Chapter Three
Dylan
Dylan was in the dugout, preparing the equipment, by seven-thirty Monday morning. When Tristan stumbled in at eight, looking like he needed a giant cup of coffee, he groaned. “Dylan, man, this is excessive. They’re little leaguers.”
“It’s recruiting.” He threw a couple more balls into the pitchers’ box. “We’re teachers. We need to be on top of stuff.”
Tristan grumbled but came to help drag everything out onto the field. Water jugs were set up on tables outside the foul lines on third and first, the grass was freshly mowed, and the infield dirt was pristine. If that didn’t impress the parents who shelled out three hundred bucks for this camp, Dylan didn’t know what would. This would be the best camp the Sentinels ever put on—that was the mission.
The first campers started showing up for registration around eight-twenty. A few underclassmen were working the sign-in table, sending kids to Dylan if they were pitchers, and to Tristan if they were outfielders. Nate Rodriquez had the infielders. He was an upcoming junior and a wicked shortstop. They made a good set of captains.
The first kid through the gate ran straight at Tristan. “I’m Corey and you’re Tristan Murrell.”
“Hi, Corey.” He shot Dylan an amused look over Corey’s head. “You play centerfield?”
“Just like you!” The kid prattled on as Tristan directed him farther out into the field.
Nate watched, laughing. “Remember being that age and thinking the high school guys were heroes?”
Dylan nodded. “That’s why I want this to be perfect. These kids don’t know we’re human.”
“Aw, c’mon. We are human. I’m a Mexican-Irish kid who hates tamales and shepherd’s pie. If that’s not human, I don’t know what is.”
“I’d eat both of those things.” Dylan watched as more cars rolled up and kids climbed out. “I don’t mean act untouchable… I meant we have to preserve the illusion. It’s like at Disney World—you have to be at least sixteen to do the ‘Behind the Magic’ tour. They want to save the magic for the kids. They look up to us, you know?”
“Hey!” Jeremy Ledecky, their new right fielder, came jogging over. “Two campers forgot their gloves. Think Coach will care if I pull some from the equipment room?”
“That’s fine. I’ll take over your check-in table.”
Dylan went to Ledecky’s seat and picked up a pen. If kids were pitchers, he introduced himself and sent them to stand on the pitcher’s mound. Almost all his little pitchers were here, except one: Otis Foster. Dylan checked his phone…eight fifty-nine. Camp was about to start. He couldn’t wait to see if Otis would show up. They’d have to start without him.
Sighing, he collected the sign-in sheets, grabbed his glove, and headed to the mound. “Good morning, guys!”
“Good morning, Coach!” they shouted.
Coach…that had a nice ring to it. After the majors, he wanted to coach college ball. This would be good training. He smiled at the wiggling, bouncing campers. “Okay, first things first, we always warm up. Put your gloves down and do what I do.”
Dylan stretched his arms up to the sky, checking over his shoulder to make sure the boys were following suit. They were. Good. He lowered his arms and stretched them out to his sides, then twisted slowly at the waist. He had them touch their toes, stretch their triceps, and roll their shoulders.
“Okay, let’s go for a little jog. Down the foul line just past first, then turn behind second and come up the third base foul line. Ready? Go!”
The boys took off more at a sprint that a jog, and Dylan chuckled. He jogged behind them, keeping an eye on the kids lagging behind. Before the end of camp, he’d push those guys a little to bring them up to pace.
“Excuse me!” a girl waved at him from behind the first base side fence. Through the chain link, he could see a boy standing next to her looking miserable.
The girl was about his age, and dressed in ripped jeans, a T-shirt that read “Free Range” in hot pink, and Converse with flowers painted in glitter on them. Her ponytail hung over one shoulder, the tips as pink as the letters on her shirt. She looked like she belonged in an incense shop, not at a ballpark. She was pretty, though, in a flower-child kind of way.
“Yes?” he asked politely, standing up straighter and hoping she’d take a look. Pure reflex reaction to a pretty girl, even if girls were on the no-fly list.
The boy at her side squirmed. “I’m Otis, and I’m late because my sister got lost.” He shot her a look that would be angry if it weren’t kind of cute. “Again.”
“I said I was sorry. Besides, you’re only…” She looked at a yellow plastic watch on her right arm. “Ten minutes late.”
“I’m fourteen minutes late,” Otis grumbled.
“It’s okay, Otis,” Dylan said. “The other guys are warming up. Let me take your bag while you jog around the bases and meet them, huh?”
Otis gave him a relieved smile and took off. He was fast—probably the fastest kid on the field. His cleats were a little worn, but his workout clothes fit him well. This kid took playing ball seriously. Dylan could appreciate that.
“So, um,” the girl was saying. “What time do you finish?”
Dylan stared at her. “Noon. We finish at noon.”
She frowned at him. “No need to be snippy.”
Snippy? He frowned. That wasn’t at all what—
“Lucy!” Otis jogged over from the mound. “Leave Coach alone.”
“Coach?” The girl—Lucy—looked him up and down. “He’s my age, tops.”
“And what age would that be?” Dylan asked, trying not to be offended. What was this girl’s problem?
“An incoming senior.” She stared him down, and he was startled by her eyes. They were the oddest shade of brown he’d ever seen—light, with more gold than chocolate. When she turned more into the sun, they looked greenish. Hazel?
He gaped at her, unable to stop looking at those amazing eyes. She had him completely off balance, but he kind of liked it.
And then he realized what she’d said.
“Wait, you go to school here?” he asked. “And you got lost?”
Lucy’s mouth set in a hard line. “I’ve never been to the ball fields. In my defense, this isn’t the main part of campus, you know. I tried to take a shortcut. Turns out it was a dead end.”
Okay, that was funny. Dylan bit back a smile. “So…um, I’ll send Otis out to you when camp’s over?”
She crossed her arms. Her long, brown hair blew in the wind, the pink tips fluttering. “I think I’ll stick around, make sure he’s okay. I brought things to work on.”
What, does she think we can’t manage a handful of nine-year-olds? “He’ll be fine. We even have a nurse on staff. Anything happens, we’ll call you right away.”
There, that sounded professional, right?
But Lucy frowned, and he could tell she was digging in. “I’m staying.”
Dylan barely kept from rolling his eyes. This girl was nice to look at, but he couldn’t stand here and argue with her all morning. “Suit yourself. The bleachers are open.”
She nodded. Dylan watched her over his shoulder as he walked to the mound to set up for practice. Lucy marched to her car and retrieved a large canvas bag, then went to the bleachers, where some moms were watching practice. She didn’t choose the shade, though. Instead, she put on a pair of lightly tinted sunglasses and sat out in the full sun.
“What’s she doing?” Dylan asked, when her brother came back from his jog.
Otis sighed. “Sewing.”
“For real?”
“For real. I guess she decided to stay, Coach. My sister is pretty cool, but when she gets something into her head, she’s not gonna move.”
Dylan heard the affection—and exasperation—in Otis’s high-pitched voice. Obviously, she was decent sister…but potentially a walking train wreck at the same time. “Okay, then. Let’s get to work.”
He called all the young pitchers over, along with their freshman catcher, and began his assessment.