Out of My League - Sarah Sutton Page 0,67
parents could’ve been home any minute, and though they seemed to like Walsh enough, I hadn’t wanted to take any chances.
Or, at least, that’s what I told myself in the moment. But I also really needed space from him and his googly eyes, and sending him packing was the only way for me to breathe. For some reason, I found myself back in that headspace, my lungs unsure how to draw in a normal breath of air.
Walsh came back from the shed clutching a tee, the kind kids used in little league. He must’ve seen the look on my face. “No, you’ll love this. This way you have total control.”
“I’ll look like an idiot. An idiot who doesn’t know how to play baseball.”
Walsh set the tee up over the plate, reaching down to scoop up a baseball. Brushing it against his shirt, he gingerly set it on the tee. “Have you ever played baseball before?”
“Unless you count that week we were required to play in gym class, no.”
“Then this is perfect for you.” Walsh took the helmet from my fingertips, placing it gently back on my head. His sea-depth eyes met mine under the lip, and he carefully adjusted how it sat. “This is how everyone starts out playing. They use a tee. And it’s great because you’ll hit it every time. Well, probably.”
I swung the bat up from the ground, and Walsh edged back just in time to avoid being knocked under the chin. Oops. “I’m only doing this to cheer you up,” I told him, moving to stand by home plate, “because I really think this is silly.”
“Five bucks says you’ll really like it.”
“Doubtful.” I hardly enjoyed watching baseball, and even that took effort.
Tightening my grip, I took a step to the tee and swung, the bat heavier now that I put power behind my blow, and the ball cracked loudly against the metal. It went left sharply, bouncing along the white line sprayed into the grass. The bat vibrated under my hand, and I lost my footing as I tumbled off-balance.
Walsh grabbed my arm to steady me, excitement already evident in his gaze. “Okay, we need to work on your stance. But that was a good start!”
I laughed at the shot of happiness and reached back to touch my shoulder as it throbbed. “I thought it was great.”
Walsh moved to grab another baseball, setting it on the tee. “It was great. But, here, put your feet—” Walsh bent down and grabbed my sneaker, sliding it against the dirt. He pushed it out wider than my hip and then moved the other foot, so it was parallel to that leg, spreading them wide. “—like this. And put a bit more weight into the back foot, but when you swing—”
“Move onto the front foot?”
“Lightly.” He got to his feet, brushing his hands on his pants. “It’ll make sure you aren’t tossed off balance when you put your little muscles into that swing.”
“Please!” I scoffed, shoving him. “Little muscles. These bad boys are bigger than yours.”
“Just swing.” Walsh stepped back, far from reach. “And remember to put your front foot—”
“Light pressure. Yeah, yeah.” I fell into position, a bit more confident even though I was at little league level. “Eat this, stupid baseball.”
When I swung, the difference was obvious. This time when my bat connected, the ball seemed to straighten out more than before, going farther. It touched the ground almost to third base, rolling past.
I whirled to face Walsh while grinning like a fool, holding up the bat like it was a trophy. “Oh, my gosh! Did you see that?”
Walsh’s smile was so wide when he saw my genuine delight, and my heart jumped at the sight of it, so vivid in the dying light. In his hand sat another baseball. “Now do it again.”
We spent what seemed like hours switching turns, practicing our hits underneath the fading sun and soon the glowing stars. Walsh even got me to step back and underhand-pitch a few baseballs to him, laughing like an idiot when he “accidentally” missed. The more we joked around, the more relaxed he became, his swings becoming wilder and more theatrical.
I dropped the bat after I swung to put my hands around my mouth, calling, “And it’s out of here! Sophia Wallace hits a home run! The crowd goes wild!” My voice echoed in the field, loud. I mimicked an audience screaming an ahh, ahh sound.
“I can’t find the ball,” Walsh called, wandering around. “It’s too dark;