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watched him, his eyes reflecting the meanness of years of being knocked around by a father with a hair-trigger temper. |
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Before Matty moved to the plate, Mitch called for a timeout. He went over to Matty and hung his arms loosely on his shoulder. |
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Mitch looked at him carefully. "You sure? You look a little jumpy." |
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"Listen, he's fast but he's sloppy. His pitches are all over the place." |
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Matty nodded and looked up. A secret grin twisted on Bobby's face. He spit in Matty's direction and ground the ball into his glove. He had pitched two no-hitter innings, not because he beamed them down the strike zone, but because the ten-year-olds were spooked by the sixty-mile-an-hour speed. "I'll be okay," Matty said. |
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"You're a hitter, Matty," Mitch said. "But make sure it's got your name on it. Otherwise, let it go. Let him walk you. We can score on balls and steals, okay?" |
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Matty nodded. God, his head hurt. |
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Mitch adjusted Matty's stance. He lowered the bat, raised his back elbow and pushed his feet closer. He also had him choke up. |
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The first two pitches were fast but high and outside, and Matty let them go by. "Good eye, Matty. Good eye. Make him work," Mitch shouted. |
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Matty's body was humming. He felt that if something didn't happen soon, he'd explode. The next pitch was low. Matty saw it was, yet he took a huge swing just to relieve the pressure. He missed, and the crowd groaned. |
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But the next pitch did not go by. He connected with a loud crack that sounded like gunfire. Half the grandstand shot to its feet. "Jesus!" somebody shouted. The ball bulletted high into the sky but sliced into the woods. "Weren't for the trees, that woulda ended up in the next mail zone." |
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"Straighten it out, Matty," Mitch shouted. |
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The next pitch was fast and high. With all his might Matty swung, but missed. And Bobby flashed him his best shit-eating grin. |
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For a brief moment Matty took hold of that grin. He knew that, if he chose, he could do something to that grinsomething bad. But |
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