One sweet pitch

One of the things I like about BSU is that since both its baseball and softball programs are strong, the school has a really nice indoor batting-cage facility. The teams and players have dibs on it, of course, but that leaves plenty of slots open through the year for other students to sign up. I don’t get down there a lot, but I enjoy it when I can.

I love baseball. I’m not very good at most of it, because though I keep myself in good shape, I’m not a great athlete. I don’t run very fast, I’m not particularly strong, and I don’t have a great arm. My reflexes in the field aren’t especially good, either; I’ve always said I’m a utility player—I can make errors at all nine positions. The one thing I can do, and have always been able to do, is hit. I have a good eye for balls and strikes, and I’m really good at putting the bat on the ball. I don’t have a lot of power, but I’ve geared my swing for line drives, and I can hit the ball where it’s pitched. I can’t run, field, or throw, but put me at the plate and I’ll spray singles and doubles from line to line all day long—and if you hang a pitch middle-in, I can take you out of the park, as long as it’s not too deep down the line.

This doesn’t mean I have any good place on a real team. I don’t have the power to DH, and though I’d be valuable as a pinch-hitter, no team is going to waste a roster spot on someone who has no other use. It does mean I enjoy myself in the batting cage, though, and so I like to do that when I can. That hasn’t been too often this year—I’ve been too busy scoring to spend much time hitting, if you take my meaning—but I make it every once in a while.

Satisfied and sweaty, I take my last swing and turn around to discover I have an audience: a tall, athletic blonde with short hair and a sweet rack. I’ve never met her before, but I recognize her—she’s Kimberly Daniels, the biggest star in the softball team’s history. She was a four-year starter in center field, and such a great athlete that she would have played shortstop despite her height if she hadn’t been left-handed. She was also a four-year starter in the cleanup spot; as a true freshman, she hit a grand slam in the very first inning on Opening Day and never looked back. She’s working on a master’s degree now and has joined the coaching staff of the softball team. Rumor has it she wants to manage someday.

“That’s a sweet stroke you have,” she says admiringly in a throaty contralto. “Ever thought about trying out for the men’s team?”

“Coming from Kimberly Daniels, that’s a high compliment,” I say with a grin, and she grins back at me. “Unfortunately, I’m a one-tool player, which leaves me a couple tools short of a roster spot.”

She cocks her head and says, “Don’t be so sure. I’ve been watching you for a while, and that one tool of yours is pretty loud. Your pitch recognition looks good, you seem to know a ball from a strike, and I’m betting you don’t get yourself out very often. What’s more, you’re clearly already paying your way here, so you wouldn’t need scholarship money. You should talk to Butch—Coach Baker. I’d bet he could find a place for you.”

I open my mouth, but Kimberly raises a hand and continues. “OK, so you’re not a power hitter. From what I saw, you could at least hit enough doubles to keep pitchers honest, and you use the whole field. Butch doesn’t really have a clear candidate for DH this season, and if you don’t have any major holes in your swing—and I didn’t see any when I was watching—he’d be happy to run you out there and let you hit line drives all over the place.”

I grin again and hold up a hand of my own, conceding defeat. “OK, I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell him it was your idea, so he won’t think I’m suffering from delusions of grandeur.” She grins happily at that, and I extend my hand to her. “It’s truly a pleasure to meet you. My name’s Andrew.”

Kimberly takes my hand, but when I introduce myself, something flickers in her eyes. Instead of releasing my hand as I expect, she says with a **** attempt at casualness, “You wouldn’t happen to be Alyssa Summers’s friend Andrew Lane, would you?”

I think I know where this is going, I think, startled. I clear my throat. “Ummmm, yes, I am,” I reply slowly. “How do you know Alyssa?”

“Oh, just from around the athletic department,” Kimberly answers, waving off my question. “The point is, I believe you have business cards? Of a rather—unusual nature?”

“I do,” I say cautiously, and excitement lights up her face.

With a small, hungry smile, Kimberly says, “I want to hire you. Do you have any slots free during the school day?”