Love & Baseball

Chapter 10

Brooks

I panicked. I mean, guys have the right to do that now and then, and today, I cashed in. What can I say? I want to play baseball, not analyze the love life of Romeo and Juliet. But I hadn’t thought about her dad—or dinner—or her Aunt Elle.

The front door of the Walterses’ home jerked open when I arrived, and sure enough, there was Mr. Walters. I could read his face. He was just—scary, man, he was scary.

“Mr. Mason,” he greeted. Calling me that made me feel like I was about to be led into an interrogation room and have my teeth pulled one at a time.

“Hello, Mr. Walters,” I said.

He let me step inside. Normally, I’d say that was a good thing, but when he closed the door behind me, I considered screaming and running out of the house like a baby.

“So you’re dating my daughter?”

Well, let’s get right to it. Now wasn’t a good time to admit the whole thing was an act. I mean, I had this gut feeling Reece and Brielle’s dad wasn’t going to think it was cool.

“Yes, sir.” Wise answer, Mason, wise answer.

Mr. Walters eyed me. “I don’t appreciate the fact that you didn’t bother to introduce yourself to me before asking my daughter out.”

I had no clue what to say.

Yeah, like, I would’ve liked to be introduced to your daughter before I found out we were dating, too.

Nope. That wouldn’t work.

“I—Sorry, sir.”

Mr. Walters leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “Reece says you’re from Minnesota.”

“Yes, sir.” I kept reminding myself of the extra credit project and my grades. This was all worth it if I made the team and kept up my GPA.

“My sister, Elle, said Brielle told her you were from North Carolina.”

Right. Brielle’s AI boyfriend scheme. I kept forgetting that I had somehow brought him to life. I couldn’t lie to Mr. Walters. “I’m from Minnesota.”

“So where’d Brielle get the idea of North Carolina?”

“I—don’t know.”

Mr. Walters’s eyebrow went up.

“Sir,” I added.

“Reece says you play baseball?”

“Catcher.”

The other eyebrow joined the first one.

“Sir.”

“And you’re going to try out for the team?”

“That’s my plan, sir.” This was so painful.

“Brielle really loves baseball.” Mr. Walters reached over and plucked a dead leaf off of some green plant that sat on a table in the entryway.

He crunched the dead leaf in his hand. “It’s the one thing I can connect with her on.

Books, not so much. All those romance novels give a girl an unrealistic perception of how relationships work. ” A stern gaze followed.

I think I was supposed to get something from what he’d said—I just didn’t know what. So, I nodded, not really understanding what he was talking about.

“Before you two go out on any dates,” he said the word like it was a really bad word, “I’d like you to hang out here. Have some pizza with us tonight. Play some games.”

“Games?”

“Sure. Uno. Euchre. You play Euchre, don’t you?”

“No, sir,” I shook my head.

He clapped his hand over my shoulder and squeezed. Mr. Walters also smiled, but it was one of those try-me smiles. I didn’t want to, so I just nodded. “Yeah. Euchre. Uno. Either one sounds good.”

I guess I wasn’t going out with Brielle for dinner tonight.

The fifty bucks from her Aunt Elle was going to burn a hole in my pocket.

An evening with the Walters family? I mean.

Hanging with Reece downstairs using the baseball equipment would be awesome, but playing card games?

With Brielle’s dad eyeing me like I was a potential terrorist?

I heard footsteps coming, and then Reece ducked his head around the corner. He was grinning like an idiot who thought this whole thing was hilarious. “Yo, pizza’s ready.” And then he was gone.

“So, Mr. Mason,” Mr. Walters released my shoulder. “I hope you like pepperoni.”

Three rounds of Uno later, lots of baseball talk, and six slices of pizza, and I was alive.

I don’t know how Brielle felt about things.

By round two of Uno, she had opened her book and was reading when she wasn’t laying down a card.

Her parents were cool though, even if Mr. Walters rarely smiled and still made me feel like I was either going to be convicted as a felon before the night was over, or hung by my toes in their basement.

