Freaks of Greenfield High

Freaks of Greenfield High (Chapter 10)

Freaks of Greenfield High

By Maree Anderson

Chapter Ten

Jay's lips curved, anticipating Tyler's reaction. He hadn't spotted her yet. Right now his attention was on Emma, the team's pitcher. The corners of his mouth were curved downward and when he spoke, his voice was gruff. "You're off your game, Em."

Emma slouched over to him, rotating her shoulder joint. "Sorry, Coach."

"What've you done to your shoulder?"

"Hurt it yesterday. 'S only a strain. Nothing serious."

Tyler's scowl deepened at Emma's folly. "Next time, tell me straight up. No point in making the injury worse." He jerked his chin at the bleachers. "Plant your dumbass self over there and rest up for the rest of the session."

Emma jogged over to the bleachers to join Jay. She leaned back and stretched out her legs. "Coach wasn't too pissed with me. Reckon he'll give Rachel a turn, then you'll be up."

"Why are you insisting that I do this? If I turn out to be an excellent pitcher, you risk losing your place on the team."

Emma shrugged and threw Jay a lopsided grin. "Can't see that happening. Not unless you're really something special."

Jay quirked her brows. "I can hardly be worse than Rachel." With her gawky, graceless limbs, the team's relief pitcher resembled a flapping seagull—a resemblance that was compounded even more when she lost her balance on the follow-through.

Emma hissed in a breath between clenched teeth. "Rachel, Rachel, Rachel. That's just plain sad. Tragic, even."

Jay analyzed the pitch. Rachel hadn't had anything like the leverage needed to make the ball curve as she'd intended, which was the main reason the ball had stayed up in the strike zone and proved so easy to hit.

Tyler covered his face with his hands and groaned. Loudly. "Rach! What the hell d'ya call that?"

Rachel screwed her face into a hopeful expression. "Uh, a curveball?"

"A curveball?" Tyler stood arms akimbo, bristling with indignation. "A curveball? You've gotta be kidding me. An extra base hit waiting to happen, that's what I call that! How many times do I have to tell you? Stick with the fastball! No damn point trying anything fancy until you've got the fastball sussed. Which you haven't."

"But Coach, I—"

"But nothing. You haven't mastered it until I say you've mastered it. Which will be when you can throw it for a strike just about every single freaking time. You got that?"

"Yeah, Coach. I got that."

Tyler raked his hands through his hair and Jay could see him tugging on the ends. He didn't look over at the bleachers as he bawled, "Yo, Em! Let's see what this friend of yours has got."

Emma nudged Jay. "Go on. Show him how it's done."

"What happens if I'm worse than Rachel?" Jay wanted to know.

"Guess Coach'll give me heaps for wasting his time."

"We can't have that, now, can we?" Jay allowed a grin to split her face.

"Hey, didn't you bring a mitt?"

"I don't own one."

Emma shook her head. "Borrow mine. Just don't let on to Coach or he'll lecture you big-time."