arm like a whip and releasing the ball. It was a two-seam fastball, which darted down-and-in against right-handed batters. This one caught the inside corner.
“Steeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-rike,” the umpire called.
The crowd roared as if I had struck the batter out rather than simply getting the first strike. I let out a sigh of relief. The catcher fired the ball back to me, and I couldn’t help but glance up at the scoreboard.
87 MPH - CHANGEUP
I chuckled to myself. I had thrown that fastball as hard as I could, but it was so slow the radar machine thought it was a changeup. Eighty-seven wasn’t great… but it could get the job done. I had to locate my pitches perfectly. Someone throwing triple-digit fastballs could get away with firing a pitch right down the middle, because it was still difficult to hit. But if I made that mistake, the batter would send the ball halfway to Oklahoma.
I had a wide variety of pitches. The two-seamer, a slider, a curveball, and my changeup. Everything had a lot of movement on it—they started out in one place and ended up somewhere else by the time the batter was swinging. If I could nibble around the corners of the strikezone, I could survive today.
It was a pretty big if.
The next pitch I threw was a curveball that started out right down the middle, but dropped down into the dirt. The hitter lifted his foot and started to chase it, but stopped himself. Ball one.
The next pitch was a slider that did the same thing: started out in the middle of the plate before darting to the outside. Once again the batter laid off it. Ball two.
I went back to my fastball next, but it was a bit too far inside. Ball three. I threw it again, and this time it caught the inside part of the plate perfectly. But the umpire didn’t call it a strike. Ball four.
The lead-off batter of the game jogged down to first base.
I glanced at the dugout. Don’t you dare take me out of this game, I said with my eyes. I was going to pitch this game or die trying.
I caught the baseball from the catcher and prepared to face the next hitter.
42
Natalie
“We should take him out,” the manager told me.
I watched the batter run down to first base. Despite the outcome, Rafael looked good. His pitch location was crisp and accurate, he just couldn’t get the batter to bite.
Rafael glanced in my direction. The look in his eyes told me there would be a fight if the manager dared to remove him from the game.
“Give him a few more at-bats,” I said. “His stuff looks good.”
“He’s got one more batter,” the manager said stubbornly. “If he can’t get this guy out, then he’s gone.”
Rafael fired his two-seam fastball to the next batter. It hit the inside part of the plate for a strike.
“His velocity is actually higher than it was in warm-ups,” I said.
The manager grunted. “Still under ninety. Not fooling anyone with that.”
Rafael threw another fastball, this one nice and low in the zone. The batter chased it and made poor contact, dribbling it right back to the mound. Rafael flashed his glove to catch it, then spun and fired it to second base. The shortstop ran to the bag and caught the ball, dragged his foot across the bag, then leaped into the air to avoid the sliding runner. At the top of his jump he threw the ball to first.
“Out!” signaled the first-base ump.
The crowd boomed with applause and cheers. They seemed as relieved as I was to see a double-play. I glanced at the manager, who shrugged.
The next batter swung at the first pitch, a slider out over the outside of the plate. He popped the ball up to the first baseman harmlessly for out number three.
The team jogged back into the dugout, except for Rafael who walked slowly. He was wearing his best poker face, and looked like he was in the zone.
“Nice job Rafa,” the manager said as Rafael passed. The pitcher sat next to me on the bench and sighed.
I tossed a bunch of sunflower seeds in my mouth and casually asked, “Feel good?”
“Uh huh.”
I said nothing else, and we watched the Dodgers take the field in silence. Their pitcher threw a quick inning, one-two-three. Rafael grabbed his glove and walked back to the mound.
I was prepared for the worst. Yeah, Rafael had fooled the Dodgers in the first inning. But now they