Chapter 9: Catch

After Tuesday's blow up on his girlfriend, Ben knew he had to make it up to her. Since then, he had left her kind, sweet text messages on her cell phone as well as given her a box of her favorite organic chocolates. He hadn't talked to her personally as she had avoided him for most of the week.

Finally, on Friday, he found her alone at her locker.

"Chelsea? Can I talk to you?' he nervously asked.

"What is it?" she coldly responded, keeping her face in her locker as if she was busy.

Ben took a deep breath. "Look, I was a jerk on Tuesday and I wanna make it up to you somehow."

Still with her head in her locker, she said, "I'm listening."

"Oh, I was thinking maybe a picnic in Golden Gate Park during sunset."

Chelsea turned around, her eyes misty, yet a bright smile curled her lips. The two embraced and kissed each other on the lips.

"No public display of passion!" Mr. Lawler, the principal, ordered as he walked by, a spray of saliva erupting from his mouth with each strong sounding syllable.

Since the game was immediately after school, Eddie and Tyler were excused from going to study hall.

"So, my brotha'? How many home runs you plan to rob?" Eddie emphatically asked.

"Oh I don't know, Mista Thomas." Tyler responded with a slight swagger in his step as the two marched down the hallway towards the locker rooms. "But I must say I feel this'll be a day where no one his one over my head. Now testify!"

"Preach on preacher, hallelujah!" they both announced.

"Brotha Thomas?"

"Yes sir Brotha McGinnis?"

"How many base thieves you plan on gunnin' down?"

"Oh I don't know, playa, but my arm's feelin' live. So maybe all of 'em."

"All of 'em you say, Brotha Thomas?"

"That's what I said, Brotha McGinnis."

"Well then, sound off like you got a pair, soldier."

As the two emphatically marched down the hall way, they both shouted a loud, guttural "Ooh rah!" that echoed through the hallway.

Once in the locker room, the two changed into their home uniforms–a yellow-gold sleeveless jersey with green numbers and letters and white pants with a dark green stripe down the seam. Unlike the others, Tyler wore a green turtleneck under his jersey. Not because he was cold, but it was just a trademark of his. Even if he wore one of his Major League jerseys, he wore a turtleneck.

"McGinnis? Why you wearing a tee neck? It ain't cold out," Ricky Timmons, the team's left fielder asked as he buckled the belt on his pants then but some eye black under his eyes to fend off any sun glare.

"It's my thing, home boy." Tyler replied.

Ben finally made his way into the locker room. Both Eddie and Tyler looked up at him, staying quiet as he approached. They had heard about what happened between him, Raven, and Chelsea. Tyler gave him the benefit of the doubt guessing that Ben was just stressed about something.

"Ben? How's it going, man?" Eddie asked.

"It's going," Ben quietly answered.

"Well alright, man. We'll see you on the field, then," Tyler noted as he grabbed his baseball gear and went outside, Eddie following suit.

Outside, the air was warm and there was only a few puffy cumulus clouds in the sky; the perfect Friday. The team took a jog around the track, then stretched on the field. Their opponent, the San Mateo High Sandstorms, were already finished with their pre-game drills and had already occupied the away team dugout.

Soon, it was game time and the 'Cuda's took the field. Out in deep center, Tyler felt a peace with the green grass and the big blue sky up above. His peace would periodically be broken whenever a ball was hit to him, which he casually jogged under, caught, then threw it back to the infield. Things seemed to breeze by as he could hear everything; the cheers from the crowd, the crack of the ball off the baseball bats, as well as the sounds of the city. Tyler loved it.

During the fifth inning, the score was knotted at zero. The pitcher, Youki Sakai, was doing a good job, basically striking everyone out or getting weak grounders to the infielders. Tyler looked into the crowd of people watching. Nobody he knew.

Then, he saw her. A ray of sun sent from Heaven seemed to focus only on Chelsea as she made her way into the bleachers. Briefly, Tyler's vision zoomed in on her, as she was wearing a light blue denim mini skirt, A white tank top-like shirt, and wooden soled platform sandals. Maybe it was the lighting, maybe her attire, maybe it was both, but every curve in her body seemed to be absolutely perfect. A slight breeze tousled her hair–until Tyler realized that was just wishful thinking.

"Wow," he breathed as time seemed to stop.

His attention quickly went back to the game. Dead ahead of him, a low line drive, hit by one of the San Mateo batters was sinking fast. Tyler sprinted forward and stretched his gloved right hand out–since he threw, wrote, ate, did just about everything with his left hand, though he was trained to be ambidextrous and could do everything righty. He just chose to use his left hand since it set him apart from most even more so than his already inherited uniqueness.

