The Life Of Aaron Prescott

[18] Lindsey The Step-sister

The Life Of Aaron Prescott
Journal Entry Eighteen; January 1st

New years have always been spent at my house.

If it was a normal year, we would be watching TV while grandma, uncle Aaron and mom all sat on the couch. Dad would be in the kitchen, making tea while I watched him though the small space in between the counter.

But it wasn't a normal new year.

This year we didn't have mom, or uncle Aaron or grandma. I didn't have my dad. I didn't have anyone.

Ryan was in Mexico and I'm not sure if Mason or Jordan's parents would let me go over. I don't think they would, I would've been mad too if a stranger came to have new years dinner with my family. Well, when we were a family.

Everything is falling apart in my family and I don't think I can fix it alone.

A A R O N

Practice has been running smoothly so far. Thompson has only managed to hit himself in the foot with our bats once so that's good.

We were working on catching and passing for the last couple minutes since we were already in pretty good sync with each other, but you can always have more practice at least that's what coach told us as soon as we broke out into groans.

Our process for this was simple. Coach would hit the ball towards me, I would pass to Jordan who then passes to Thompson who then passes to Lincoln and then to Brett at third.

Brett would throw back to Mitch and Mitch would hand the ball to Coach.

Coach would hit a pop-up to the back field three times and Parker, Carter and Marco -whenever they got the ball- would pass to the cut off.

Our freshman, Colby, Kaleb and Dylan swap out with different roles as they try and get used to our system.

"Boys!" Coach yells when we've finished passing. "Come in!"

My teammates start filling up next to me on the mount with coach standing in front of us.

Coach swipes a hand through his thick hair, giving his head a small shake. "You all did good today, so I'm ending practice early. I always have a very angry wife on the phone that wants me home for dinner."

We let out a round of laughter, most of us knowing just how angry Coach's wife could get. My first year on the team we had made it to playoffs against Sacramento, it had been our first loss and Ethan's first bad injury on the team. A guy from Sacramento was looking behind him and didn't notice Ethan running for second until he put out a foot, tripping Ethan and giving him a fractured foot.

Ethan's mom had been livid with the other players' parents, sticking fingers in their faces as she started to reprimand them. Two games before this she had baked us cookies with a smile on her face.

"Okay, Cap," Mitch says, nudging me before he sticks out his hand. "Say the words."

I roll my eyes at him, but place my hand in our formed circle nonetheless. I didn't mind cheering, I just always found it funny to make it dramatic.

"Dodgers on three! One!" We all shake our hands up, down. "Two! Three! Dodgers!" Everyone's hands go up into the air, coming back down quickly before we all go into the dugout.

I never bring too much to practice, only water (if I can find one) my batting gloves and my glove. For games I would bring all the same but a couple extra baseballs I had at Ryan's' for warming up, as well as any extra stuff lying around that can be useful. Like Tylenol if someone gets beaned by the ball.