Number 22, Ryan Guiller, stepped up to the plate swinging his aluminum bat to warm up for his at bat. Digging his cleats into the gravel, he stood with an open stance. The opposing pitcher stood still on the mound, waiting for the catcher to signal his pitch. He stepped on the rubber and winded up to release…a poor curve ball. The pitcher executed what this umpire and I would agree was a ball but Guiller had a poor pitch selection and so he swung and miss for strick three ending the game without school trailing by three.
Nick, who was on deck, threw his bat down in frustration at their loss. His anger got the best of him as he kicked his baseball bag over and over until all his stuff fell out. He was frustrated . . . that’s an understatement. After his temper tantrum he looked at the benches, searching for someone, but then his eyes landed on me. He narrowed his eyes, glaring at me. Throwing up his hands to gesture the words ‘what the hell?’, I understood what he was trying to communicate.
I shrugged at him and he waved me over in a rapid and horrendous fashion. Rolling my eyes, I dragged myself from the stands and pulled myself to the metal fence where he stood. “What,” I provoked.
“I told you to go home and start your history paper,” he grumbled, spewing anger at me and taking off his baseball cap.
“Maybe you did,” I sighed pulling out my phone, “But according to this committee our lives are not our own.” He furrowed his eyebrows obviously confused but I lifted the screen to his face showing a few messages. “I was a street away from home when they text me.”
“Texting while driving,” he judged.
“Read it,” I commanded, “Go ahead read it.”
He rolled his eyes but humored me anyways, “While your man is playing ball, you’re not cheering for him? Careful, Nick can drop you for a more supportive girlfriend. Get your car in gear and return to the field or you lose.”
“This is insanity,” I cut him off from reading the rest of the messages. “It’s senior year. The time of our lives? Are you kidding me?’
“Well then go home!”
“Right,” I nodded. “Have to endure all the hazing? No, thank you.”
“Well, the game doesn’t start for another half hour,” He responded reluctantly, “Until then I still have practice. If I were you I’d work on the paper. In the locker room, my backpack is hanging. It’s the American flag one. Open it up and get my laptop. It should be fully charged.”
YOU ARE READING
The Game of Hearts
Teen FictionON HOLD until I can get my followers to step up. Until then enjoy my other novels Every senior knows about the challenge they must complete before the end of the year, but Penny is feeling nervous since it is February and all of her friends have rec...
