Bat Boy (Easton U Pirates 1)

He’d added, “I would be having the same talk with Ava if she were joining my team.”

And he was right. Ava and I had always compared notes and gotten the same lectures from our parents about curfew, driving under the influence, and emergency situations. Still, I’d pushed back a little. “What if they hit on me?”

His face blotched red, as if he hadn’t considered the possibility that his players could be gay or bi or queer, even though there had been a couple of professional athletes who’d come out over the years.

And now my cheeks heated as I thought about Brady Donovan again. Not that he was gay. But he was always around, either teasing or acting all chivalrous and protective of me. I was certain it was only because I was kind to his family, his brother in particular. Sometimes I’d feel him watching me when I met Ricky at the bottom of the stands to talk stats with him. He was on the autism spectrum, always had a smile, and was whip-smart. As a kid, no one my age had been interested in delving that deep with me—not even my best friend, Jasmine, though she’d always tolerated my fascination with numbers and computations. I’d always stuck out like a sore thumb because of it, so I supposed I understood Ricky on a different level.

I’d replied, “Anyway, Dad, my focus is on classes, so I don’t need any distractions either.”

Which was true. I’d had hookups over the years—and even one real heartbreak junior year of high school, a topic Jasmine and I stayed far away from. I had no desire to get involved with anyone, not while I was earning my degree. Jasmine’s friendship, and sharing an apartment with her near campus, was all I needed at the moment.

“That’s the spirit,” Dad had said, and I could see the relief in his eyes. “One of the unspoken rules in coaching is to never play favorites. And I mean it, Kellan. Don’t disappoint me.”

No pressure, Dad. But I knew he meant business, having been on the receiving end of his disappointment before for stupid kid stuff. The look in his eyes alone might kill me. Besides, his career was always on the line, and even though his concern was partly him being protective of me and my reputation, he also didn’t need me to screw anything up for him or the team. Especially not after a professor/student scandal rocked the biology department on campus a couple of years ago. Since then, he was even more strict about any staff fraternizing with the players.

Little did he realize just how seriously I took this job as well. He needed me to be professional, and that was exactly how I played it around the team. I might’ve had my fabulous twinky moments, but I usually reserved that for clubs or my roommate, who was just as fabulous. In fact, my two modes were invisible and hypersonic, and Jasmine was one of the few to witness both.

“The job is yours if you want it,” he’d said. “I could definitely use your help.”

And we’d been working together ever since.

By the time Dad ended his call, I was growing restless to get home. Thankfully, he didn’t make any small talk, just pulled up a chart with the week’s stats on his computer. The university’s athletic department employed part-time statistical recorders who attended games to gather real-time data, which was then uploaded for the coach’s perusal.

“I need to decide who’s going to open and close against Turner State. Any opinions?”

I glanced at the pitching numbers. “Damn, Maclain’s average is impressive.” I leaned forward and quickly reviewed the calculations while Dad stayed silent. The university also employed a sports-analytics statistician, who looked for overall trends, which was definitely my jam. I’d learned a lot from his endless charts and graphs, and Dad let me sit in on planning meetings sometimes, where the coaches pored over data.

But this was the part I loved best—my dad asking my opinion and sometimes even trusting it. “Considering they have a heavy hitter in the lineup, I’d suggest you start Maclain and have Lopez close if we’re up by the sixth inning. Last time, we were able to shut Turner out the first five.”

“Those were my thoughts too.” Dad sat back, rubbing his jaw as he seemed to be weighing my suggestion. “I’ll take it into consideration.”

I tried not to beam as I said my goodbyes and went back to campus. Jasmine and I were supposed to study for our computation exam—one of the few classes we had in common—and that was exactly what she was doing when I walked through the door.

“You started without me.”

“You’re late,” she said in a distracted voice, pushing her long braid over her shoulder.

We’d been friends since middle school, when she’d saved my ass from a bully with her sharp tongue, and we’d been practically tied at the hip ever since.