Play On - Michelle Smith Page 0,37
my own feet. Coach grabs my elbow, keeping me upright while Marisa, clearly trying to hold back a laugh, waves to me from the other side of the fence. What the hell is she doing here? She should be working. Coach holds the fence’s door open for her, grinning as she walks by.
“Not too long, Braxton,” he says, sliding on his sunglasses. “You got homework to do, yeah?”
“Yes, sir.” But if my tutor’s out here, can’t that count as homework? Tilting my head to the side, I shift my bag’s strap and ask Marisa, “Not that I’m complaining, but what’re you doing here?”
She runs a hand through her hair, which is a mess of waves. “Your mom let me off early.”
“Slacker.”
She laughs. “So,” she says, looking at the ground, “I thought I’d come see you. See where the magic happens.” She peers up at me through those lashes, a smile creeping across her face.
She got off early and came all the way here to see me? That can’t be right. Or maybe I should just shut up and take a miracle when it’s handed to me. “Really?” I ask.
She nods. I step to the side, allowing her to walk past me and onto the field. Brett and Eric emerge from the dugout, laughing about something until they spot us. They stop short, each holding his own gear bag. Brett cocks an eyebrow. Eric looks her up and down, nodding appreciatively.
“Nice,” he drawls.
Brett smacks the back of his head and shoves him toward the fence. “Later, Braxton,” he says. I stifle a laugh.
“Sorry ’bout Eric,” I offer. “He’s, well, Eric.”
Marisa just shakes her head and starts toward home plate. I drop my bag at the fence, watching as she toes the dirt. She’s meticulous about it, being careful not to get any on the actual plate.
“It’s been so long since I’ve been on a field,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. “I wanted to see the one you’re always going on about. It’s okay that I’m here, right?”
Crossing my arms, I walk toward her. “It’s more than okay. You played? On a team, I mean?”
She nods, her gaze passing over the field. “JV softball during sophomore year. I was going to try out for varsity my junior year, but…” She trails off, holding up her arm. “You know how that went.”
No, I don’t. She never told me the entire story. “What position?” I ask instead.
Her smile returns as I step to her side. “Catcher.”
Nice. “You know, I have a soft spot for catchers. They’re the backbone of the team.” Pitching a game without Jay would be like pitching without my glove.
“But pitchers control the field.” She gestures to the diamond. “All this? It’s like your kingdom.”
Well, the girl does have a point. I look down at her. I recognize that expression on her face, the magic a player feels when he (or she) is standing at home plate. When you’re standing on this field, you can hear the crowd in your ears. Feel the burn in your arm. Your pulse spikes and it’s almost dizzying, the rush you get.
“Wait here,” I tell her.
Her eyebrows scrunch, but I jog past her to the dugout, where Eric and Brett left the ball bucket. After grabbing one of the balls, I toss it to her. She catches it effortlessly. “Gloveless,” I call from the dugout entrance. “You’re a natural, Marlowe. How’s your swing?”
Her face glows as she stares at the ball in her hand. “Not bad. My dad used to take me to the batting cages.” She clears her throat. “We don’t go anymore.”
I take a detour to my bag, which is still beside the fence, and pull out my bat. If you want to gauge whether or not a girl is a true ball fan, see how comfortable she is with a bat. “Why not?”
She holds up her arm again. “I’m not the only one who carries these scars, Austin.” She tosses the ball up and swipes it, mid-air. “He loves me. They both do. But I think they’ve forgotten that I’m still me, not some problem they’ve been assigned to fix.” She shrugs a shoulder. “He throws himself into work. And with this new job, it’s even more work. He tries, he really does, but we don’t talk like we used to. Now it’s all about meds or whether I’m eating so I can take my meds.”
Bat in hand, I stop in front of her and nod in understanding. “The family dinners.”
She