The seat next to me is taken, and a quick glance sends me into a partial panic attack. I shouldn’t be scared or even nervous to sit next to Steve Bainbridge, but I am. When it comes down to my love for the game, he is one of the best. I’ve modeled some of my skills after him, and here I am gunning for his job.
“I thought I’d introduce myself,” he says, extending his hand to shake mine. His grip is firm, strong, really, and meant to send me a message. Message received, but not processed. What’s that saying—keep your friends close, but your enemies closer? I’ll be his best damn friend if that’s what I have to do. I’m not afraid of being underhanded in order to get what I want.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say to him with pure honesty. Two years ago, I’d have been lining up for his autograph. By the end of spring training, he’ll be asking for mine.
If I was expecting a conversation on the way to the zoo, I’m sorely mistaken. Bainbridge stands with a huff and moves to the back of the bus; his seat is filled immediately by Travis Kidd.
“His bark is worse than his bite.”
“Okay?”
I shake my head and focus on the scenery outside. Everything here is green and lush, unlike Boston. In New England it’s cold, dreary, gray, and gross. I long for the dry heat of Arizona where I can play ball every day of the year unless it’s raining.
“It means he’s really a nice guy once you get to know him.”
“I’m sure he is.”
Kidd doesn’t say anything after that, riding next to me in silence. From what I’ve heard, and believe me, rumors travel fast in the clubhouse, Kidd is a major partier in the off-season, and doesn’t hold back much during the season, either. My dad has read articles about him, cautioning me from that type of behavior. He’s reminded me that my image is everything, and once the public sees you doing something stupid, it’s hard to come back from that. Keep my nose clean, that’s what I’m supposed to do.
“Hey, rook, tonight a bunch of us are hitting the bar. We have late practice tomorrow. You should come.” I’m surprised by the invite from Kidd, but pleasantly happy as well.
I shake my head slightly. “I don’t do bars during the season.”
He laughs and slaps his hand down on his leg. “There will be lots of women.”
“I don’t do women, either.” The second the words are out of my mouth I regret them. His face pales before he starts to nod.
“I get it—”
“No, it’s not like that,” I say, interrupting him. “What I mean is, I don’t date or anything like that. I’m focused on my career right now. Shit’s hard enough, and I’m trying to make the roster. I need to keep my priorities straight.”
“I was that way, too, my rookie year, until about midway through the year and we were in a slump so I had to drown out my sorrows. Once those floodgates open, man, you can’t stop them.”
“Let’s hope we don’t hit any slumps.” My goal, like everyone else’s on this bus, is to win. Put up high scores, outpitch the other team, run the bases harder, and challenge the opposing players to get us out. Make them work for their victory and hand them nothing.
Last year the Renegades didn’t even make the wild card race and they were projected to. The season was a letdown, and I half expected to be called up much earlier. Sports analysts have said the Renegades tanked last year because Cal Diamond was supposedly sick and not truly focused on the game. Others say we’re too young and need some veterans. If the latter is true, it explains why guys like Bainbridge are still around, but doesn’t give much explanation as to why I’m here. They could’ve easily traded me and secured future draft picks if they’re looking to keep veterans.
The guys start hooting and hollering when we pull into the zoo parking lot. Yellow school buses and lines of kids surround us. Kids aren’t my favorite things in the world, but I can smile, sign autographs, and act like I’m having a good time to do my part and make the organization look good.
As we file off, the kids start pointing. A few scream when Singleton, Davenport, and Bainbridge step off the bus. Steve walks right up to them and st
arts shaking their hands. It takes me a minute to realize what he’s doing. This is why he’s a fan favorite. This is what I need to emulate in order to be successful on both sides of the fence.
I start shaking hands. Most of the kids don’t know who I am, and I’m okay with that. I answer their quick questions and even ask a few back, letting them know that I’m as interested in them and that I care.
We’re ushered inside the zoo and met by staff. My eyes immediately fall on the woman who seems to be in charge. She is standing in front of a group of people all dressed in different shades of khaki green. I have never seen someone so poised and self-assured; it’s mesmerizing how she commands the attention of everyone around her. Her smile lights up an already bright day, and I find myself stepping closer so I can get a better look at her.
“Good morning. My name is Ainsley Burke and I want to thank you all for coming out today. The third graders that you met on your way in are from underprivileged schools, and coming to the zoo is something they usually only have the chance to experience during field trips. At noon, we’ll meet at the cafeteria, where we’ll have lunch before finishing the second half of the tour. There are about one hundred kids here today, and you’ll be in groups of five. That puts two players with each group. You can switch groups at any time, or wait until after lunch.”
Her name is Ainsley. I say it over and over again in my head as I stand here staring at her. She smiles at me, but her eyes move away quickly as she watches my teammates filter to their locations to meet the children. The activity around me is a vision of blurry bodies while she stays crystal clear. The only thing missing is the epically cheesy music that either signifies a connection or our untimely doom.
“Bailey!”
I snap out of the trance I’m in to look for the source of my name being called. Davenport is waving his hand in the air, beckoning me over. With another glance at Ainsley, I step toward him, but not before looking back at her. That’s when I see it. She’s watching me, and when our eyes meet, she blushes and runs her hand over her blond ponytail. Is it an automatic response that her head tilts down as she tries to hide the grin on her face?
“Dude!” Davenport says when I reach him.
“What?” I ask, feigning indifference, but on the inside I’m busting with excitement. What I’m feeling isn’t foreign. I’ve liked women before, even dated a few in college, but never did I have the physical urge to stare at someone, to memorize them before they faded away. Something must be wrong with me.