DAY 2 – TRAINING

On the cusp of a Spring Sunday afternoon, the hijinks between Cleopawtra and Nepurrtiti kept Clyde's attention as he laid on his bed on his belly, watching them in amusement as they rolled around and play fought by his laundry hamper.

The hallway outside his room had been their battle zone before the action spilled into his vicinity, their interspersed meows breaking him out of the concentration he had been dedicating to his play session with his Snap before the interruption.

It wasn't an inconvenience in the slightest. Who needed video games when the simple pleasure of watching his adorable little furbabies playfully romp about was way more relaxing and less of a strain on both his eyes and his patience than his pixelated misadventures ending with the dreaded "GAME OVER!" screen pounding down on his self-esteem with each failure?

Presently, Cleopawtra was teaching the newcomer a thing or two as she pinned the kitten down, her eyes glinting triumphantly as Nepurrtiti struggled to break free. Clyde loved them both equally, but not even he could let his bias for the underdog (or undercat, as Luan would probably say) pass.

'C'mon, Nepurrtiti. You got this. Show Cleopawtra what fo-'

"Clyde?"

At the sound of one of his father's voices, the boy looked up at his open doorway and caught the familiar sight of his dad's dark red hair and buck-toothed, chipper smile.

"Yeah, Dad?" Clyde asked.

"There's someone here to see you," Dad replied.

His choice of words tipped Clyde off to the fact that the visitor wasn't Lincoln. Otherwise, he would've been mentioned specifically by name, just like always.

In the end, he was proven right when Dad added, before he left, "Don't worry. We made sure to give her the proper vaccinations."

Clyde dwelt on the word "her", and immediately thought of Stella. Was she coming by for an unexpected visit?

'Naaaah,' Clyde thought decidedly. 'She doesn't even know where I live.'

That made the prospect of it being Girl Jordan or Mollie just as implausible, given how they were in the same boat. But just before he could go over any more options, distinct grumbling slipped through his ears. He didn't even need to see her stop by his doorway before he could figure out who it was.

"Lynn?" Clyde asked to himself.

Sure enough, none other than his guess appeared by his open doorway, though she didn't acknowledge him by looking him in the eye.

"Hey, Clyde," Lynn muttered crossly as she looked at the floor, her left hand tenderly rubbing the bicep of her right arm.

Clyde knew the root of the problem immediately, and he instinctively slipped into a sheepish grin as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Uh...sorry about that," he said. "It's a really bad habit of theirs."

"I'll say."

The awkward silence that followed was almost tense enough for Clyde to forget to ask the million dollar question.

"So, what brings you here, Lynn?"

A flicker of confusion crossed Lynn's face as she gave Clyde a befuddled look. "Um, hello? Did you forget already?"

Besides the mountain of studying and homework that had been occupying his mind for the last few weeks, almost as much as spending time with Lincoln and daydreaming about his oldest sister, he couldn't recall anything that had transpired between him and Lynn for her to show up at his house.

"Forget what?"

"Softball practice. You wanted me to give you some personal coaching after you asked me to give you some pointers. Since I'm not doing anything right now, I'm here to deliver."

Clyde facepalmed and shook his head at his slippery mind. Now he remembered. Softball had always been one of his more obscure hobbies, but all it took was one morning of his father Howard reminiscing about his glory days as his high school's baseball MVP to inspire him to see if he could match his dad's potential.

So, he had gone to the only person he felt would give him the coaching he needed shortly afterwards.

"Oh right," Clyde said. "I'll go grab my gear. It should be enough for the both of us."

But before he could slide off his bed and close the door to give himself some privacy for changing, he paused mid-stride as another unattended matter came into his focus.

"I'll also need to tell my dads where I'll be going," he said. "Once, I made the mistake of not telling them that I was going to check the mailbox for a package."

"What happened?" Lynn asked.

"They were gonna round up the neighborhood watch for a search party."

The last thing Clyde saw, before he walked over to his door to shut it, was Lynn gawking at him as if he had grown a second head. He'd only say it to himself, but it was the funniest thing he had seen in quite a while.

