Hurricane Heat by Steven Barwin

Author:Steven Barwin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: JUV032010, JUV013050, JUV013070
Publisher: Orca Book Publishers
Published: 2013-05-01T04:00:00+00:00

chapter twelve

I had to zigzag my way through the lobby in the morning just to get out. It was a sea of bobbing baseball hats. The blue team had taken over the lobby chairs, while the yellows hovered over computers in the business area. I felt bad for anyone who wasn’t here for the tournament. I repeated the words sorry, excuse me, as my backpack, with my cleats, batting helmet, glove and the list of phone numbers, brushed against people. When I reached the exit, I had to lift my bag over my head just to squeeze out.

A honking horn caught my attention, and I jumped into Ethan’s Jeep.

“If our first team is late because of this traffic, it counts as a no-show and we win by default,” he said.

“That ever happen before?” My backpack rested on my lap. I wasn’t going to let it out of my sight.

“Don’t think so,” said Ethan.

I spotted three baseball fields as we entered an already jammed parking lot. Ethan had to scramble for a spot on the grass. I trailed behind Ethan, who was almost jogging to the field.

Most of the people milling around were parents with coolers. A large sign had a list of all the teams. The Hurricanes-versus-Chargers game was scheduled for field two. Ethan led me on a narrow gravel path between two sets of stands, each facing out toward two fields. We popped out behind the home-plate fence and saw some members of our team already sitting in a dugout. I stepped inside.

Coach Robert checked us off his list. “Where were you guys, the gift shop?” he asked.

Ethan apologized for both of us. After the warm-up, Coach Robert called us in for the pregame pep talk. He gave his usual advice and reminded everyone that this was a single-elimination tournament. “We need to win in our pool today to move to the finals on Monday. So do your best. Make it count. Go down swinging, and remember...” He paused. “There could be scouts watching.”

Thanks for the pressure, Coach! Between the rush to get to the game and the pep talk, I had built up a lot of nervous energy, and it sucked to waste it sitting on the bench. I was excited and anxious to play. But at the same time, I would have been happy if the Chargers had gotten stuck at the hotel and forfeited the game. Our team was fielding, so I moved to the far side of the dugout, where the players’ bats were stored in little cubbies. I looked over to make sure Coach Robert was distracted by the game, then pulled out my cell phone and my list. I dialed the last number on the list, just to mix it up. The call went straight to voice mail. I knew that meant someone was home but on the phone. After the greeting, I left a message with my name, number and reason for calling. My next three calls, dialed randomly from the list, were dead ends.

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