Page 8 of The Future Play

Trevor’s playing at a D1 school, and might have a shot at the draft in a couple of years.

“Yeah, but I’mbetter,” I fire back.

“There’s the cocky, pain-in-the-ass kid I’ve helped train over the years.” Aaron flashes me a shit-giving smirk, and I roll my eyes.

“I was never that cocky.”

“No, you were a sweet little baby,” Miles Hyun-Hansen says. He’s the best catcher I’ve ever met, but decided not to keep playing baseball in college. Doesn’t compute for me, but whatever.

“Funny, I remember little sixth grade you strutting around like you were the hottest shit in town,” Joel Wilkinson says.

“For the record, I haven’t missedanyof you.” Not true. Life has been boring while they’ve all been off at college. “And I’m sorry my parents spoiled me into believing that was true. It took three younger siblings to humble me. And, of course, the most humble pitcher in existence taking me under his wing and being my guiding light.”

Aaron gives me a little shove. “Don’t be a dick.”

Despite being two grades ahead of me, Aaron’s only a little over a year older than me, but we still have an older-brother and younger-brother dynamic mixed with mentorship and friendship.

And he did take me under his wing all those years ago, which was how our friendship grew. He’s part of a bigger friend group that all welcomed little introverted me, who was never the best at making friends despite being friendly.

That cockiness was a show—to make myself feel more confident than I did. They all saw through that pretty quickly, even if they all tease me about it now.

The last few months with them off at college have been quiet and surprisingly lonely. I never connected with a lot of the guys on the team who are my age because I often played up, and once Aaron and his friend group accepted me, I stayed in my comfortable introvert bubble and didn’t actively try to develop any other friendships—especially since some of the guys on the team are assholes and have been dicks to me in the past.

I have a few guys I’m friendly with, but we’re not close like I am with these idiots.

“Remind me again why I invited all of you here?”

“Got me,” Trev says. “Must’ve missed our pretty faces.”

“Yes, I spent my nights dreaming of you,” I say flatly.

“You could do a lot worse.” Trevor grins at me.

“He could do a lot better too,” Joel says under his breath.

Trevor playfully shoves him, and Miles sighs and rolls his eyes, the papa bear of their friend group pretending for a second that he’s more mature than them.

“Are we going to stand around giving each other shit, or actually get back to pitching? Isn’t that why we dragged ourselves out here?” Miles asks.

We’re at a training facility about forty-five minutes outside of Ida because we’re a bunch of baseball-obsessed idiots and what better way to spend the week before Christmas than doing baseball things? Since it’s cold as tits outside, indoors is our only option.

I hate winter. I’d rather be on an actual mound. Nothing compares to being on the field with the dirt beneath your feet. Still, I’m thankful indoor facilities exist. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have anything for months. No pitching. No baseball. And if there’s no baseball, do I even exist?

Maybe my mom should’ve signed me up for drama camp during the off-season. Not that it matters, baseball always would’ve won out.

“Yeah. Let’s get back to it. I need to work on upping my speed.” There’s only so much I can do here. A lot of it comes from my conditioning, so I need to work on a new plan for that.

I’m going to play in the majors. They might’ve been dicking around with me about being a number one draft pick, but I am going to hit the draft. Possibly out of high school. I don’t know exactly what my path will be, but I’ll never stop working to get where I want to be. If that means my life is eat, sleep, baseball, my family, and occasionally these idiots, then that’s fine with me.

“Don’t stress about the numbers. As much as you might think a controlled environment makes them higher, it’s not whatyou’re used to, so I’d argue that might not be the case. Focus on your mechanics. The tighter those are, the better your velocity is going to be. Let’s rotate through your top five pitches and do a couple of each. I’ll watch from here. Miles will watch from his end”—he looks over at Joel and Trevor who are still horsing around—“and those two knuckleheads will provide comic relief if you get stressed.”

“Hey, I resent that,” Trevor yells. “I give great advice.”

“Mhm,” Aaron says. “Such as?”

“Throw it straight. And fast.”

I slow clap. “Wow. Thanks. With brilliant advice like that, how could I go wrong?”

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