I slammed my locker door shut—the echo startled me in the crowded hallway. Maybe it wasn’t the sound that surprised me; maybe it was the unexpected sight of Coby standing so close to my face. I was used to seeing a smile on his lips, his eyes shining like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. So to see the panic burning his cheeks, his brown hair disheveled like he’d ran his hands through it a million times—or yanked on it while anxious over whatever he came to my locker to tell me—alarmed me.

“You look freaked out, Coby. What’s going on? Did Courtney Hunter ask you to prom or brush up against your arm unintentionally?” I couldn’t help but snicker. Courtney was the head cheerleader, the captain of all that was popular, so the idea of her even approaching Coby was quite comical.

When he didn’t immediately respond, I probed again. “Coby?”

His eyes met mine, wildly searching my face. “Have you not heard?”

“Heard what?”

“There’s gonna be a shit-ton of pro scouts at the game next weekend.”

“Really? That’s fantastic.” I didn’t understand his apprehension or the apparent fear marring his features. “Are they coming to see you? Or someone else on the team?”

“I-I don’t know. My dad said there’s going to be a lot of scouts there, but I have no clue who they’re interested in.”

I still didn’t understand his trepidation. To me, having scouts watch you play was a good thing. “So, I’m still not getting it. What’s the big deal? I don’t understand why you aren’t excited about this. I would be if I were you.”

“Think, E.T.,” he said, using my nickname. It was just my initials, but ever since we’d watched the movie one summer when we were eight, it had become his name for me, and he constantly told me that I needed to phone home. I think it was his way to keep us connected.

I rolled my eyes at the remembrance of those years.

“I can’t bat,” he reminded me. “How’s that going to look to a scout when I can’t hit a ball?”

I waved him off with an easy flick of the wrist. “Any American League scout won’t care about that. They’ll only care about your pitch, considering their pitchers don’t bat. But regardless, weren’t there scouts at the semifinals? I’m sure they realized then that you can’t hit a ball to save your life, so if they’re coming to see you again, that must mean they aren’t from the National League.” I held my books to my chest, offering him a shrug and a smile before turning to walk away.

I assumed he’d follow, so when his footsteps fell in line with mine, I wasn’t surprised.

“I didn’t think you cared about playing pro ball.” In all the years we’d been friends—which had been since birth—he’d never expressed any desire to play college ball, much less pro. Anytime the topic of “life after high school” came up, we’d discuss the two of us going away to school together.

It’d always been the two of us.

The thought of anything different had never crossed either of our minds. At least not that I was aware of.

“I never thought beyond high school because I didn’t think any team would ever pick me. C’mon, Ellie…who would sign a player who’s visually impaired?”

“Anyone who’s ever seen you throw a ball.” My stare met his, and the warmth began to return to his eyes, even if the smile hadn’t yet reached his face. “Well, do you have any desire now that scouts are showing up to watch you play?” I knew in my heart someone saw the potential in Coby that I’d always seen—it was just hard to get noticed in Podunk, USA.

“We’re not even sure if they’re coming to watch me or someone else.”

I stopped in front of my third-period class and turned to face him. “What if they are coming to see you, and what if they want you…would you be interested? I think you should probably figure that out before the time comes.”

He was mid-shrug when the bell rang. Rather than stand in the middle of the hallway to contemplate my question, he threw a hand in the air to wave and gave me a smile that pulled higher on one side of his mouth.

I spent the next two periods before lunch considering what life with Coby in Major League Baseball would mean for our friendship. Neither of us were terribly popular; we didn’t have tons of friends. It had always been us against the world. Sometimes, I thought of us more as siblings than best friends, a connection not many people our age fully understood, but in a few months, it wouldn’t matter. We would leave here and head off to the University of Alabama, and never return to the tiny town we’d grown up in. Regardless of how this played out, we were destined for more than DeArmanville, Alabama.

By the time we met back up for lunch, Coby’s face had a green tinge while I bounced up and down with excitement.

“You don’t look any better than you did this morning.” I put my palm against his forehead to feel for a fever but found nothing other than a little sweat on his hairline, which I promptly wiped on my jeans.

“And you look like you just won the lottery. What gives?” He plopped down in his normal seat at the table we’d shared since our freshman year.

“Coby, you’re not seeing what an opportunity you have in front of you. There are pro scouts coming to a game you’re playing in this weekend. Even if you don’t get scooped up—or whatever the technical term for it is—most ballplayers never even get that kind of shot.”

“I’m visually impaired, E.T.” His words were monotone as he stared at his sandwich. I swear the guy had eaten the same lunch since kindergarten. One day he’d outgrow PB and J.

