Page 24 of The Third Baseman

Captain of the Squad – it would only be a formality, seeing as I’d assumed the role last year when Chris Jackson, the old captain, had graduated, and no one had been named his successor. Technically, there hadn’t been anyone suitable, and officially I was too junior to move into the role but I took it anyway, and as a result, we were going into the new season looking stronger, feeling fresher, and scoring higher than we’d ever done.

I’d taken my self-appointed role seriously; the early mornings weren’t just for me, but to set an example for the rest of the guys – and they’d listened. We were lucky that California weather was mild through the winter, because I’d set us on a training program that started at sunrise. Even though they liked to grumble about it, not a single one of them had missed a session.

I wanted to leave school on a high, with our team name etched into the Southern California High School Baseball League trophy.

I was still mulling it over when I pulled into my regular parking space, at the end of which was Jenson Abrams, my best friend and teammate. He was perched on the top of a concrete bollard, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Hey, Mallory,” he crowed as she climbed out of the backseat, followed by Emerson, both of them retrieving their surfboards.

“Hi,” she frowned in response, then ignored him, which only made his grin wider.

Emerson shuffled her board under her arm, before looking over at me. “Jupe, don’t forget we don’t need a ride later.”

“How could I forget something so awesome?” I grinned.

She rolled her eyes in response. “Thanks, loser. See you at home.”

I retrieved my backpack from the passenger foot well and slung it over my shoulder with a loud laugh, though they were already too far away to hear me.

Jenson pushed off the bollard. “Mallory is so fucking salty, I love it.”

“They both are. Honestly, sisters are so annoying. Or just girls are, period,” I added as an afterthought before shutting the door. I hit the alarm on the car fob, listened for the beep, then we headed over to the baseball field and our state-of-the-art training facility which we shared with the other sports teams, which had been generously donated by ex-alumni athletes a few years ago.

“Ready for the top job?” Jenson punched me harder than he needed to as we took the steps up to the school courtyard two at a time.

I rubbed my bicep and shoved him with a smirk. “Careful, dude, that’s my money-maker. And I’ve already been doing the job.”

He sprinted up the last few steps to reach the top before me and turned round. “Five months!” he reached out and shook my shoulders. “Five months and you’re drafted!”

“Fuck, yeah!” A grin split my face. “You could make that aweif you didn’t insist on going to college first.”

He groaned, his shoulders dropping. It wasn’t the first time we’d had this conversation, but as adamant and sure as I was about getting drafted straight from school, he had never had the same plan. “Yeah, I know, but I promised my mom. Plus, it’s sensible. What happens if I never make it out of the minors? I need a backup.”

I stepped up to his level and twisted him around so we could continue making our way to the sports building, because I was still on the clock, no matter how much I wanted to reassure him.

“Dude, where’s your believer’s mindset? Of course you’ll make it out. We both will, and we’re going to dominate the next two decades of the game. Cities will name their streets after us, people will name their kids after us, we’ll be written about alongside Jeter and A-Rod, minus the beef, obvs. Then we’ll move into commentary.” I waved my arm slowly in front of us, giving him a vision of our future.

“Damn fucking right.” He slapped my hand in a high five, but then his face dropped. “Uh oh, incoming.”

I looked to the left to see The Laurens – a persistent group of girls who all had the same first name, and therefore thought they should hang out together. It was one of the many rules their coven had, so unless you were called Lauren, you had no chance of getting in. They also all looked very similar; with their blonde hair in various degrees of bleached, tight Abercrombie jeans, and sweaters they’d all customized with a number. Because we were currently in hockey and football season, the numbers they wore belonged to any one of the guys on the aforementioned teams, and starting next month, the numbers would change to include the baseball team.

That wasn’t to say they were fans of any of the sports – they weren’t. They were fans of status only; of the guys on the teams who played well, and won. And even then, only very few of the guys were interested in what The Laurens had to offer, because you could smell the trouble a mile away, and no one serious about their place was willing to trade a prime spot for the distraction of a pair of tits.

Not tits that came with their levels of chaos, anyway.

I was proud to say that I had never succumbed to exchanging body fluids with any of them, and under no circumstances did I ever have plans to, no matter how hard they tried.

And they really,reallytried.

In fact, I’d gone so far as to warn the entire squad last year about hooking up with any of them after an incident at the football team’s End of Season Party last year, and a fight involving the captain’s girlfriend after she overheard two of The Laurens gossiping about her, and how they were going to break up her and the Cap, or so the story goes. I’m fuzzy on details though as I stopped listening, because girls…

But the moral is The Laurens cause drama, and my squad would be having no part in it.

“Hi, boys. Hi, Jenson. You looked so good at practice last week. Can’t wait for the new season. You too, Jupe.”

Jenson moved out of the way before Lauren M could stroke her hand down his arm. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

“Where are you off to? Have you been named Captain yet, Jupe?” asked the Lauren in the purple sweater.

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