Baseball Bae (lol ima change the title later)

Inverting Rib Cages is Not an Easy Task

note: not edited, so its a lil crappy lol

It's satisfying, the crack of the bat as it makes contact with the hard ball. Adrenaline that zaps through your fingers, and onto the bat when a perfectly timed swing is let loose, and the crowd that goes wild fuels it more. The force of it vibrates through the bat and up your arms but the only thing on your mind is run.

I feel that adrenaline now, even though I'm not in the game. I feel it racing through my veins and to my fingertips, where I'm feeling around Owen's smooth clean new jersey in my lap. I run my fingertips along the big 10 on the back, which is Owen's lucky number. Owen (my best friend from, like, diapers), sitting next to me in the back seat in anticipation, smiles as my fingers grip the jersey gently. His eyes follow them as they trace the black lines. Up and over, and curved around the letters 'sinclair.' His eyes wander towards the car window as we pass by Wendy's, then Taco Bell, then the cinema, digging his nails into his palms until there are sharp dents where his short fingernails were poking into flesh. I grab his hand before he cuts skin, and give a quick squeeze. You're going to do great. He looks down at my hand, entwined with his, and gives a shy but reassuring smile.

The car skids to a stop, and Owen takes a deep breath. I squeeze his hand again, and he lets go of it. He takes his jersey from underneath my firm grasp and pulls it over his black undershirt, messing up his carefully styled hair. I grab his wrist, pulling him back from getting out of the car, and take a moment to fix his hair again.

"Good luck, Owen." I whisper into his ear. Owen laughs and gently taps my nose, leaving me alone in the stuffy car. I race after him, following him through the open stadium, which is slowly filling up with audience. He's fast, but I'm faster. He weaves through the crowd and eventually I catch up with him, but run into his stiff hard back, his fingernails digging into his palms at his sides.

I straighten up on my tip toes, yearning to see over Owen's broad shoulders. I feel my smile being wiped straight off my face as I see why he stopped- Viking. Also known as Ben, but everyone calls him Viking, because he practically is one. He speaks like a viking, looks like a viking, plays like a viking. He's 6 foot 3 worth of Swedish, 14 year old, bulk built up to create a figure of concentrated muscle, making him the best pitcher and batter on the other team. He's the only person Owen, the bravest person I know, is intimidated by.

Something tells me that he wouldn't be intimidated by him if Viking didn't throw a fast pitch that was so far off of where it was supposed to be, but was right where Viking wanted it to be, so that Owen would severely dislocate his left shoulder 2 years ago. But it's just a hunch. I don't even know how Viking got away with it. After all, even though Owen's shoulder healed fast like lightning, Owen hasn't been able to get back into a real game like this since then. It's just a thing he has, according to him. His pitch is fine, but whenever he would try to bat, he would let go of the bat every time he swung, a reflex, he says. I've been trying to help him out, but it doesn't work. I'm just praying that he won't have to bat this time. Again, I take his hand in mine to stop him from digging in too far. Viking catches sight of Owen and me hiding behind him, and a wicked smile creeps upon his face. He takes long strides toward us, each step a solid 3 steps for me, and puts on his pitcher's mitt.

"Looking forward to dislocating your shoulder again, Speedy." Speedy is what they used to call Owen, all up until Viking practically ruined his Varsity career. Now it's just an insult. Viking holds out his mitted hand. Owen reluctantly holds his hand and they do a secret handshake between Varsity baseball teams in the league, a sign that shows "this is a friendly competition and whatever happens today will not come between us." At least that's what the coaches tell them to do so that no fights happen in the back alley after the game.

"I suppose there is much to catch up on then, eh?" Owen forces a ghost of a smile on his face. Viking does the same. He takes notice of my hand entwined with Owen's.

"Is Gwen your girlfriend now? We have much to catch up on indeed," He says, with a strong Swedish accent, sending a smile my way. I surface next to Owen as he squeezes my hand at his side. I open my mouth to retort with something witty, but Owen answers for me, and lets go of my wrist, thus wrapping his arm around my waist. Instantly, I'm welcomed by the same scent that always lingers around him, a sweet, fresh bread smell that is stuck to him from helping out his mother in the bakery.

"Perhaps," He pulls me closer to his side, and I'm welcomed with warmth as I lean into him. I look up at Owen's neutral expression, thrown off by his response. As far as I know, Owen and I have just been best friends, nothing more, nothing less. Viking raises his eyebrows at us, and opens his mouth as if to say something stupid, but only closes it and smiles.

"See you on the field, Speedy. And, Gwen, until we meet again." He winks and smiles, which, I would have to say, he has a very shiny, charming smile. As he passes by, he messes up Owen's hair, which Owen was terribly proud of for styling it himself this very morning. Owen grits his teeth as he runs his free hand through his dirty blonde hair, as if trying to get rid of any sort of germs that could've been on Viking's hand. Who knows where that hand has been.

"If I ever get the chance, I'm gonna invert that easy bake oven's rib cage." His fingers linger embraced on my waist, pressing on it actually, which isn't normal for friends to do that, from what I've known. He notices my discomfort and lets go, his cheeks turning a light pink from embarrassment.

"I really hope you do," I laugh, wrapping both my arms around him, which definitely throws him off, but he doesn't resist. He steadies his breathing and I let go. "Now, go get em, Tiger." I say as I push him towards the bench. He smiles my way, and gives an assuring smile back. I just hope he'll be ok on his own.

a/n: that was my first chapter lol. kinda short, and kinda crappy, but since im a grammar nazi i usually have pretty good grammar lol sorry. please feel free to comment and give me advice uwu just to let you know this is around 2009 because i dont wanna deal with tIkTok lol so most everyone is going to have flip phones or iPhone 3GS.