“Yeah, so? You have a wicked curveball, and obviously, someone has noticed.” The way he stared at me reminded me of the countless times over our lives I’d had to remind him of how amazing he truly was. Coby’s confidence didn’t waver often, but when it did, it took some cajoling to steady the sail. “Look, you have nothing to lose. You never expected to go pro, right?”

“Not even on my radar.” A flicker of understanding crossed his eyes.

“Then you have everything to gain. You’ve already been accepted to college, so if this doesn’t work out, then nothing about your plan changes.” It seemed simplistic to me.

“And if it does?”

I shrugged. There was no doubt where his mind was headed. A large part of Coby’s confidence rested in me, and mine in him. Together we were solid, but separately, we were both introverts who struggled with being painfully shy. “Then your world blows up. I don’t think there’s any way to ever dream this big, Coby.”

“Yeah, that’s what scares me.”

I reached across the table for his hand, jelly transferring from his fingers to mine. “Nothing changes between us, Coby. No matter where we are physically, you’ll always be my best friend…and I better be yours.”

* * *

That week turned into one of sheer torture for Coby. His dad was so excited by the possibility of his son going pro, along with any other player on his team, that he’d required extra practices. Coach Kyler had gone a little overboard trying to prepare Coby for the performance of his life, and in turn, had instilled so much fear in my best friend that he wasn’t eating or sleeping.

Friday night, I stopped by Coby’s house after dinner. He loved my mom’s fried chicken, and I’d hoped to use it to entice him to eat. He wouldn’t have to worry about impressing scouts if he passed out from lack of nourishment before the game ever started.

I parked in the dirt driveway I’d pulled into so many times before, realizing so much of our lives would be defined in the following twenty-four hours. This would be one of the last times I’d make this trip unless I was home from school. I wouldn’t see Mr. Kyler on a daily basis, or my own parents for that matter. But I worried more about Coby’s dad than my own folks. Ever since his wife had passed away, Coby had been his life—without him, he’d be alone. Shaking the thoughts from my mind, I grabbed the plate my mom had made and climbed out of the car.

The front door was never locked, and I strolled in like I had since early childhood. Closing the heavy wood behind me, I called out, “Coby?”

His muffled reply came from the back of the small house, and I assumed he was in his room. There weren’t many places for him to be in the two-bedroom home. His dad was the PE teacher and baseball coach at our school, and his income was modest, but he’d always made sure Coby had a place where he felt safe and secure…a home.

I’d spent so much time in this house over the years I could navigate it with my eyes closed. I walked down the short hall and opened the door to his room. My best friend was on his back with his forearm draped over his eyes. The lights were off, but the evening sun still shone through the windows, preventing the need for a lamp while casting shadows around the room.

“Mom sent you some food…” Somehow, I had to bring him out of the funk that had plagued him since the day he’d found out about the scouts.

He didn’t uncover his eyes, but the corners of his mouth lifted into the start of the grin that set my mind at ease. “Do I smell chicken?”

“Maybe…”

“Extra crispy?”

“Possibly.” I teased him with my tone, hoping to bring a little levity to his dark mood.

He finally moved his arm and sat up with his hands out.

But I didn’t relinquish the offering I’d brought just yet. “You going to talk to me?” I’d given him time to pout, ponder, and process. It was time to accept what he faced, and conquer it like a boss.

“Depends. Is there a biscuit?” The way he winked caused me to giggle.

I fondly remembered Coby learning to wink. We couldn’t have been more than six or seven, and the way he would blink hard thinking he’d only shut one eye had me in hysterical laughter for days. Then he’d teased me relentlessly in retaliation when I learned how to blow bubbles in gum.

“Of course.”

He took the plate and set it on his knees. There was no need for silverware. He’d pull the chicken apart, then he’d turn the corn between his fingers, and the okra would end up between two halves of the biscuit that he’d eat like a sandwich.

“What are you so worried about, Coby?”

“I’m not worried, E.T.”

“Liar. If you weren’t, you’d be sleeping and gorging yourself on food, and I know you well enough to assume you’re doing neither.”

He hesitated before answering. I’d bet money he considered lying again but figured it was pointless. “I promised you we’d go to school together. But I don’t think I could turn down a spot in the draft.”

“Oh my God. Why would you think I’d expect you to?” I practically shrieked the words mere inches from his face.

His shrugged response told me just how weighted down he was by the idea of breaking his commitment to me. One he’d made as a child.

I turned toward him as I sat on the bed. “Coby, do you have any idea how incredibly proud I am of you? How excited I am to be able to say my best friend is being scouted by pros for the Major Leagues? Or to be able to brag to all the girls in my dorm about us being tight? Our bond isn’t defined by our location. Don’t you get that?”

