Page 28 of Strike Zone

“You’re getting wrinkly again. What’s going on?” Her voice is laced with concern and that unnerves me. I don’t want her to worry about me or my family. Regardless, I find myself opening up to her.

“Have you ever heard of the small town Rivers Bend?” Wren shakes her head in response. “It’s a couple hours from here. It’s where I grew up. My family owns a farm out that way.” And most of the land surrounding it.

We used to own the whole damn town.

“Our farm. It’s failing and falling apart,” I explain. She pushes her bowl out of the way and leans on the table. Of course she would want a front row seat for my turmoil. “We should be plowing and planting but nothing is going right. We’re getting behind schedule. I should be there.”

“But you can’t because you have to be here and you don’t want to be.” She says the words I’ve left unspoken. “Are you going back home after graduation?”

“No. I’m going into the draft.”

“Why? If your family needs you, why play? You’ll have your degree in agricultural science. Go home and put your degree to good use,” she says. My eyebrows raise in question. “It popped up when I was researching your stats.”

Nothing about my life at Newhouse is a secret. It’s all available on my player bio. Last semester the Newhouse social media team conducted interviews and made a full dossier on each player. If you want to know something about me, you can find it.

“When I’m done playing I will.” I’ve already collected a few notebooks full of ideas that will help us with long term sustainability. We are currently doing what’s necessary to scrape by. If I was there every day, I could…still not get it done because we don’t have the money to do anything.

“That could take years. It’s going to feel like a jail sentence because you don’t want to play. You want to be with your family.”

“Stop telling me what I want when you don’t know me. I do want to play.”

She laughs. It’s a mocking laugh. Nothing like the giggle she gave me earlier. The sound had me second guessing myself. There was something about the trill at the end that was familiar, like I’ve heard it before, but I can’t quite place it.

“Now it’s my turn not to believe you,” she says.

Wren is too smart for her own good. I didn’t realize she was so accurate at reading people but I am too. It’s what makes me such a great pitcher. I can tell what a batter is thinking by the way he grips his bat or how he digs his cleats into the dirt.

We all have a tell. I’ve figured out a few of Wren’s. Like when she’s lying she scratches at her wrist or when she’s nervous her eyes dart around wildly. What I don’t know is why she is preaching to me so passionately about my future.

“It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. I have to do it. There isn’t a choice.”

“There is always a choice.”

“Is that so? Is that why you’re getting married? Because you are choosing to marry someone you don’t know and don’t love?”

“My personal life isn’t up for discussion.”

“How convenient for you. We’ve both made our choices then.”

“Seems we have,” she says and sits back in her seat. “You can always change your mind and pick differently.”

Are we still talking about me playing baseball or something else? Why would she care if I play or if I stay home with my family?

“We should probably talk about Charlie,” I say, changing the subject. “That’s why you’re here.” I’m reminding myself more than I am her.

“Right. That’s why I’m here. What did you have in mind?”

“I think you should plan a movie date at your dorm and invite me.” This is what I wanted to do weeks ago when I first approached her but she refused.

“Fine. I’ll set it up.” She doesn’t hesitate this time. That raises my hackles.

“It’s that easy? Why are you being so agreeable? You were giving me such a hard time before.”

“Do you want me to set it up or not?” Her words are clipped.

“I do.” I need this whole situation to be over with already.

“Then don’t ask questions. I’m agreeing to do what you want. You should be happy.”

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