Page 54 of The Curve
She laughs a little. “Yeah. I’d love to have you in my corner.”
“I’d like to talk with Mallory,” I say.
Charlotte’s head tilts as she considers my request. “What are you going to say?” she asks placing our drinks on the table and taking a seat across from me.
“I’ll be gentle. But I want her to hear the male voice. I’m the only one here who’s been a sixteen-year-old boy.”
“Well that’s true.”
“And most importantly I need her to know she has me as backup. Not just as a casual friend, but as a person who cares deeply about her well-being. But I also want to tell her I believe she needs to learn to stand up for herself. Nobody’s gonna be with her one hundred percent of the time. She has to become her own champion.”
Before Charlotte has a chance to respond, we hear the key in the door. When it swings open Mallory sizes up the room.
“Hi,” she says. There’s no smile.
“Don’t put your purse down. We’re going for a ride.”
I get a sour look for my effort. “I’m not in the mood for a pep talk from you and my mother.”
“Who said anything about a pep talk? And your mother’s not invited. I have to go to the field and I want you to come with me.”
She glances at her mother who adds, “You don’t have to go. We can sit and talk if you want.”
Her answer is to turn and walk out the door.
Obviously I’m the lesser two evils.
“We’ll be back,” I say, grabbing my keys.
* * *
We walkthrough the tunnel and into the bright light of the field. Our only companions are the groundskeepers and the caretakers working the stands.
“Come on,” I say leading the way to the batting cage. “Take my bag. Leave yours against the cage.”
“What exactly are we doing here?” Mallory says with no sign of enthusiasm.
“I’ve got to work my shoulder. I need you to pitch a few to me.”
I point to the mound. “Go out as far as you think. Maybe half way. The balls are in my bag.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. I can’t pitch to a major leaguer.”
“Yes you can. Just pitch it underhand. Go on.”
She looks at me like I’ve got two noses, but she heads for the spot. There’s some mumbled words passing under her breath, and I’d bet they’re aimed at me. I’m gonna ignore them all.
I see her unzip the bag and take out one of the twenty balls I put in there. When she sees how many there are, she shakes her head.
“Are you planning on staying till dark?” she calls sarcastically.
“If that’s what it takes.”
I pick up the bat leaning against the cage and walk to home plate. Taking my familiar stance, I give a few practice swings.
“Okay. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
She centers herself and let’s one go. It’s high, but I’ve got it.WHACK!The bat connects with it and it sails over her head and into left field. She ducks unnecessarily with the sound and power of the swing.
