Right Field by wildcat88 (5.01 Search and Rescue)
Title: Right Field
Author:
wildcat88
Rating: PG
Word count: ~2500
Warning: None
Spoilers: Contains a quote from Search and Rescue at the beginning but otherwise no spoilers.
Author Notes: Mucho thanks to
kristen999 and
leesa_perrie for the beta. All faults mine.
Summary: A summer spent at Grandma's brings a new experience for Rodney. Baseball.
Right Field
“Well, just underhand him, alright? I’ve never been good at baseball.”
Rodney McKay, Search and Rescue
Rodney plopped in the dark pink wingback chair with a huff. His parents had dumped him and Jeannie with Grandma for the summer. Again. Just so they could spend a little more time teaching. To be honest, Grandma’s house was kinda nice - homemade cookies, snowcones at the corner stand, and, though he’d never admit to liking it, lots of hugs. She oohed and aahed over all his inventions and looked him in the eye when he spoke, really listening. But there wasn’t much to do at her house. She lived in a small town, didn’t get many television channels, and his parents wouldn’t let him bring his chemistry set or his encyclopedias. And how was he supposed to perfect his piano playing without a piano? Eleven was definitely a tough age.
Jeannie bounced on the sofa, blond pigtails flying as she squeezed her stuffed Albert Einstein. “What’s wrong, Mer?”
“I’m starving,” he moaned, his mouth watering as the scent of baking cookies wafted in from the kitchen. “And how many times have I told you to call me Rodney?”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Sorry, Meredith. I forgot,” she sneered, bouncing once on her butt and hopping to her feet.
Eight year olds were completely immature. His sister was the spawn of Satan. “Shut up,” he snapped.
“You shut up.”
“Children,” Grandma interrupted, dusting her hands on her apron, “we don’t speak that way in my house. Apologize. Now.”
“Sorry, Mer.”
Rodney narrowed his eyes and crossed his fingers. “Sorry,” he replied with as much sarcasm as he could muster.
Grandma arched a brow at him, not fooled in the least. “The first batch of cookies is ready if you’d like some.”
“Yippee!” Jeannie cried as she dashed toward the kitchen, pulling Rodney’s hair on her way by.
“Ow!” he yelped. “Grandma, did you see that?”
Grandma smoothed a soft, plump hand over the offended spot. “She’s your baby sister, Meredith. She idolizes you.”
“She terrorizes me.”
A thumb stroked gently across his cheek. “Only to get your attention. She loves you, wants to be just like you. Try being nice.” She patted his face and smiled. “Now, a cookie?”
“Can I have more than one?” he asked as he slipped his hand in hers and snuggled close since no one was watching.
“Of course. You may have as many as you like.”
Rodney climbed up on the barstool, spinning once before snatching three gooey chocolate chip cookies. He crammed one in his mouth and dropped the other two in the small plate in front of him when she handed him a tall glass of milk. He chugged half of it, relishing the mix of cold liquid with warm sweetness. Grabbing another cookie, he bit in and slowly pulled it away, watching the chocolate string and reminding himself to determine which chemical properties made it do that.
“What do you kids want to do today?” Grandma asked as she put the rest of the dough in the refrigerator.
“Swim!” Jeannie crowed. “Can we go to the pool?”
Rodney stared at her in disbelief. “The pool? Are you crazy? Do you know how much radiation the sun puts out? Over a-”
“Meredith,” Grandma said sternly, “there’s nothing wrong with swimming. It’s good for you. And we’ll put on sunscreen.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t want to swim.”
“Then what do you want to do, honey?”
“But, Grandma,” Jeannie whined, “I wanna swim.”
“You can swim, sweetheart. We just need to find something your brother wants to do.”
“He doesn’t like to do anything except play the piano and blow things up. Momma said-”
“It doesn’t matter what your mother said right now. Run upstairs and change into your swimsuit.” When Jeannie scampered off, Grandma turned to him, capturing his gaze. “What do you want to do?” she repeated.