“So what are your plans after high school?” Mr. Walters asked. Apparently, to even date his daughter, a guy had to have plans for his future career.

“I want to play baseball, sir.”

“College?”

“I’m hoping to get into the Minors.”

“So, skipping college?” Mrs. Walters inserted. She was nice, had a kind smile, and reminded me a bit of my own mom.

“You realize most guys in the Minor League last about three years max before they’re released.” Mr. Walters eyed me.

Brielle looked up from her book.

Reece laid down a reverse card. “Dad, I don’t think Brooks is stupid.”

“I never said he was. I just wanted to know if he had a reasonable outlook on the odds of his success.”

Harsh.

I nodded. “Yeah. My parents and I have talked about it.”

“I’m encouraging Reece to do college baseball. He’ll be expanding his education while he’s—”

“Oh my gosh, Dad!” Brielle broke in, a look of utter exasperation on her face. “Leave Brooks alone.”

A small grin quirked the side of Mr. Walters’s mouth.

“Leave him alone, Troy,” Mrs. Walters gave her husband a playful slap on his arm.

Mr. Walters shrugged. “I’m just saying. Guys have big dreams to make it to the Majors, but the odds are small. The media and the entertainment world today make everything seem possible, and it’s not realistic. You’re more likely to die in a war than make the Majors.”

“Dad!” Brielle shut her book. She looked a little feisty. Some color was in her face, and she glared at Mr. Walters.

“Ok.” He leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers behind his head, his elbows sticking out. “Here’s how it’s going to work. You want to date my daughter? Then you’re going to be transparent with her mother and me. You don’t go upstairs to her room.”

“Gosh, no.” I shook my head. Death wish, anyone?

“You don’t watch movies alone downstairs.”

This was really uncomfortable.

I glanced at Reece. He was biting back a grin as he made an exaggerated show of studying his Uno cards.

“Brielle knows our family’s standards, and I expect you to respect them.”

“Yes, sir.” All this for extra credit? I met Brielle’s eyes, and she looked a bit terrified that I was going to run. Yeah. She had stuff at stake, too. Like her entire high school career of freedom and trust from her parents.

“Do you go to church?” Mr. Walters asked.

“I do.” I nodded.

“Youth group?”

“Yes.” I nodded again.

“Smoke, drink, do drugs?”

“Oh my gosh!” Brielle squealed.

“Seriously, Brooks, it’s nice to have you around. I just ask for respect and honesty going forward. No surprises anymore, okay?”

I nodded. I mean, what else could I do? I laid down a wild card. It was appropriate, really. This entire situation was a wild card—and it was anything but honest.

“I’m sorry about my dad.” Brielle walked me to the door.

If I never played Uno again, that’d be okay, but at least I’d survived.

“He’s cool,” I said, but I wasn’t sure I really meant it.

“Bruh!” Reece bounded into the entryway, sliding across the tile floor on his socks. “Saturday night? You coming?”

“Coming where?” I shot a glance at Brielle.

“The team and guys who want to try out are playing a game for fun on the field at South Park.”

I didn’t think the field would be up to par for a real game at all. Spring was on its way, sure, but there were still patches of snow and puddles from the melting ice.

“After the game, we’re going to hang out.” Reece slugged my arm. “You can even bring your girlfriend.”

I shot a glance at Brielle. She was red, and I don’t know if it was because she was embarrassed or mad at her brother. Either way, the idea was no brainer. “Yeah, sure.” Awkward, I turned to Brielle. “You—uh—want to come?”

“Dude.” Reece lowered his voice, shaking his head at me. “You are the worst at this, aren’t you?”

“At what?” I asked.

“Dating? Sweeping a girl off her feet?”

“I don’t need swept off my feet,” Brielle muttered. “And yes, I want to come.”

She gave me a look that told me she was coming because that’s what a girlfriend in this situation would do.