“Maybe…now that you’ve said it. But all we’ve ever talked about are our plans together. I’m not sure I can do life without you. Our next step is supposed to be the University of Alabama.”

“You will never do life without me, Coby. It might be different but never separate.” I exhaled slowly. The thought of us being apart pained my best friend, but no matter what happened or where we were, there’d never be a time we weren’t together. Our proximity to the other didn’t define our friendship.

“Are you really excited about this?” He seemed confused by my enthusiasm, disbelief lacing his voice.

“Over-the-moon happy. I want this for you. No one has ever deserved something as much as Coby Kyler deserves to be noticed. Although, I’ve got to say, Coby, it feels pretty good to think all those people who ignored us would get a big middle finger from the world.”

“I can’t get in the mindset that this will materialize into anything. This is like a million-to-one shot. I have a better chance of getting hit by lightning twice. No point in getting let down.”

“Okay, if that’s your mindset, then there’s no point in getting anxious over it, either. You need a good night’s sleep so you can be ready to rock the mound in the morning.”

“Will you stay here tonight?”

“Yeah, just let me call my mom.”

Most parents wouldn’t let their teenagers spend the night together, much less in the same bed, but Coby and I had never so much as kissed—unless I counted the time in preschool when I put a peck on his scraped knee to make it feel better the way my mom always did for me, but most wouldn’t consider that anything other than innocent.

Mr. Kyler had relied on my parents a lot when Coby was younger. Without his wife around to help raise their son, he’d struggled with even the basics as a single parent. But Coby and I never saw that as kids. My mom and his had been best friends like the two of us were. From the stories I’d been told, Mr. Kyler had taken his wife’s death exceptionally hard, and even though my parents grieved her loss, there were two babies who needed to be cared for…and my mom stepped in. Coby and his dad were an extension of my family and had been for as long as I could recall.

My parents were sympathetic when I called. They assumed from what I told them, and from what Mr. Kyler had shared, that Coby hadn’t been himself this week. They also understood this was a huge opportunity, and we all wanted what was best for him. My mom reminded me not to keep him up late, but she had no hesitation letting me stay.

The two of us watched E.T. because Coby always said it grounded him, reminded him of what really mattered. I fell asleep using his forearm as my pillow before the final credits rolled. The next morning, Mr. Kyler woke the two of us up at the crack of dawn with the promise of breakfast and coffee before I wished Coby luck.

“You’re coming, right?” The intense worry was back in his eyes while deep creases marred his forehead.

“Promise.” Wild horses couldn’t keep me from it.

Coby’s dad hugged me from the side but didn’t let me go. “It’s a big day in the Kyler household. We’re going to get our boy to the Majors…right, Ellie?” It hadn’t been said, but we all understood that if Coby got picked for the draft, he wouldn’t go without my persuasion.

I looked into the eyes of the man I considered my second father. “Yes, sir.” The smile I gave him almost made my cheeks hurt. I wanted this for Coby as much as his dad did.

“I’ve heard rumors of dozens of scouts being there.” The more Mr. Kyler talked, the more tension ebbed its way through Coby’s body.

“Dad, just let it go. There’s no way anyone’s going to pick me. I’m too much of a liability.”

It broke my heart to see my best friend so downtrodden. Today could be one of the biggest days of his life, but if he didn’t get out of this funky mood, he’d be lost before he ever started. I pulled away from Mr. Kyler and went to Coby. My small palms cupped his face, and I stared into golden-brown eyes. His arms hung loosely by his sides.

“Just have fun today, Coby. Forget there’s anyone else in the stands who even cares that you’re on the mound. And whatever happens, happens. You never dreamed about any of this, so if it doesn’t happen, nothing changes. We go to school in the fall just like we’ve planned.” I offered him a wide, sincere smile, fully aware he couldn’t resist returning it.

When I got what I wanted, I dropped my hands from his cheeks and stuck my index finger out. Mine didn’t glow the way E.T.’s did in the movie, but we’d been doing it for years, and Coby understood what it meant. His pointer finger touched mine, and the corner of his mouth turned up in a boyish grin.

* * *

My parents and I arrived at the Alabama State Championship Baseball Tournament in time to be near the front of the line when the gates opened. During the entire ride up, every radio station I flipped through raved about the Cinderella team from DeArmanville taking the state by storm. Our tiny Division I school was a dark horse that seemingly came out of nowhere. And whether Coby chose to believe it or not, it was his shutout season that got them there. He’d never admit to taking them to State, and I had to acknowledge the rest of the team was pretty strong, but Coby’s ability to keep batters from ever hitting the ball kept the other teams from scoring.