Rodney bit his lip. He loved his grandmother more than anyone else, and he didn’t want to be difficult, but he couldn’t think of a single thing. “I don’t know,” he sighed.
“My poor Meredith. You do know it’s okay to be a little boy, don’t you?”
“I- I-” He’d never really considered it. Momma had insisted he learn to be responsible so he had to take care of Jeannie when they came home from school and make their lunches and help her with her schoolwork.
Grandma’s mouth settled in a grim line. “That’s what I thought.” She shook her head, muttering something he didn’t understand about unfeeling ice queens. “I believe I’ve seen a few of the neighborhood boys playing baseball in the corner lot. I still have one of your dad’s old gloves.”
“Dad played baseball?” His dad? The man who spent all of his time with someone else’s kids?
“He sure did.” Grandma smiled fondly as her eyes lost focus. “He would leap out of bed every Saturday morning and run to that lot. Most days he played through lunch. I’d have to go get him for dinner.”
“What made him stop?”
Her smile dimmed. “I guess he got too busy with school. He forgot to live.”
Well, that hadn’t changed. Still, it might be cool to use his dad’s glove, to have something in common - just the two of them. Rodney knew the basic rules of baseball, had watched the boys at school play. From a distance, of course. He glanced up as a beat-up, cracked brown leather glove with threadbare webbing landed next to his right hand.
Grandma smoothed one hand over his hair and held Jeannie’s with the other. “The boys should already be there. Have fun.”
Jeannie pulled her hand away. “Where are you going, Mer?”
Rodney rolled his eyes and waved the glove at her. “Hello? To play baseball with the other kids.”
“Can I come?”
“I thought you wanted to swim,” Grandma said.
Jeannie shook her head. “I wanna play baseball.”
Grandma squatted down and looked Jeannie in the eye. “You can’t play, dear. You’re too small. But you can watch if you want.”
Jeannie’s bottom lip quivered for a second then she nodded solemnly. “I’ll watch.”
“But-” Rodney’s mouth snapped shut when Grandma gave him a pointed look. He shot a glance at Jeannie, surprised to see hope shining in her eyes. Maybe she did want to be like him. A little. “Fine, but you can’t go dressed like that.” A pink swimsuit with red hearts was not appropriate for the baseball diamond.
Jeannie ran back upstairs while Rodney hunted down his socks and sneakers. By the time he had them properly laced and tied, his sister had bounded back down in a t-shirt, shorts, and sandals with the biggest baseball cap he’d ever seen. Red with a logo he didn’t recognize, it came down over her ears and slid to her nose.
“Where did you get that cap?” Rodney asked.
“In the closet. Do you want to wear it?”
“No,” he snapped. “Can we go now?”
Jeannie nodded vigorously. “I’m ready.”
“Then you kids go and have a good time,” Grandma said, holding the door open for them.
They waved goodbye and headed out, Rodney carrying the glove protectively in both arms. The sun was warm on his face, and he made an impulsive decision to not worry about the sunscreen he forgot to put on. Birds swooped in the mid-morning sky, and mowers roared, the scent of fresh cut grass and flowers following them down the sidewalk. When they reached the lot they found about a dozen boys cheering and shouting as a skinny red headed boy chased after a ball while a lanky blond rounded second and headed to third, crossing home plate before the ball reached the infield.
Rodney hesitated at the edge of the field, a wave of longing washing over him as the blond boy’s team pounded him on the back in congratulations. He’d never had anything like that; no one in school liked working with him because they couldn’t keep up, and he’d never deemed athletics worthy of his time. But just once in his life he’d like to know what it felt like to be accepted like that.
“Mer?”
Shaking off that ridiculous thought, he barked, “What?”
“Are you going to play?”
“Of course. I’m just waiting for the end of the quarter; it would be rude to interrupt. Don’t you know anything?”
Jeannie smiled smugly. “I know that baseball has innings not quarters.”
“I know that,” Rodney huffed. “I was testing you.”
“Sure you were.” She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and tugged. “Come on.”
