15. Chapter 15
“Does it look any better on paper?” I asked, dropping into the chair on the opposite side of Coach Berrios’s desk. His office sat right inside one of the school doors. The dingy lights of his office made it resemble a classroom, which I guessed made sense.
Coach looked up, hat still on, a wad of chewing tobacco tucked behind his lip. The smell drifted over to me; it was illegal in high school baseball, but what the umps didn’t see, Coach Berrios was going to do.
“Not in the slightest,” Coach said, putting the book in front of him.
We had lost again; Gavin, back to being eligible, couldn’t connect with the ball, my shoulder—even though it was better—still ached with soreness, and we didn’t have a single senior on the field.
I nodded, making eye contact with the desk. “I’m ready to hit.”
“No, you aren’t, Easton,” Coach sighed, his fingers moving through his goatee.
“I can do it,” I said, standing up from the chair and pacing the floor. “We’re getting our asses kicked. You need my bat, and I need to play.”
“You’re still hurt.”
“I’m fine. Hitting won’t damage me more than I am. I can manage.”
Coach closed his eyes, his breathing steadying. “Have you ever seen The Mighty Ducks? As in the movie, not that slop they made into a TV show.”
I turned back toward him, my face scrunching at the question, remembering watching it for the first time with the Quinns last summer. “Yes?”
“Coach Bombay had the right idea in the third movie with Banks,” Coach Berrios said, standing and walking toward a bat leaned against the back corner. He picked it up, rolling the barrel with his fingers before grabbing it firmly.
Mighty Ducks was a hockey movie, and I’m pretty sure he was talking about the second movie. But I knew better than to argue when I was trying to get back on the field.
He walked toward me, the handle of the bat now inches from my waist. “Grab the bat and hold it at shoulder height. If you hold it there for a minute, you can be our designated hitter for the rest of the year.”
I grabbed the handle, determined to prove him wrong. The bat was parallel to my shoulder in a second, but a numbing pain shot from my fingers to my neck.
I stared forward, biting my lip to move the pain anywhere but my shoulder. Sweat rolled down my face; I stared at the clock on the wall; the second hand moved slower than it did in English class. The bat started to waver in my hand before twenty seconds were up, but I wasn’t going to fail.
Coach Berrios reached out before we reached thirty, pushing the bat downwards and pulling it out of my hand. “There’s no way I can let you play right now,” he said, his voice soft.
“I have to,” I choked. I wasn’t sure what caused it—not being able to play this game, the pain in my shoulder, losing so freaking much, or remembering Dad was getting out of jail soon—but the tears started to flow fast and hot, like I’d lost control of everything.
Coach jumped up on his desk, taking a seat and staring at me. He didn’t try to hug me like so many people would have. I was overreacting, mimicking a kid who hadn’t gotten his way and wasn’t able to explain why he was so mad.
“I’ve had at most five players in my career as talented as you, Easton,” he said, as I started to regain my composure. “If we get you healthy, you can play in college. You have a shot at playing past that, even. Pushing through an injury is going to make it so none of that will ever happen.”
“Not fucking good enough to win you a state title last year,” I said, the memory of Coach Berrios watching me run by him after I made the final out sprinting into my brain.
“Is that why you’re so mad? Team sport. You played great in that game.”
“I ran through your stop sign, or we would’ve won.”
“Yeah, well, if you ever do that again, I’m benching you.”
I peeked up; Coach had a small smile on his face. “I’m sorry.”
“Easton. Stop. That game is in the past. A month from now, the doctor will clear you, and we can get back on the grind.”
I nodded. Trying to convince myself, I said, “I’m going to get you that title next year.”
“No faith in the team this year?”
I snorted, knowing what we both did—this year was a wash. But maybe next year we could actually get it done.
After the conversation ended, I made my way out of the school, the sound of my shoes echoing in the empty halls. When the heat of the spring air hit my face, I saw Gavin sitting with his back against a tree, his red Crocs next to him and nothing on his feet but the team-issued black socks.
“What’s up, Gav?” I said. “Where’s Zach?”
“I sent him home with our bags. I told him we’d walk,” he said as he stood, putting his shoes back on.
“Why would you tell him that? It’s over a mile.”
“Because it’s only a mile, and I wanted to talk with you.”
“Gavin, we don’t have school tomorrow, so I was coming over, anyway. We could have just talked at your house.”
“Oh yeah,” he said, starting to walk across the blacktop of the parking lot. Everybody had cleared out, leaving only empty parking spots.
I sighed and followed him, never knowing what I’d be getting into with Gavin. “So, what did you want to talk about?” I asked as we got stride for stride.
“I suck right now,” he said, sounding more chipper than he should have based on his words.
“We went over this last summer. You don’t even turn fifteen until next month, and you’re playing a bunch of eighteen-year-olds. Just focus on your defense and hit as well as you can.”
“Yeah,” Gavin said, his arms swinging, “that’s fine and good. But I need more muscle by next year. Because this is depressingly awful.”
“Yeah, it is. But why did we need to talk about this?”
“We’re going to need to get back into working out like Tanner used to have us do.”
“Sure.”
“But let’s put Tanner back in charge in the summer. You can ask him to do it. Get us good again.”
“Why can’t you ask him?”
“Because he said he hasn’t heard from you in two weeks, and I figured this would be the excuse to get you to text him back.”
I shook my head. There wasn’t a person in the world who wanted me and Tanner together more than Gavin.
“Fine,” I said, knowing he wouldn’t stop asking until I agreed.
“Oh,” he said, “I’ve also got good news. I think I’m about to start to grow soon.”
I rolled my eyes. “And why’s that?”
“I finally got my first pubes.” He looked at me as if waiting for me to congratulate him, the smile spreading across his face.
“Proud of you,” I said, trying not to laugh at him. “But some things you don’t need to go around telling everybody.”
“I only told you.”
“Let’s keep it that way, dude,” I said, shaking my head at the unintentionally funniest person I knew. I wasn’t even sure Tanner could make me laugh like Gavin could, especially not after the talk I’d had with Coach.
When we got back to the Quinns’ house, I headed to the bathroom and typed out a text to Tanner.
We suck. Gavin and I want to know if you’ll run your workouts again this summer.
I put my phone on the toilet seat and jumped in the shower, the warm water washing off the sweat that had accumulated throughout the school day and while I’d sat on the bench during the game. As I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair, a text message notification sounded.
I wiped my hands on the towel and grabbed my phone then ducked back underneath the water.
About time you asked.
I grinned, knowing he was as excited as I was. Hopefully my shoulder would be ready to roll by the time he got back from college.