Page 9 of The Future Play

“I know. I’m a baseball genius.” Trevor does a pretend bow.

“Baseball idiot is more like it,” Joel mutters. And they go back to dicking around again.

If my mind wasn’t so twisted up stressing about the speed of my pitches and being ready for the season, I’d laugh. I might even join in. For a few minutes. The introvert in me can only handle that kind of shit for so long before I’m ready to retreat to my hole. Which is probably me watching a sci-fi movie in bed with a plate of nachos… assuming my younger siblings will leave me alone long enough for that.

Aaron puts his hands on my shoulders. “Relax. No one’s handing out awards here today. Practice starts in a couple of months and you’ll build on your conditioning routine. You can come here and throw every so often until the weather warms up to just cold and not frigid, but worrying about your game is the best way to throw off your game. Focus on what you know and work on having the best form possible. Let everything else go, or you’ll lose why you love the game. Now, let’s start with your two-seam fastball.”

He steps back, tossing a ball up for me to catch.

All of that is why Aaron was a mentor on the team at a young age. He knows his stuff, but he’s also great at getting to the root of someone’s issues. If Aaron sees something off or has asuggestion of what to work on, I trust him. I almost want to push him to get out here and show me. But since he hurt his hand sometime about a year-and-a-half ago, he hasn’t been able to pitch the same way, and he quit baseball because of it. It kills me because lately it seems like he’s quitting on himself too, but there’s only so much I can do.

“Okay,” I say with a nod.

Joel walks over and plops my hat on my head.

“If you want to pitch well, you need to bring the vibes.”

I shake my head, but can’t stop my smile, because he’s right. Putting myself in the right mental space is what I need.

I step onto the fake mound, then take a deep breath, trying to tune out the world. It’s harder in here. On the field, I’m used to tuning out the noise around me and focusing only on what I see and feel. Still, I try to channel that feeling. Focus on my grip and my stance.

Slow down. Breathe.

This time when I throw, I put all my power into it and lean into the follow through.

“Ninety-three,” Aaron says. “Go again.”

Trevor puts a bucket of balls by my feet, and again, I smile. This is why I wanted them all here. They can dick around and goof off, but they also understand how important this is. And they understandme. They know why I hesitate or why I struggle because they’ve dealt with it too. It doesn’t matter if it’s pitching, hitting, or fielding, it’s all in part a mental game. If that’s off, everything else will be too. Being here with my friends reminds me why I love the game, which, in turn, reminds me what I’m fighting for.

The game I love, my place in the draft, a path to the majors, the future I want.

With my friends watching, I grab another ball, tune out everything else, and focus on the thing that matters most.

Baseball.

3

BASEBALL BOY

Amanda

I slowly pushthe back door of Joel Wilkinson’s house open.

“Hello? I come bearing coffee,” I call.

It’s the first time I’ve ever been here, and Rae told me to just come in the back—no need to knock. I love how quickly this friend group has accepted me as one of them, but it’s only been three weeks, which means my intrusive thoughts are still trying to convince me it’s not serious, or they’ll drop me when they get tired of me.

Why yes, I am aware that I’m the problem.

Or the mean thoughts in the back of my mind are.

“Did someone say coffee?”

A cute redheaded boy with bright blue eyes and a big smile appears from a doorway off the kitchen.

“You must be the new one,” he continues. “I’m Jamie.”

He takes the box with multiple trays of coffee and sets it on the counter.

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