Rodney trudged after her as they skirted the field. A chubby kid with a buzz cut stepped up to the plate, and the blond boy cheered him on from the side. A rail-thin boy with dark, stringy hair threw the ball at the batter who swung harder than Rodney had thought possible. The ball zipped through the air, landing several meters behind first base. The red-headed outfielder tore after it as the hitter headed to second, pulling up at the base and panting heavily.
“Way to go, Petey!” Blond Boy shouted.
Petey bent over, hands on knees, and nodded.
“Hey, kid!” Blond Boy called. “You wanna play?”
Jeannie dug a sharp elbow into Rodney’s ribs. “He’s talking to you.”
“I know,” Rodney hissed, handing his glove to her and turning to the boy. “Yeah, sure.”
When he reached the plate, the boy handed him the bat, a wooden Louisville Slugger that had seen better days.
“What’s your name?”
“Rodney,” he answered as he gripped the bat handle.
“I’m Scott. You new?”
“Visiting my grandmother.”
“Is that your sister?”
Rodney heaved a sigh. “Yeah. Is that okay?”
“Sure.” Scott squinted into the sun which was shining brightly behind the pitcher. “Mickey’s pitching. He’s not throwing hard ‘cause of the sun. That piece of cardboard is first base, the big rock that Petey is standing on is second, and third is that tire. Any questions?”
“Who’s on what team?”
“We rotate. Eight in the field and five- six now batting. Ready?”
Nodding, Rodney stepped to the plate and hefted the bat to his shoulder, the head immediately dipping below his elbow. Staring at Mickey, he waited for the pitch, ignoring his pounding heart and sweaty palms. He flinched as the ball sailed past.
“Strike!” the catcher called.
“Come on, Mer!” Jeannie hollered. “Get a hit!”
Scott shot him a questioning look. “Mare?”
“Don’t pay any attention to her,” Rodney muttered.
Focusing on Mickey’s hand, he watched the ball all the way in and swung, stumbling as the bat’s weight pulled him forward. The bat flew from his hands and landed near third base; face burning, Rodney stomped after it. He wiped his hands on his jeans and dragged the bat back while the catcher cackled and threw the ball to Mickey.
“You’d better toss it underhand to this kid, Mick. He won’t be able to hit it otherwise.”
“Shut up, Eli,” Scott warned the catcher. “Try choking up on the bat, Rodney.” Receiving a blank stare, Scott said, “Shift your hands higher. It will help your control.”
Rodney did as he suggested, noting the better balance. He clenched his jaw as laughter carried when Mickey wound up and lobbed the ball underhanded. It arced, and Rodney’s arms vibrated from his fingertips to his shoulders when he made contact. The hit wasn’t much, a slow roller to third, but he hit it.
“Go, Meredith!” Jeannie screamed. “Run!”
Dropping the bat, he dashed toward first, feeling proud until a voice called, “That’s three!” His shoulders slumped as he watched the third baseman console Petey who glared across the field at Rodney after being tagged out.
“Way to go, Meredith,” Petey taunted. “Did your parents name-”
“Knock it off, Petey. And next time, don’t run unless it’s a force play,” Scott growled, jogging toward Rodney. “Don’t worry about it. Grab your glove and head to right field.”
Eyes to the ground, Rodney hurried toward Jeannie who gave him a bright smile along with his glove. “You hit it!”
He grunted noncommittally and turned to view the field. “Is right field behind first base?”
Head bobbing and cap covering her eyes, Jeannie answered, “Yep.”
He headed to the outfield while Scott called the names of the next round of batters. Reaching right, he positioned himself between first and second base, even with the new centerfielder. The batters huddled together, occasionally glancing Rodney’s way. Breaking apart, Eli tapped the bat on the edge of the hubcap designated as home, dug his heels in, and took a few practice swings. Mickey, still pitching, wound up and heaved the ball which landed in Scott’s catcher’s mitt with an impressive smack.
“Little too high,” Scott called, tossing the ball back. “Bring it down some.”