There was a reason dozens of scouts were coming to see him pitch. After their win in the semifinals, the team had been the talk of the town. But not just our tiny town, all of Alabama had become interested in the pitcher whose depth perception was off. I had no idea how we’d all missed just what a powerhouse he truly was. But Coby wasn’t an athlete—I mean he was, but it didn’t define him. He got along with all the guys on the team, he’d lettered in baseball, but he wasn’t “the big man on campus.” We, Coby and I, were outsiders, even in our one-horse town. While neither of us were disliked, both of us lingered on the outside of the social fray.

Our relationship was unconventional, and most people didn’t understand it—or even try. Coby had been coming to my house after school since the first day we’d gotten off a bus, and my mom had instilled in us a commitment to education. We both excelled academically, even if Coby had to try harder than I did. Coby only started throwing the baseball in the backyard with his dad to help with his visual perception issues. It wasn’t until he hit puberty and the speed developed along with his size that Mr. Kyler added him to the school’s baseball roster. And that was our sophomore year.

Jock status never settled in, or maybe our classmates were weirded out by our relationship. I doubted I’d ever understand why teenagers were so mean to each other. But even with the clout of being on the varsity baseball team, Coby’s position in our high school’s hierarchy never changed. And neither had mine. My parents were easier to be around than the fair-weather friends I’d grown up with. But taking in the crowd of students who’d shown up in support of the school, I never would have guessed none of these people had ever even so much as breathed the word “hello” in Coby’s direction. Yet here they were with his number on their shirts and signs in the air, rooting for another no-hitter like they were lifelong besties.

Once we were inside, my parents led us to seats a few rows above home plate, giving us a bird’s-eye view of the action. Coby might not need to see me, but I wanted to watch him. I’d stolen his home jersey from his closet before I left this morning, and I now had it on along with the number nine temporarily tattooed on both of my cheeks. I hadn’t bothered with pompoms because I wasn’t the yelling type. I was more of a silent cheerleader. My friend just needed to know I was here, just like I always had been, and always would be.

The players were all out on the field warming up. I noticed Mr. Kyler gesture in our direction, and then Coby put his first finger up like a goof. My dad leaned into my shoulder to make sure I’d seen him, and I stood, extending my hand in the same dorky response. I didn’t care what anyone thought of our secret handshake. If it got him where he needed to be mentally, I’d wander around with my finger in the air like an idiot all day.

His attention went back to the field and to whatever Mr. Kyler said to the group. When I resumed my seat, my dad started pointing out different people in the crowd around us. I tried to count the men with clipboards and speed guns, but I kept losing track when they’d get up or when people would surround them without sitting.

“Every one of those is a scout.” I could hear the awe in my dad’s normally dull tone. “You think they’re all here to see Coby?”

I didn’t have a clue, but the thought made my chest swell with pride. Even if no one else thought he was gifted, he blew me away. Daydreams of Coby’s future filled my head as the game got under way. With my breath held, I watched every pitch he threw, every ball that left his hands. Somehow, I’d gotten so lost in the game that I hadn’t realized how quickly the innings went by. Every time I glanced at the screen on one of the guns a row or two below me, I’d see impressive numbers. Ninety-eight, ninety-two, ninety-nine.

Coby was pitching the game of his life.

He might not have cared how this went or what the outcome was, but just like everything else he approached, he gave it his all. If he wasn’t chasing Major League, he was definitely after the championship title. To no avail, I strained to hear what the scouts said to each other. Several of them were obviously familiar with each other, but I had no clue which teams they represented or how Coby fared in their discussions.

The noise around us was deafening. Chills ran the length of my arms. In the top of the ninth, DeArmanville led by two runs. Coby had managed to keep their opponents from a single hit in the bottom of the eighth inning. But as he left the mound after striking out the first three guys, my stomach sank—Coby would be the first hitter in the continued lineup.

For the first time in all the games I’d ever been to, I wished Coach Kyler took the liberty to bench his pitcher like so many other schools chose to do. But he wouldn’t do it—designated hitter wasn’t in his vocabulary. Yes, he hoped to put a championship title under the school’s belt, but first and foremost, he wanted the guys to have fun. We’d never made it this far, much less had anyone scout our players, and in the coach’s mind, they played as a team—good and bad. Which also meant Coby had to step up and face the mound from the top of the diamond, too.

