a hint of excitement.
“I guess so.” I clasp my hands together. “What about you?”
“Oh yeah, I’m so ready.” He flashes a bright smile at me and my nerves loosen a little. “We’ve got this.”
Washington is no joke. Over the last few seasons, they’ve built a reputation for being intense, and they’re not here to mess around. Their pitchers are all terrifying, their defense is solid, and our video session this morning sure didn’t inspire confidence.
Before I know it, the game starts. Washington’s pitcher is sharp right from the start, but we adapt. We’re hanging in, trading outs and hits, but it’s way too close. Every at-bat is a battle, and every play on the field happens at light speed. My heart pounds, facing the pressure.
It’s the top of the fifth inning, and I’m out in center field when Washington’s next batter steps up. Our starting pitcher winds up, and on the second pitch, the ball flies off the bat, heading straight toward me.
Running backward, I keep my eyes focused on the ball that’s coming down like a missile. It’s coming in fast, and I extend my arm?—
I misjudge the drop.
The ball grazes off my glove and skids across the field behind me. A sinking pit forms in my stomach as the runner rounds first. By the time I scoop it up and throw it back, he’s safe on third.
“Damn,” I mutter, my hands tightening around the glove as I jog back to position. It’s like everyone in the ballpark is focusing on me. Even the floodlights seem to shine with laser-like precision, highlighting me and the aftermath of my mistake. My gaze stays fixed on the batting box, and I don’t look at anything else. I can’t deal with the embarrassment, not now.
The inning ends soon after, but on the way back to the dugout, I can’t shake the disappointment. Nothing can change the fact that I messed up.
I slump onto the bench, replaying the miss in my head. James scoots over next to me with an armful of water bottles, nudging me with his elbow as he sits down.
“Hey,” he says, thrusting a bottle in my face. “You’re good, man. It happens.”
My mouth firms up. “I should’ve caught it, that was totally on me.”
James leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Look, I’ve seen what you can do in training. You have skills, and one miss doesn’t change that. You’ll make up for it, trust me. Besides, we’re still tied, right?”
I let out a breath and give him a tighter nod. It’s what I needed to hear, but that miss is still swimming around in my thoughts.
The bottom of the fifth goes by fast. I’m not up to bat, so I lean forward against the railing to watch. A couple of our batters make contact but can’t get on base; it’s one of those games where every little thing counts and both teams are playing it tight. The score stays tied.
With my rest over, the next inning starts. I adjust my glove even though there’s no real reason for it. It’s something that helps me feel like I’m doing something to make up for that fumble. As I head out of the dugout, I hear someone call out from behind me.
“Hernandez, you’re up!”
Pitching change.
I jog to center field and look back to see James emerging from the dugout. He’s walking toward the mound with a confident stride, his shoulders relaxed, and I can see the determination in each step he takes. I’ve seen the guy in practice, and he sure isn’t someone I’d want to face when I’m up to bat.
James settles on the mound and winds up. The crowd grows quiet, and the intensity in his stance is obvious. It’s almost like everyone is collectively holding in a breath, waiting to see what happens next.