Rounding on the next pitch, Eli clobbered it straight at Rodney. Panic choked him, and he jogged forward a few steps only to realize his mistake. Backpedaling quickly, he stretched out his glove and utterly missed. He chased after it, catching up to it as Eli headed to third.
The second baseman waved at him. “Throw it!”
Taking a deep breath, Rodney threw it with all his might, watching in horror as it plopped to the ground a couple of meters in front of him and bounced.
Second Base scowled as Eli scored. “You even throw like a girl,” he sneered.
And so the day went. Rodney constantly misjudged the ball when it was hit at him, the centerfielder throwing it in for him, and he never got the ball past the pitcher’s mound when he hit which only happened when it was tossed underhanded. Finally, thankfully, mothers began to call the boys home. Grabbing Jeannie’s hand, he strode quickly down the sidewalk.
“Mer,” Jeannie whined, “slow down.” She tugged her hand from his. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just wanna get back to Grandma’s before dark.”
“You’re not a very good liar. It’s okay if you aren’t good at baseball.”
“That’s just it.” He stopped, glancing back at the ball field in frustration. “I should be.”
“Why?” Jeannie asked, jogging after him as he started off again.
“Baseball is all about angles, velocity, force, and statistics. I should be able to put the proper force on the ball. I should be able to accurately judge where it’s going to land.”
“You sound like Dad.”
“What are you on about?”
“Have you ever seen Dad have fun?”
“Fun?”
Jeannie sighed dramatically. “Yes. Baseball is supposed to be fun. So is swimming and coloring and tag and lots of other stuff. You can just play, you know. You don’t have to win everything.”
“Are you kidding? Everything’s about winning.”
She shook her head. “Oh, Mer.”
“Don’t call me that!”
Jeannie glared at him as they reached Grandma’s house. “Fine,” she huffed, stomping into the house.
Tears pricked Rodney’s eyes as he stared at his dad’s glove. Ripping it off, he stuffed it in the trash can and followed Jeannie inside. If he couldn’t do something well, he didn’t want to do it at all. And he never wanted to play baseball again.
Author:
wildcat88
Rating: PG
Word count: ~2500
Warning: None
Spoilers: Contains a quote from Search and Rescue at the beginning but otherwise no spoilers.
Author Notes: Mucho thanks to
kristen999 and
leesa_perrie for the beta. All faults mine.
Summary: A summer spent at Grandma's brings a new experience for Rodney. Baseball.
Right Field
“Well, just underhand him, alright? I’ve never been good at baseball.”
Rodney McKay, Search and Rescue
Rodney plopped in the dark pink wingback chair with a huff. His parents had dumped him and Jeannie with Grandma for the summer. Again. Just so they could spend a little more time teaching. To be honest, Grandma’s house was kinda nice - homemade cookies, snowcones at the corner stand, and, though he’d never admit to liking it, lots of hugs. She oohed and aahed over all his inventions and looked him in the eye when he spoke, really listening. But there wasn’t much to do at her house. She lived in a small town, didn’t get many television channels, and his parents wouldn’t let him bring his chemistry set or his encyclopedias. And how was he supposed to perfect his piano playing without a piano? Eleven was definitely a tough age.
Jeannie bounced on the sofa, blond pigtails flying as she squeezed her stuffed Albert Einstein. “What’s wrong, Mer?”
“I’m starving,” he moaned, his mouth watering as the scent of baking cookies wafted in from the kitchen. “And how many times have I told you to call me Rodney?”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Sorry, Meredith. I forgot,” she sneered, bouncing once on her butt and hopping to her feet.
Eight year olds were completely immature. His sister was the spawn of Satan. “Shut up,” he snapped.
“You shut up.”
“Children,” Grandma interrupted, dusting her hands on her apron, “we don’t speak that way in my house. Apologize. Now.”
“Sorry, Mer.”
Rodney narrowed his eyes and crossed his fingers. “Sorry,” he replied with as much sarcasm as he could muster.
Grandma arched a brow at him, not fooled in the least. “The first batch of cookies is ready if you’d like some.”
