Play On - Michelle Smith Page 0,24
or ‘stupid.’ If I hear it, I’ll make you—” she waves her hand around. “—I don’t know, copy the elements from the periodic table fifty times. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She nods once and passes me the popcorn bowl. “All right. Now. Let’s make you smarter.”
I take the bowl, unable to look away from her face. She holds my gaze, smiling this sweet smile that makes everything else in the room disappear. Maybe letting her tutor me wasn’t the brightest decision after all. Or maybe it was the best damn decision I’ve ever made.
chapter seven
After church on Sunday, I drop Momma off at home and head across town to The Strike Zone. Practice starts tomorrow, but extra time at the batting cages never hurt anybody.
When I pull into the parking lot, Jay, Brett, and Eric are all crowded around Eric’s Chevy, still dressed in their church clothes. As soon as I park, Eric hops off his tailgate and starts toward the building. He acted like a loner at church all morning, too. Instead of sitting in his usual spot between Brett and their little sister on the front pew, he planted himself in the back of the sanctuary.
I step down from my truck and lift my chin to Jay and Brett. “Who pissed in Eric’s cereal?”
Brett tugs on a Braves cap and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his khakis. “He found out his girl was cheatin’ on him,” he says as we cross the lot. “With Right Field Randy, of all people.”
“No kiddin’?” That’s low. Lower than low. Randy’s the kind of greasy, tobacco-chewing guy that gives other rednecks a bad name.
Brett nods. “Sucks, too, ’cause he’s been doin’ good these past couple of weeks. Finally staying out of trouble.”
Damn. Eric needs someone to keep his rear out of trouble, especially if he plans to be a starter next year. Coach won’t put up with that mess.
I look at Jay, who’s been walking between us without saying a word. That’s a first. I slap his shoulder. “What’s with the silent treatment, Torres? Someone piss in your breakfast, too?”
He claps his hands together. “I hate to break it to ya, but Coach emailed out a roster change. I’ve got to tell you that you are not, in fact, on the varsity team this year. You’re getting sent down to JV.”
“And I’ve got to tell you that you are, in fact, full of shit.” I stop short at the door. “You are full of shit, right?”
He laughs, but it’s the fakest smile I’ve ever seen. Something’s up. Brett holds the door open as we walk inside the building, which is empty except for the worker and Eric. This place is usually crawling with kids on Sunday afternoon. Major score for beating the post-church rush.
Eric’s waiting for us at the front, leaning against the sign-in counter. Brett tugs on the brim of his cap some more, shielding his face as we approach the register. Jay scoffs, even though he tries to hide it with a cough. Whenever they walk into a room together, Brett acts like he’s on some covert-ops mission, even though he’s one of the most recognizable guys in town. It’d be nice to shake the guy and yell that no one gives a crap, but around here, people do care. They care a lot.
We grab our bats and helmets and split up, with Brett and Eric going to the cages lining the opposite side of the room. What’s their deal? We always share a cage. Narrowing my eyes, I start to ask Jay, but he’s already tugging his helmet on and stepping into Cage 1. The door slams behind him as he slides his token into the machine. The pitching machine kicks on, and Jay swings, smacking the first ball. It’s a miracle it’s got any threading left.
I lean on the cage, lacing my fingers through the wire. “You all right, bro?”
“I’m ready to come out,” he says.
I take a step back. “Come on out, then. I’ll go first.”
He hits the next ball and glances over his shoulder. “You that dumb? Out-out, Braxton.” He points his bat across the room, where Brett’s stepping into his cage.
My eyes widen as Jay squares up for the next pitch. I look around, making sure the room’s still empty. If the wrong person heard that, all hell would break loose. I’m pretty sure that me and Jay’s older brother are the only people who know. I don’t even think Eric knows, and he’s Brett’s