Page 77 of Headed for Home

Excitement squeals from their scattering cluster. My mistake unfolds in front of me almost immediately. The semblance of cooperation evaporates while they race off in different directions. There’s no logic to their movements. Screams and laughter combine into shrill noise. Nobody is working together. The balls remain in a pile on the mound.

“Yo, Colts!” I bellow. “Remember to find a partner. Practice throwing and catching.”

But my directions are drowned in their ruckus. Kids zoom back and forth, going nowhere. It reminds me of recess in elementary school. One spins in circles until she falls over. Four appear to be having a race. They’re just burning energy at this point.

“Oh, come on!” I toss my hands in the air. “At least pretend to throw a ball.”

A dash of motion nearby catches my attention. Kenzie leaves her position beside me and dashes into the fray. Her braids whip from the fast pace.

“Mac? Where are you going?”

She doesn’t pause. “Gonna play tag!”

I gape at her retreating form. “But that’s not what they’re doing!”

Except that’s exactly what they’re doing. Much to my disappointment. Irritation spikes as the nonsense spreads into a chase where everybody is trying to get caught. Bodies collide before bouncing away to find another crash.

I’m not ready to admit defeat, but this is getting out of hand. My lack of experience is exposed like an infected wound. I glance at the parents who don’t seem the least bit concerned about their children acting like hellions. Most probably assume this is a strategy from me.

My focus returns to the kids. “Colts! Can I have your attention?” Nope, but I wait in vain. “Listen up, team!”

I get nothing in return other than pitchy giggles lobbed at each other. A select few take aim for kneecaps, trying to make a tackle.

“That’s the wrong sport,” I shout.

Five of them gather into a huddle, putting their hands in the middle. They break apart and one takes the role of quarterback. She cocks her arm back and throws an impressively fake pass.

I hang my head at the mockery. “Now you’re just being mean.”

A boy zips by me in a blur. I’m not sure why he’s in such a hurry until a kid behind him throws a handful of dirt. Dust billows and blasts me in the face. Particles lodge in my eyes, which burns like fire.

“Son of a bit—ter beaver.” I slap a palm over the wounded area. “All right, that’s it. I’ve had enough of this… silliness. If you can’t listen—”

“Hey, trouble.” Cassidy’s melodic voice cuts into my rant. “You hanging in there?”

“Yup. Couldn’t be better,” I joke.

My ruffled feathers flap, carrying me to where she’s standing behind the fence. The stress melts off my shoulders as I get caught in her gaze. She’s dressed to entice me in a Mustangs shirt that has my name on the back. A hat that matches mine shadows her face but there’s no shrouding the concern resting there.

Her fingers curl in the chain link, brushing against mine. “Does your eye hurt?”

“This?” I point to the blazing ache. “Just on the inside.”

She winces. “It’s super red.”

“Not surprised,” I admit. Grit flakes off my lashes when I rub at the soreness. “Can you believe this crew of misfits?”

“Um, yeah.” Cassidy laughs at my dumbfounded expression. “They’re children. You gave them permission to run free.”

I frown. “The directions were simple to follow.”

“For you,” she argues. “Remember they’re four and five at this level. Maybe six. This is their first practice.”

“Doesn’t matter. That”—I hitch a thumb at the frenzy behind me—“isn’t how you get in the big leagues.”

Her brows leap under the brim of her cap. “They’re just kids.”

“Who aren’t taking this seriously.”

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