“Yippee!” Jeannie cried as she dashed toward the kitchen, pulling Rodney’s hair on her way by.
“Ow!” he yelped. “Grandma, did you see that?”
Grandma smoothed a soft, plump hand over the offended spot. “She’s your baby sister, Meredith. She idolizes you.”
“She terrorizes me.”
A thumb stroked gently across his cheek. “Only to get your attention. She loves you, wants to be just like you. Try being nice.” She patted his face and smiled. “Now, a cookie?”
“Can I have more than one?” he asked as he slipped his hand in hers and snuggled close since no one was watching.
“Of course. You may have as many as you like.”
Rodney climbed up on the barstool, spinning once before snatching three gooey chocolate chip cookies. He crammed one in his mouth and dropped the other two in the small plate in front of him when she handed him a tall glass of milk. He chugged half of it, relishing the mix of cold liquid with warm sweetness. Grabbing another cookie, he bit in and slowly pulled it away, watching the chocolate string and reminding himself to determine which chemical properties made it do that.
“What do you kids want to do today?” Grandma asked as she put the rest of the dough in the refrigerator.
“Swim!” Jeannie crowed. “Can we go to the pool?”
Rodney stared at her in disbelief. “The pool? Are you crazy? Do you know how much radiation the sun puts out? Over a-”
“Meredith,” Grandma said sternly, “there’s nothing wrong with swimming. It’s good for you. And we’ll put on sunscreen.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t want to swim.”
“Then what do you want to do, honey?”
“But, Grandma,” Jeannie whined, “I wanna swim.”
“You can swim, sweetheart. We just need to find something your brother wants to do.”
“He doesn’t like to do anything except play the piano and blow things up. Momma said-”
“It doesn’t matter what your mother said right now. Run upstairs and change into your swimsuit.” When Jeannie scampered off, Grandma turned to him, capturing his gaze. “What do you want to do?” she repeated.
Rodney bit his lip. He loved his grandmother more than anyone else, and he didn’t want to be difficult, but he couldn’t think of a single thing. “I don’t know,” he sighed.
“My poor Meredith. You do know it’s okay to be a little boy, don’t you?”
“I- I-” He’d never really considered it. Momma had insisted he learn to be responsible so he had to take care of Jeannie when they came home from school and make their lunches and help her with her schoolwork.
Grandma’s mouth settled in a grim line. “That’s what I thought.” She shook her head, muttering something he didn’t understand about unfeeling ice queens. “I believe I’ve seen a few of the neighborhood boys playing baseball in the corner lot. I still have one of your dad’s old gloves.”
“Dad played baseball?” His dad? The man who spent all of his time with someone else’s kids?
“He sure did.” Grandma smiled fondly as her eyes lost focus. “He would leap out of bed every Saturday morning and run to that lot. Most days he played through lunch. I’d have to go get him for dinner.”
“What made him stop?”
Her smile dimmed. “I guess he got too busy with school. He forgot to live.”
Well, that hadn’t changed. Still, it might be cool to use his dad’s glove, to have something in common - just the two of them. Rodney knew the basic rules of baseball, had watched the boys at school play. From a distance, of course. He glanced up as a beat-up, cracked brown leather glove with threadbare webbing landed next to his right hand.
Grandma smoothed one hand over his hair and held Jeannie’s with the other. “The boys should already be there. Have fun.”
Jeannie pulled her hand away. “Where are you going, Mer?”
Rodney rolled his eyes and waved the glove at her. “Hello? To play baseball with the other kids.”
“Can I come?”
“I thought you wanted to swim,” Grandma said.
Jeannie shook her head. “I wanna play baseball.”
Grandma squatted down and looked Jeannie in the eye. “You can’t play, dear. You’re too small. But you can watch if you want.”
Jeannie’s bottom lip quivered for a second then she nodded solemnly. “I’ll watch.”