My knees bounced in nervous anticipation, not because I feared the team losing with my friend at bat. I worried that his inability to hit a ball would deter a scout from taking note of his pitching performance. I chewed my bottom lip while my parents sat quietly on either side of me. I’d sloughed off any attempt they’d made at communication, and they’d finally given up trying to calm my anxiety.

Standing away from home plate, Coby stretched his arms in wide circles, taking several practice swings. His shoulder probably needed icing, and I’d noticed him doing all he could in the dugout to keep it mobile until the game ended. But stressing over it wouldn’t change it, so I simply counted the steps he took until he reached home plate. Coby hadn’t so much as glanced up into the stands, but I was desperate to make eye contact with him before the first pitch.

He dug his left foot into the red dirt, twisting it to secure his footing, then his right kicked at the ground inches from his other cleat. Every player had their rituals, and this was Coby’s—at bat and on the mound. He wouldn’t throw a pitch or take a swing until his feet were rooted exactly where he needed them to be. Although, I had to admit, it worked wonders for his pitching but it did nothing for his hitting. Before he took his first practice swing, just after he set his stance, he turned his head.

Coby found me in the stand instantly, lifted his left hand, and crooked his pointer finger in my direction. I returned the gesture, but it was over as quickly as it started. He adjusted his helmet, gripped the bat to swing it in the air, indicating he was ready, and rocked back to wait for the ball. I was afraid to watch but I couldn’t close my eyes.

Strike one.

It seemed the catcher caught the ball before the pitcher ever released it.

All eyes were on Coby.

Strike two.

I took a deep breath when he stepped away from the plate. Coach Kyler appeared instantly at his side. The exchange only took a few seconds, but while they talked, I prayed. I never asked God for anything, but I begged for this.

One hit.

Coby didn’t glance back into the stands again. His feet dug their proper holes. The bat sliced through the air. The pitcher wound up, and the ball flew.

The crack echoed loudly through the park. And I watched that tiny, white ball as Coby took off toward first base. As the path arched into the sky, I stood with it. And so did everyone else in the crowd.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Even a blind squirrel finds a nut sometimes.” My dad wasn’t speaking to anyone in particular, just out loud.

The outfielder hit the wall as he jumped to try to catch the ball, but Coby had hit that one out of the park. The one time it mattered, he’d hit gold. When he came racing over home plate, even he looked out to the field to see who had it, clearly in disbelief. When he turned around, he lifted his head to acknowledge me with a wide grin, and then proceeded back to the dugout.

I jumped up and down in the tiny space my seat afforded me. There was no doubt in my mind, Coby had just landed himself in the draft…

Whether he was ready for it or not.

* * *

DeArmanville High had won their first state championship game. Fans and students flooded the field when the game ended, lifting Coby above their heads in celebration. My parents told me to take my time and waited in the car. The mass mob wasn’t my scene, but there was no way I was leaving without hearing his voice and seeing the happiness on his face.

I think he knew I wouldn’t leave. Yet even as I tracked him around the field, he kept glancing up, I assumed to make sure I still waited on him. Coach Kyler wouldn’t be in a hurry to get the guys on the bus, but he wouldn’t let them linger, either. Though the longer I sat, the more people approached him and his dad. One by one, it seemed twenty people must have stopped him, and I wondered if this was the official introduction. Not understanding how any of this actually worked frustrated me beyond belief. I kicked myself for not doing any research in the days leading up to this.

Coby and his dad were the last two standing on the field. The coach gave directions to someone in the dugout, then waved at me before smacking Coby on the butt. My best friend beamed. The smile radiated from his face. If it weren’t still daylight, he could have lit up the stadium. I tracked him as he jumped over the rail and then took the steps two at a time. Meeting him on the stairs, I leaped into his arms the moment he opened them.

“Holy crap, Coby. That was the best I’ve ever seen you play. You were amazing.” I pushed back to see his face. There was a confidence there I’d never seen before—it was a good look for him. “So?” My impatience got the best of me.

“There were a ton of scouts here. I lost count of how many came to talk to me and my dad.”

God, what I wouldn’t give to have been on that field listening to what was said instead of hoping Coby gave me the details. Guys sucked at recounting conversations. I wasn’t interested in an overview—I needed every word of every encounter. But, true to form, Coby provided me with little insight and downplayed their interest.

“My dad’s already talking about getting an agent, but I don’t see the point. No team is going to pick me up, Ellie.” The high had already started to wear off, and the doubt crept back in.

“What does it hurt? It doesn’t cost anything, right? I mean an agent only gets paid if you get a contract, correct?”

He nodded.

“Then let it ride and see where it takes you, Coby. You’ll never know if you can fly unless you jump off the ledge and spread your wings.”