83 Game One: Villa Park 3 (1/2)

”Like in warmups!” I heard Zeke call from the dugout. Right. Be consistent. I was practicing bunting as a righty earlier, so I might as well go to the righty's box. I got in and noticed right away that first and third were playing in, while second and short were not far away from the pitcher. Noah was right to say that their guys were studying us in warmups.

I left the first pitch pass by for ball one. I took a quick step out and peeked at Zeke who was in the hole. He was ready with his helmet on, and bat in his hands. He didn't give any signs so I guess I should just stand here. I got back in the box and pretended to show bunt. First and third looked ready.

The pitcher threw high and I withdrew my show-bunt. ”Ball. 2-0.” The ump called from behind the catcher.

The catcher stood up and threw the ball back. ”Relax! There's nothing to worry about.” He glanced down at me, making me nervous.

I quickly stepped away and looked at Zeke. He was rubbing his nose. He must believe the next pitch would be in the strike zone and wanted me to foul. I got back in the box and studied the pitcher. He wasn't as tall as the twins and not as scary looking either. There's nothing to fear. The third pitch came. Such an easy one. I delayed my swing and fouled it down the first base line towards coach Luis.

My team dugout cheered for me. Startled, I looked back at them and they were all clapping like I got a hit.

”Nice swing Bambi!”

”Good eye!”

”Work it!”

Uh. Maybe this is a part of Zeke's plan? Or did the guys think that was my best attempt at hitting a live pitch? Zeke rubbed his nose. I gave a slight nod and got back in the box.

”2-1.” The ump got in position.

The pitcher nodded at the catchers sign and got set. I focused on his motion, throw, and watched the ball. It was close. It could be a ball, but also be called a strike. Zeke said to foul anyways, so I tipped it back.

It smacked the catcher in the mask. ”Shit!” The ball bounced away and the catcher flipped off his mask. He Reuben's his forehead.

”You okay, son?” The umpire asked, stepping in front to examine him. Two older guys came from the Villa Park dugout. Probably a coach and athletic trainer or something.

The pitcher came from the mound and shot me a glare before joining the group talking to the catcher. I, worriedly, kept taking steps back, scared someone was going to get mad at me.

An arm was put around my shoulders and I jumped away, scared. ”Chill, it's just me.” Noah didn't let me shake him off. I stopped struggling, but still felt tense. He lowered his voice, ”Catchers often get hit by fouls. Nothing to worry about.”

I pointed at the group. ”But he doesn't look okey.”