“But-” Rodney’s mouth snapped shut when Grandma gave him a pointed look. He shot a glance at Jeannie, surprised to see hope shining in her eyes. Maybe she did want to be like him. A little. “Fine, but you can’t go dressed like that.” A pink swimsuit with red hearts was not appropriate for the baseball diamond.
Jeannie ran back upstairs while Rodney hunted down his socks and sneakers. By the time he had them properly laced and tied, his sister had bounded back down in a t-shirt, shorts, and sandals with the biggest baseball cap he’d ever seen. Red with a logo he didn’t recognize, it came down over her ears and slid to her nose.
“Where did you get that cap?” Rodney asked.
“In the closet. Do you want to wear it?”
“No,” he snapped. “Can we go now?”
Jeannie nodded vigorously. “I’m ready.”
“Then you kids go and have a good time,” Grandma said, holding the door open for them.
They waved goodbye and headed out, Rodney carrying the glove protectively in both arms. The sun was warm on his face, and he made an impulsive decision to not worry about the sunscreen he forgot to put on. Birds swooped in the mid-morning sky, and mowers roared, the scent of fresh cut grass and flowers following them down the sidewalk. When they reached the lot they found about a dozen boys cheering and shouting as a skinny red headed boy chased after a ball while a lanky blond rounded second and headed to third, crossing home plate before the ball reached the infield.
Rodney hesitated at the edge of the field, a wave of longing washing over him as the blond boy’s team pounded him on the back in congratulations. He’d never had anything like that; no one in school liked working with him because they couldn’t keep up, and he’d never deemed athletics worthy of his time. But just once in his life he’d like to know what it felt like to be accepted like that.
“Mer?”
Shaking off that ridiculous thought, he barked, “What?”
“Are you going to play?”
“Of course. I’m just waiting for the end of the quarter; it would be rude to interrupt. Don’t you know anything?”
Jeannie smiled smugly. “I know that baseball has innings not quarters.”
“I know that,” Rodney huffed. “I was testing you.”
“Sure you were.” She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and tugged. “Come on.”
Rodney trudged after her as they skirted the field. A chubby kid with a buzz cut stepped up to the plate, and the blond boy cheered him on from the side. A rail-thin boy with dark, stringy hair threw the ball at the batter who swung harder than Rodney had thought possible. The ball zipped through the air, landing several meters behind first base. The red-headed outfielder tore after it as the hitter headed to second, pulling up at the base and panting heavily.
“Way to go, Petey!” Blond Boy shouted.
Petey bent over, hands on knees, and nodded.
“Hey, kid!” Blond Boy called. “You wanna play?”
Jeannie dug a sharp elbow into Rodney’s ribs. “He’s talking to you.”
“I know,” Rodney hissed, handing his glove to her and turning to the boy. “Yeah, sure.”
When he reached the plate, the boy handed him the bat, a wooden Louisville Slugger that had seen better days.
“What’s your name?”
“Rodney,” he answered as he gripped the bat handle.
“I’m Scott. You new?”
“Visiting my grandmother.”
“Is that your sister?”
Rodney heaved a sigh. “Yeah. Is that okay?”
“Sure.” Scott squinted into the sun which was shining brightly behind the pitcher. “Mickey’s pitching. He’s not throwing hard ‘cause of the sun. That piece of cardboard is first base, the big rock that Petey is standing on is second, and third is that tire. Any questions?”
“Who’s on what team?”
“We rotate. Eight in the field and five- six now batting. Ready?”
Nodding, Rodney stepped to the plate and hefted the bat to his shoulder, the head immediately dipping below his elbow. Staring at Mickey, he waited for the pitch, ignoring his pounding heart and sweaty palms. He flinched as the ball sailed past.
“Strike!” the catcher called.
“Come on, Mer!” Jeannie hollered. “Get a hit!”
Scott shot him a questioning look. “Mare?”
“Don’t pay any attention to her,” Rodney muttered.
Focusing on Mickey’s hand, he watched the ball all the way in and swung, stumbling as the bat’s weight pulled him forward. The bat flew from his hands and landed near third base; face burning, Rodney stomped after it. He wiped his hands on his jeans and dragged the bat back while the catcher cackled and threw the ball to Mickey.