Lynn's mood was considerably better by the time they got to the empty baseball diamond a few blocks away from Ketcham Park. Clyde figured that she was just happy to be in her element, but a part of him felt flattered at the idea of her taking vested interest in training him, even more than she probably already had.

As far as he was concerned, Lynn was strong enough to bench press entire planets if she really put her mind to it. For someone of her acumen to give him the time of day, instead of wowing the masses with her talents of pushing herself to newer heights, was as gratifying as...well, nothing that he could honestly compare to any recent experiences.

This was something new, but exhilarating above all else.

Lynn led him to home plate and put down their duffel bag of sports equipment by her side. Taking out a slender, silver baseball bat and a red batting helmet, he handed off the gear to Clyde.

"Okay, so I figured that the first thing we should cover is how you stand behind home plate," Lynn said. "Just do what you normally do when you go up to bat."

After slipping the helmet on and gripping the bat tightly in his hands, Clyde did what came naturally to him and did as he was asked.

Though, based on the disapproving glare that Lynn was shooting at him, he must've missed out on an important detail.

"Okay, no. Just...no."

Clyde knew better than to think Lynn's deadpan annoyance equaled physical harm, but he still couldn't help but feel a little shaken up by her sudden shift of expression.

"Huh?" he asked.

"All of this that you're doing?" Lynn gestured her hand up and down Clyde's posture in a sweeping wave. "It's wrong."

"All of...what?"

"Your stance, Clyde. It's weak."

Whether she knew it or not, she was battling against a strong habit that no one had bothered to question before. Before he could consider what to say next, he had already jumped to a flimsy defense.

"What's wrong with my stance? I've always played like this."

"So? I'm here to tell you that it's wrong."

"But I-"

"Who's the coach here, Clyde?"

Whatever objection Clyde had died on his lips as his stubbornness gave way to shame. Lynn didn't come all this way to hear him question her methods before they could even begin, especially when all he had to his name in softball achievements was a measly trophy he won last year.

Who was he to throw his weight around, as if she had something to learn from him?

"You are," Clyde replied with a sigh.

"Thank you."

He was about to apologize, but he paved the way for whatever Lynn had to say to him next once he saw her opening her mouth.

"Look, balance is the most important principle of any sport you play. I don't care if it's basketball, lacrosse, or football. Not having any balance is about as good as going out on the court with a broken leg. Don't believe me? Ask Paula."

"Uh...who's Paula?"

Lynn shook her head. "Not important. What is important is giving you proper balance. And, as your coach for the day, I'm gonna help you."

Before he could think about what requirements Lynn's guidance entailed, he was taken aback when she crossed into his personal space by stepping directly behind him. The steady thrumming in his chest increased two-fold, and the warmth of the Sun suddenly felt hotter on his face. He mindlessly swallowed, as if to calm his nerves, but it was all for naught at what Lynn did next.

Without warning, her hands formed an iron clasp on his hips, the contact making him rigid and sweaty. That dang heat on his cheeks flared up again, and Clyde was wondering why the bill of his helmet wasn't keeping the Sun from making him feel hotter. To make matters worse, the smooth, low voice of her words buzzed in his ear like a fleeting tickle, and the calm wind blew wafts of her hair's sweet scent into his nose.

"Your feet are in a good position," Lynn said lowly, "but your hips are out of line."

With a sudden jerk, she twisted them in a slight angle, his body following along with the turn.

"There we go," she said with a proud smile and gave Clyde's back a firm smack after pulling her hands away. "Much better. Now then, when I start pitching balls at you, make sure that you don't forget this stance. Got it?"

Clyde nodded. "G-got it."

He watched as she bent down and zipped the duffel bag open, obviously in search for a mitt and softballs, oddly entrapped by...just about everything about her in the moment of what she was doing.

The color of her eyes, brown as the muddiest earth but somehow clearer than that.

The angle her tongue stuck out through her slim lips.

The freckles that dotted the tiny hills her puffed cheeks made on her face.

The slope of her smooth neck that her ponytail almost veiled from his sight completely.

Overall, his wandering thoughts could only point to one inevitability—whether he knew it or not, his newfound fascination for Lynn was on its way to resembling the one that he had for Lori.