Page 54 of Mom Ball

I narrow my eyes. He’s trying to run me off and I don’t like it. Two can play at this game.

“It’s nice of you to find them a practice field.”

“I figured they needed rescuing from that bullpen.” He laughs obnoxiously at his corny joke.

“I couldn’t agree more. That’s why I opened up my personal training facility anytime Morgan and Brooke need a place for them.”

His jaw drops and the toothpick falls to the ground. I meet his dumbfounded stare and wait for that to sink in.

“I wasn’t aware you were letting teams work at your home, with your equipment.”

“I wouldn’t say teams.” I emphasize the S. Really just this team.

I smile, and Jeffrey’s nostrils flare. I take a few steps back and wave a hand at him. “But we needed a change in venue. Astroturf and pitching machines can only help us so much.”

Jeffrey’s entire face turns the color of the Apple Cart Armadillo mascot on a sponsor sign. He may have won the first competition, but as long as I’m around, he won’t get the championship.

“Have a good practice.” I turn and jog toward the kids.

They listen eagerly as I describe our stations for today. Ethan has practice, so I enlist a few parents to come help and break them into groups.

“Where do you need me?” Morgan asks.

“You and Brooke will stick with me today. I think our coaches need practice too.”

She snorts.

“I don’t expect y’all to throw strikes, but you have to give them something to work with.”

“Yeah, we suck.” Brooke twists her mouth, then turns to Morgan.

“I didn’t say that, but y’all do need practice.”

“You didn’t have to, Coach,” Morgan chimes in.

“You don’t have to call me Coach.”

“Okay, Coach.” She shakes her head. “Sorry, bad habit.”

“You can go first, then.”

Her sarcastic smile fades. I give her a ball. “See that torn spot in the fence behind the plate?”

“Yep.”

“That’s your target.”

She narrows her eyes, then goes through the cliché motions most pitchers use. Her foot drags a country mile and takes about as long. I study everything from her stance to her arm, taking mental notes.

The ball makes it to the plate, but wildly.

“All right, let’s start with your stance.”

“What’s wrong with my stance?”

“It’s throwing you off balance. I think you’re so focused on how you’re standing and moving your feet that it’s messing with your arm.”

She stares at me blankly.

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