Bat Boy (Easton U Pirates 1)

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Ricky standing and waving enthusiastically. I was about to raise my hand, when Kellan came into view, walking out of the dugout to speak to the assistant coach near the first base line, and I realized Ricky’s greeting was all for him. I shook my head and cracked a smile. Kellan picked up a couple of bats along the way—he was always collecting equipment and helping us remain organized.

I was obviously distracted as I overshot Hollister’s glove, and the ball bounced off one of the bleachers and rolled near Kellan. He picked it up and looked around for the offender.

I shrugged and looked away, but my ears were burning. He probably thought I’d done it purposely, having no clue I’d been sidetracked thinking about him.

Jesus, get it together, Donovan.

“Heads up,” Hollister called, and suddenly there was a fastball coming straight at me. I lifted my glove and caught it, but it stung and my ring finger smarted, reminding me of the wicked line drive that had broken it sophomore year in high school.

“Look at you with the nice throw,” Hollister teased. Kellan’s cheeks went pink, and he turned back to his discussion with the assistant coach.

That was Kellan’s quiet way of giving it back to me, and I enjoyed getting those little smartass glimpses of him. Like the other night at the custard place with Maclain. I could tell he and his roommate, Jasmine, would be fun to hang out with, and they looked thick as thieves, laughing all the way across the street on the way to their place on the other side of campus. Maclain wouldn’t admit it, but he respected Kellan for it—Jasmine too. I had an inkling that he had a crush on her, but if we tried to tease him about it, he’d deny it on principle. He wasn’t one to get attached, and knowing his history, I could probably easily unpack that, but he’d kill me if I tried.

“Let Lopez throw a few rounds,” Coach called from the dugout, referring to the game’s closer. He’d only be called in to relieve our pitcher if we were winning and needed a boost to keep our lead. So far, he’d helped us out of some close jams this season.

Girard stood to stretch, to give his knees a break. If anyone had the shit job on the field, it was him. But the catcher also had one of the most important positions—he signaled which pitch to throw from behind home plate, based on the batter’s stats. Unfortunately, he also had to deal with some big personalities, like Maclain. I had to deal with Maclain too, but as his roommate as well as the captain of the team, I’d become used to his blustery attitude and knew he was more bark than bite.

Hollister included the second and third baseman in the grounder rotation, so I glanced at the stands just as Ricky was heading down the bleachers to talk to Kellan. Seeing them huddled together always made me feel a funny sort of stitch in my chest. I could tell how much Ricky admired Kellan, and I could understand why. Not only was he smart, but he also gave Ricky all his attention when others who didn’t understand his autism tended to brush him off or make excuses.

Kellan motioned to different players on the field, so they were probably discussing the starting lineup. Ricky loved getting what he considered insider information so he could give Mom the scoop.

Kellan high-fived him, then walked away, and I noticed how hard he tried not to glance in my direction before failing miserably. Those were the little gestures that kept me hanging by a thread where Kellan was concerned. I told myself he liked my attention, and maybe even my company, especially when I found excuses to sit near him on bus rides or during other periods of downtime. I’d even go so far as calling us friends. Unless I was delusional, which was likely.

Kellan tried so hard to remain neutral around the players—to remain on the outskirts too—most likely because of a warning from his father, who was pretty strict about plenty of things.

Don’t get me wrong, that made him a good coach. He was well respected by all the players, and nobody wanted to cross him. It was enough that at the start of every season we got lectured about respecting each other’s boundaries and acting like a family—dysfunctional or not. And if he heard anything remotely sexist, homophobic, or racist, players were guaranteed a seat on the bench. And damn, I respected him for that. Leaders always set the tone, and it made me feel more comfortable in my own skin, or at least comfortable enough to figure out whatever this was.