Tyler dove for the white ball, the red seams clearly visible to him. Just before the ball could touch the grass, he put his mitt between the ball and the ground and closed it quickly. The crowed went to their feet and the roar of cheering echoed from the school building and off the other structures around the field. Timmons, along with the right fielder, Sam "Probie" Jones. He had the nickname "Probie" for two reasons: one, he was constantly on athletic probation and two, his alleged sexual exploits he constantly bragged about. The team found the latter to be unlikely since he struck out with every girl he attempted to date for the past year not to mention he struck out the most on the team when batting, though the season was still young as this was only their second game.

The two gave Tyler a slap on his backside and the back of his head–a term of endearment in sports–as they jogged back to their dugout. Once there, more smacking ensued. He didn't have much time to relish in his saving catch as it was his turn to bat. He grabbed a batting helmet, his batting gloves, and his aluminum 34 inch bat. He never liked the sound of aluminum as it made that annoying "ping" when it connected with the ball. He wished he could used a wooden bat like they did in the major leagues, but those were only for the pro's.

He took his place in the left batter's box, waved his bat back and forth, then went into his batting stance that mirrored his favorite baseball player, Ken Griffey Jr. The cheers continued as he stood, wriggling his bat slightly to make sure his timing was right. In the corner of his eye, he could see Jennifer, Raven and Chelsea standing on the bleachers shouting hysterically. The first pitch zipped by–high and inside; ball one.

The next pitch, a fastball, was right down the heart of the plate. Tyler reared up his bat, then swung solidly, feeling the connection between ball and stick. The baseball shot right past the pitcher's head, causing him to hit the dirt, and landed in center field, where the fielder gathered it and tossed it to the San Mateo second baseman. A clean base hit.

"You the one who made that catch?" The first baseman asked as Tyler stood there.

Tyler nodded.

"Man, that was me who hit that. My girl was watching."

"Sorry."

Tyler took a small lead from first base. He bent down, wiggled his fingers just above the dirt on the base path, and kept a sharp eye on the pitcher, who looked right back at him. He took a little larger lead, squatted down, then pivoted his hips and ran towards second base just as the pitcher wound up and fired his first pitch to Ben. Tyler dove into second just as the San Matteo catcher hurled the ball to the shortstop who was covering the base.

"Safe!"

Tyler got up and brushed himself off. The crowed roared wildly. Tyler looked over and gave Raven, Jennifer, and Chelsea a special acknowledgment by slightly tugging on his helmet and a wink.

"Gosh, I love baseball," Raven exclaimed.

"Oh so do I." Jennifer added in. "The crowd, the strategy..."

"The mascots, the snacks," Chelsea also noted.

"The tight pants," Raven smugly squeezed into the conversation.

Chelsea and Jennifer glared at her.

"Oh don't even try that," Raven clarified, waving a finger at the two of them. "Y'all both know you was lookin' at some baseball player butt. Don't lie."

The two girls gave a guilty nod.

"That's what I thought. Tryin' to get on me. I swear," Raven grumbled under her breath. "And Chelse? Why are you all dolled up? It's just a ball game."

"Me and Ben are going on a date afterwards," she informed.

"Oh," Raven huffed, laced with skepticism, which Chelsea caught on to.

"Listen, Rae, I know–"

"Chelse, I just don't wanna see you get hurt again." Raven said in a caring manner.

Jennifer also added, "she's right, Chelly."

"Aww, thanks you guys," Chelsea said, her eyes becoming misty due to her friends caring so much. The three embraced into a hug, which all the boys around them quickly turned around to watch and sighed a loud "Aww."

"Oh turn around and watch the game, ya nasties!" Raven shouted.

The locker room was abuzz with chatter as the Barracudas won two to nothing. Ben, who hit a home run, scoring both Tyler and himself, quickly got clean, changed and left before he could be congratulated. Soon, the locker room was empty, except for Tyler, who sat on the room's bench for a while. On his right shoulder, his old designation number, zero four four, was burned into his flesh as if he was branded like cattle. Whenever someone asked him about it, he lied and claimed it was something tribal.

He put his long sleeve navy blue shirt on, then over that, he put on his Seattle Mariners Ichiro Suzuki jersey, then grabbed his stuff and headed out. As soon as he was there, he saw Chelsea standing near the doorway.

"Hey, Tyler. That was a nice catch you made." she said with a smile.

Tyler's attention wasn't focused on her smile. He eyed her from her perfectly painted red toes–red being his favorite color–

"Uh, thanks," he stammered, trying not to focus on her figure. "You look... really nice today."