But she also had another expression on her face I hadn’t seen before—not that I’d known Brielle Walters that long, but it turned her from being embarrassed and stand-offish to almost dreamy-eyed and excited.

Reece laughed. “Ahhh, and there it is.” He nudged his sister’s shoulder with the heel of his hand, but he directed his words to me.

“Watch out for my sister. People underestimate her. She might have her nose in a book, but when baseball season begins, she’s a whole other person.

” He leaned in toward me to make his point.

“Even Coach Priestly is nervous when she’s around.

Brielle here expects nothing less than perfection from our team. ”

“I expect the championships,” she countered.

“The championships,” Reece concluded. He flung an arm over Brielle’s shoulder and gave me a knowing look. “Hear that, Mason? That means no slacking. We got work to do.”

Did that mean Reece thought I’d make the team?

I hoped so.

I was at the plate, and I gripped the bat, determined to ignore everyone and everything but the game.

I knew this wasn’t a tryout, but Coach Priestly had shown up anyway, and all of the guys playing were pretty competitive.

No one was in uniform, obviously, but most of us came prepared with our typical gear.

I wanted to prove my worth as a batter, not just as a catcher.

So far, I was playing a strong game behind the plate, and while I hadn’t done anything remarkable in hitting the ball, I’d held my own.

It was bottom of the ninth, and my team was behind by a run.

“Drive it!” One of the guys yelled at me.

I heard the clink of metal bat against the chain link fence. “Pretend the ball insulted your mom!”

The dugout chatter was music to my ears.

I might be in a new town, a new school, with potential new teammates, but nothing made a guy feel more at home than when his cleats dug into the dirt, and his hand slid into the familiar leather of his glove, or he felt the cool metal of a bat between his hands.

“We want a hit! We want a hit!” Some of the guys’ girlfriends chanted. I knew one of them was Claire, Brielle’s friend from Lit. Her boyfriend Hunter was on second base.

“We want a hit! We want a hit!” They kept cheering, and I think a lot of us were feeling a bit wild tonight. You could smell spring. The evening air wasn’t chilly like it usually was in the upper Midwest over winter. Now it was tipped with warmth, and even daylight was sticking around.

“We want a hit!”

I readied myself. The guy pitching was a hopeful to join the team this year, too. He didn’t pitch as well as Reece, I’d noticed right away in the first few innings, but he wasn’t someone I wanted to underestimate either.

“We want a hit! We want a hit!”

More metal against chain link.

“Hit it long, Mason!” Reece called.

“We want a hit!” Those girls were relentless.

“I believe in you, Brooks!”

Suddenly, it was dead silent.

Even the pitcher hesitated and looked toward the three rows of bleachers, empty except for the players’ girlfriends and a few stragglers from school.

I looked over my shoulder, because, yeah—whoever had yelled that was trying to be nice, but it was totally . . . weird.

Brielle was standing on the bottom bleacher, her baseball cap on her head and her straight hair hanging past her shoulders. She had her fist in the air and intensity on her face.

But—I believe in you?

It was so out of place, so . . . not baseball . . .

“Ooooo, your girlfriend believes in you, Mason!” Hunter, Claire’s boyfriend, shouted from second base.

I saw Brielle’s arm lower, and she looked around. The girl was used to baseball, sure, but not having a boyfriend as a player on the team. That much was apparent. She lowered herself onto the bleacher. A few of the girls laughed behind their hands. Claire settled herself next to Brielle and then—

I don’t know what happened next. I had a game to play. I turned back to face the pitcher. He wound up, threw a curveball, and I swung.

“Strike!” The ump shouted. Reece had told me the umpire was Hunter’s dad, Mr. Needles, and he’d agreed to come out tonight just for fun.

I repositioned myself. Refocused too. I could still hear a few of the girls who had now adopted Brielle’s cheer. “We believe in you!” They shouted.

The ball came at me again. I swung. The bat vibrated as it connected with the ball. I dropped it and ran. I forgot everything else, including Brielle. This was what I lived for. This moment, right here. The game. Everything else was secondary.