“You’d better toss it underhand to this kid, Mick. He won’t be able to hit it otherwise.”
“Shut up, Eli,” Scott warned the catcher. “Try choking up on the bat, Rodney.” Receiving a blank stare, Scott said, “Shift your hands higher. It will help your control.”
Rodney did as he suggested, noting the better balance. He clenched his jaw as laughter carried when Mickey wound up and lobbed the ball underhanded. It arced, and Rodney’s arms vibrated from his fingertips to his shoulders when he made contact. The hit wasn’t much, a slow roller to third, but he hit it.
“Go, Meredith!” Jeannie screamed. “Run!”
Dropping the bat, he dashed toward first, feeling proud until a voice called, “That’s three!” His shoulders slumped as he watched the third baseman console Petey who glared across the field at Rodney after being tagged out.
“Way to go, Meredith,” Petey taunted. “Did your parents name-”
“Knock it off, Petey. And next time, don’t run unless it’s a force play,” Scott growled, jogging toward Rodney. “Don’t worry about it. Grab your glove and head to right field.”
Eyes to the ground, Rodney hurried toward Jeannie who gave him a bright smile along with his glove. “You hit it!”
He grunted noncommittally and turned to view the field. “Is right field behind first base?”
Head bobbing and cap covering her eyes, Jeannie answered, “Yep.”
He headed to the outfield while Scott called the names of the next round of batters. Reaching right, he positioned himself between first and second base, even with the new centerfielder. The batters huddled together, occasionally glancing Rodney’s way. Breaking apart, Eli tapped the bat on the edge of the hubcap designated as home, dug his heels in, and took a few practice swings. Mickey, still pitching, wound up and heaved the ball which landed in Scott’s catcher’s mitt with an impressive smack.
“Little too high,” Scott called, tossing the ball back. “Bring it down some.”
Rounding on the next pitch, Eli clobbered it straight at Rodney. Panic choked him, and he jogged forward a few steps only to realize his mistake. Backpedaling quickly, he stretched out his glove and utterly missed. He chased after it, catching up to it as Eli headed to third.
The second baseman waved at him. “Throw it!”
Taking a deep breath, Rodney threw it with all his might, watching in horror as it plopped to the ground a couple of meters in front of him and bounced.
Second Base scowled as Eli scored. “You even throw like a girl,” he sneered.
And so the day went. Rodney constantly misjudged the ball when it was hit at him, the centerfielder throwing it in for him, and he never got the ball past the pitcher’s mound when he hit which only happened when it was tossed underhanded. Finally, thankfully, mothers began to call the boys home. Grabbing Jeannie’s hand, he strode quickly down the sidewalk.
“Mer,” Jeannie whined, “slow down.” She tugged her hand from his. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just wanna get back to Grandma’s before dark.”
“You’re not a very good liar. It’s okay if you aren’t good at baseball.”
“That’s just it.” He stopped, glancing back at the ball field in frustration. “I should be.”
“Why?” Jeannie asked, jogging after him as he started off again.
“Baseball is all about angles, velocity, force, and statistics. I should be able to put the proper force on the ball. I should be able to accurately judge where it’s going to land.”
“You sound like Dad.”
“What are you on about?”
“Have you ever seen Dad have fun?”
“Fun?”
Jeannie sighed dramatically. “Yes. Baseball is supposed to be fun. So is swimming and coloring and tag and lots of other stuff. You can just play, you know. You don’t have to win everything.”
“Are you kidding? Everything’s about winning.”
She shook her head. “Oh, Mer.”
“Don’t call me that!”
Jeannie glared at him as they reached Grandma’s house. “Fine,” she huffed, stomping into the house.
Tears pricked Rodney’s eyes as he stared at his dad’s glove. Ripping it off, he stuffed it in the trash can and followed Jeannie inside. If he couldn’t do something well, he didn’t want to do it at all. And he never wanted to play baseball again.