Taken by his compliment, she blushed. "Thank you. Is Ben still down there? We were supposed to go out after the game."

"I didn't see him. He must have went home to change into his dating clothes," Tyler informed.

"Oh," Chelsea's smile disappeared and her gazed went down to her sandals.

Tyler hated to see her down and he didn't want to just leave her alone when–or if–Ben came back at all. "Hey? If you want, I could wait with you. You know, 'til Ben comes back." he offered.

Chelsea looked up at him, her eyes glazed over and welled with tears of gratitude.

"Oh come one now. If you cry then I–I...oh man," Tyler joked, then began to sob in a high pitched wail. "I think I need a moment."

Chelsea began to laugh even though a stray tear managed to trickle down the side of her cheek. As if it was instinct, Tyler took a finger and wiped her tear away gently, which he hastily removed from her face. Though it wasn't outwardly noticeable, due to his complexion, Tyler's face became flushed.

"I-I'm sorry. I saw a tear and just reacted–"

Chelsea put a finger on his lips, cutting him clean off. "It's okay."

Tyler's eyes were wide open as a flurry of thoughts entered into his mind. Quickly, the dream he had last week began to enter his memory. He knew he needed to think of something else and quick, otherwise the situation could become dire and he would do something he might regret.

A baseball on the ground caught Chelsea's eye. She removed her finger from keeping Tyler's mouth buttoned, walked over to it, and picked it up.

"In Veggie Camp, I played a little ball." she said matter-of-factly. "I was a pitcher."

Whew, baseball, he thought. Then said, "Really? Well let's see what you got then."

She scoffed, then said sarcastically, "I'm not in my play clothes."

"So you chicken?"

"No!"

Tyler began to cluck and prance around like a chicken.

"Alright then chicken boy, let's do this," she proclaimed as she walked into the grass of the field, kicked off her shoes, and rubbed the baseball, getting a feel for it.

She knew he was kidding around with her, but she decided to run with it and at least have some fun while at it. Tyler opened up his bag, grabbed his mitt, then jogged onto the field.

"Oh, so chicken boy needs his mitt? Aww, and he's a left handed weirdo," Chelsea taunted as Tyler squatted down.

No she did not just crack on me being left handed, Tyler thought. "Oh har har har! Just throw the ball, Red!"

Chelsea began to pretend as if she was in a game. She leaned in–giving Tyler a clear view of her cleavage–then stood erect, coiled her body, then kicked her leg into the air and hurled a blazing fastball, zeroed in for Tyler's heart. Just in the nick of time, Tyler snagged the ball and the resonating pop echoed. He winced, slammed the mitt and ball down on the ground, and waved his hand, trying to shake off the pain.

"I call that one my organic cheese," she proudly said, making a pretend gun with her hand, then blew on her index finger as if it was the smoking barrel.

Tyler looked at the palm of his right hand. A large red mark where the ball impacted with his hand was clear as day. Chelsea walked up to him and took a look at his throbbing paw. She took it in her hand, then did something that caught him way off guard. She gave it a kiss.

"There. That'll make it better," she sweetly said.

If Tyler had died right then and there, he would have died the happiest man in the world. Emotions that he never knew he even had flowed within and he felt that he could literally do anything. At that very moment as they stood hand in hand, a flock of birds flew over head and the sky's hue changed from light blue, to an orange-rose-purple concoction as the sun began to dip behind the hills that made up most of West San Francisco.

"So, um... would you like to grab some ice cream or something? My treat," Tyler offered.

Hours passed by as if they were nothing more than minutes as the two sat on the outside patio of the Italian café, Mio Gellato. During the whole time she was with Tyler, she never thought about Ben as Tyler kept her entertained for the night. He had even given up his Mariners jersey when she had became chilly from the ice cream and cool sea air blowing off the bay about a mile or so away.

Chatting and laughing, the two walked home as it was a quarter to 11 at night. Once at her house, Tyler walked her up to her front door. Something his mom told him to do, just to be gentlemanly.

"I had a great time tonight," Chelsea said.

"Yeah, it was fun. We-we should do it again... sometime," Tyler nervously responded. "I better head on home."

Just as Tyler began to walk off, Chelsea stopped him. "Hey. What about your shirt?"

Tyler held up a hand. "I'll grab it another time. See you, Chelsea."

"Well, okay. Thank you." she called out as he walked down the hill.

Chelsea stood there, watching him as he went below horizon. She wrapped herself in her arms, able to smell his shirt, which smelled like a mixture of Tommy Hilfiger Cologne, Old Spice, and Downy fabric softener. It was intoxicating in a good way as she inhaled the sweet scent.