Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 60219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
“Death,” I said.
Nope, that wasn’t it.
“Death?” he asked. “Kinda morbid, but cool.”
“I mean, it’s about death, but also struggle. It’s a classic, but not many people know about it. Camino Real. I play a small character this time around.”
“Cool,” he said. “You do a lot of acting?”
“I try,” I said. My cheeks were burning, and I knew the smile on my face probably looked crazed, but I couldn’t help it. We were halfway there, and I felt like time was slipping away so fast. Before I knew it, we would be there, and then the conversation was going to be over. Why couldn’t I think of something interesting to say?
“You should try out some time. You would have been perfect as Kilroy,” I said.
“Me? Nah,” he said. “I’m no actor. I bet you’re great, though.”
My cheeks pinked quickly, the heat crawling up my neck intensely, and I opened my mouth to say something else when his head turned as Debbie Lee, the prettiest girl in the school walked past. She was smart and beautiful, and all the boys wanted her. All the girls wanted to be her. And she looked at me like I was personally violating her eyes.
“Graham,” she said. “What are you doing here? You’re going to be late to practice.”
“Oh, hey, Deb,” he said casually. Of course it was casual. People like him moved in circles with people like Debbie Lee. They even called her ‘Deb.’ “I was just helping her get some stuff to the theater.”
“Well, you need to hurry,” she said. “Marcus said your practice got moved up because of the rain coming in. There’s a scout here today too. That’s more important than”—she looked me up and down— “whatever this is.”
“I’ll be there, Deb,” he said.
“No, now,” she said. “Marcus made me promise if I saw you, I would deliver you personally. He wants you to make him look good like you promised.”
“Marcus is a catcher,” Graham said offhandedly to me.
“Oh.” I nodded. He might as well have told me he was a triangle in a banana suit for all it meant to me. “It’s fine, I can handle it on my own. You should get to practice.”
“Sorry,” he said as I took everything out of his hands and staggered away a step. “Good luck with the play!”
I smiled at him but sighed under my breath. As Graham walked away, Debbie Lee took an extra second to look me over one last time before she pranced off behind him. She was undoubtedly going down to the field to watch practice herself. I knew enough to know baseball didn’t have cheerleaders, but in the case of someone like Graham, I was sure she was looking for a way to change that.
I made it to the theater workshop and dropped everything on a table. As I did, I sighed to myself one last time. I guessed the only way to not think about all that was to throw myself into the work. It was always the best remedy to dissuade my thoughts.
2
GRAHAM
Curve, low and away. Not my favorite, but I got it. The scouts like seeing the curve, even if it isn’t as polished as the slider. Personally, I found the curve didn’t work as well outside. Down and in, that was the ticket. They always swung like they were trying to hit a golf ball, and if they did make contact, it was either a lazy fly ball or they stung it right into the ground in front of them.
I wound up, spread, and pivoted my hips, nearly bouncing on the rubber as I shot my body forward as violently as possible, twisting my arm so the ball came out of my hand at an angle that was almost upside down. The rotation would make it appear to come in almost straight and then dive away, losing speed and curving instead of falling.
It hit the dirt right where Marcus’s glove was. He pulled it up and out, holding it above his head to an invisible umpire. It was theatrical, but it helped his game. Showing instincts like that meant he was a good framer behind the plate and had soft hands. Things scouts liked to see.
I was happy to do it for him. He was a good guy and a better batter mate. I knew that once we went off to college, we would lose touch, but for now I appreciated having someone behind the backstop who could dig balls out of the dirt and make it look like I meant to do it. Of course, in this case, and in most others, I did.
He tossed the ball back to me, and I did my traditional walk around the mound, bending over to bounce the resin bag on my hand and letting my body get loose. I was still only warming up. The speed gun behind the plate, connected to the big black and yellow electric sign, showed my fastball only hit ninety-three.