Page 13 of Bad Call

“Maybe you could use a cold shower instead,” he amended. There was mischief burning in his eyes.

“Are you fucking stalking me?” I wouldn’t put it past him.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snorted. “Are you stalkingme?” he asked, finally returning his eyes to mine.

I shoved the nearly empty coffee cup at him and the bag of apple pie. “Fuck off, Buchanan.”

“Good luck tonight, Coach,” he called, laughing behind my departing back. Before I hit the door, I froze. Was that a warning? A threat? Because I was hard-pressed to believe he was actually wishing me luck.

Turning back, I asked, “Are you calling the game tonight?”

“Me? No. I’m calling a game in—” He pretended to think about it, rubbing his chin as he tried to recall his schedule, and then his eyes lit with that fire again. “My bad, I’m calling the game in Mapleview tonight. I guess I’ll see you there,” he said jovially.

Definitely a threat!

I had just enough time to run home to grab a shower and change before rushing to the stadium. As I stood beneath the spray—hot, not cold—I did my best to think aboutanythingbesides the man who had caused me to take a second shower today.

“Old MacDonald had a farm…” I scrubbed the sticky sugar from my chest. “And on that farm he…” Like I said, I was desperate. Even if it meant singing nursery rhymes as I shampooed my hair. “With a moo-moo here and a…” With thirty minutes to spare, I changed into a fresh Muskrats jersey and gray athletic pants before hitting the road, trying like hell to get across town in time.

Traffic was a bitch. Not only was it rush hour, but everyone was headed in the same direction as me, to the stadium. Thankfully, I pulled into the lot with time to spare. Not much, but enough to get my team together and prepped.

We gathered in the packed locker room, standing shoulder to shoulder. My voice echoed off the metal lockers and tiled walls.

“Listen up, team. Never forget that you are Muskrats. You are mighty. You represent Mapleview, and you represent the University of Oregon. You also represent the best of the best. Each of you is a talented athlete,specifically chosen for your position, because no one can do it better than you can. You’re gonna go out there tonight and play your best, and I bet it’s enough to score a win. Just remember one thing: second-guessing yourself is a fatal flaw. One bad play, bad pitch, bad catch, or bad swing, and you can spend the rest of the game doubting yourself, slowly letting your confidence slip away. Don’t give the Cougars your confidence. You mess up? Shake it off. Just keep playing your hearts out. Who are we?”

“Muskrats,” they shouted in unison.

“Who are we?” I asked louder.

“Muskrats,” they yelled, banging on the locker doors.

“Let’s play some ball!”

The guys finished tying their cleats and adjusting their equipment. Three men I didn’t recognize shouldered their way into the locker room. “Can I ask what you’re doing here? If you’re not on the team, you’re not authorized to be here.”

“Hey Coach, my name is Sean. This is James and Corbin. We’re with the journalism program. We’re working on a project to report a live story, and we chose your team.”

“What’s the story here, gentlemen?” I asked suspiciously.

“We’re just going to interview the players. Pitch them some softball questions, pun intended,” he joked, although he was the only one who laughed. “Before each game, we’ll get to know them a little better. We’ll be live streaming to social media, and we hope it will improve support and attendance for the team.”

Hard to improve upon it when the whole town was in attendance. “Just don’t get in the guys’ way. They need their heads in the game.”

“Will do, Coach.”

I stepped back to watch, giving them free rein in the locker room. They interviewed several players, asking what position they played, and what they were majoring in. They asked the guys a few personal questions, although they were easy and shallow, like they promised.

“Austin Healey, star pitcher for the Muskrats. What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?”

He grinned that million-dollar smile. “Chocolate with peanut butter,” he answered easily.

“Nice. Jairo Garcia, what position do you play?”

“Shortstop.”

“What are you majoring in?” they asked.

“Business management.”

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