The Smile Has Left Your Eyes

Chapter One

Aspen

I gripped the red-and-white ball between my fingers, holding it inside of my worn glove as I glanced at second and third base through the thick wires of my mask. It was the bottom of the seventh inning and we were winning six to five.

The sun shone down on all the players, heat radiating off the packed dirt. I would've been blinded by the reflection if it weren't for the thick lines of eye black drawn at the tops of my cheekbones, the ends smeared downward. Sweat dripped from my hair, salty water trickling down the back of my neck and adding to the already-drenched long-sleeve compression shirt under my jersey.

I stepped on the plate, throwing the ball back to Rafe, who caught it swiftly, turning around in the motion and kicking at the dirt surrounding the white rubber rectangle. Taking my place directly behind the batter's box, I squatted, balancing on the balls of my feet. I blew out a slow, deep breath in an attempt to calm my quickening heartbeat. The count was three-two with a runner on second and third; one more ball and the bases would be loaded. If the guy at bat got a hit, the game could be tied, and we'd have to go into extra innings. As if everyone here wasn't already exhausted. But if Rafe got a strike, we'd win and become one step closer to going to States and then Nationals.

Based on the batter's past three at-bats, he liked outside pitches, which was exactly why I was calling for a low and inside pitch. If we jammed him and directed his hit toward third, our third baseman, Jason Wright, could get the out there with a tag. If Jason was late, his throw would be fast and accurate enough to get the out at first. He was good like that. There was a reason he was one of our starters.

Rafe and I made eye contact, cueing me to drop my hand between my legs and punch out a short combination of numbers on my fingers. I got a quick nod from Rafe, who adjusted his greyish navy-blue baseball cap.

Rafe dug his toe into the dirt while settling his left foot onto the pitcher's rubber. He twisted the red seams of the baseball in his fingers, quickly finding the perfect position with his pointer and middle finger on the seam and his thumb below it—the standard fastball grip.

His baseball hat cast shadow on the top of his face, making his dark-brown eyes disappear. He cocked his hands just behind his left ear, his left hand hidden behind his glove. With a fast and fluid motion, Rafe lifted his right leg, planting it firmly into the ground and swinging his left arm down and toward his right hip. It all happened in slow motion. My eyes followed the spinning baseball traveling at a diagonal angle, making the pitch similar to a crossfire. The batter knew the pitch was in the zone; his swing blinded my vision momentarily, but I could see more than enough of what I needed to. The ball slammed into the net of my glove with the most satisfying 'thwack.' The batter's eyes followed suit as he finished his swing.

The silence was deafening as my eyes focused on the flawlessly delivered strike. It was on the very edge of the zone and the speed was close to Rafe's top from the day. I waited for the umpire, even though it was a done deal since the batter had swung and missed.

A loud "Strike!" was bellowed from behind, the ump's hand forming a solid fist.

I jumped up from my spot and threw my mask off. Rafe came running toward me and wrapped a firm arm around my shoulder, causing my head and neck to jerk downward. Jason and Devin met us halfway between home plate and the pitcher's mound, clasping each of our hands in a quick handshake with big smiles.

"Great call, Aspen. And nice fucking pitch, Rafe," Devin, our captain, praised as our players made their way to the dugout.

Devin Meyers was one of the best things that had ever happened to the Cedar Heights baseball team. Besides their lucky draw of pure, raw talent over the past three years, that was. Just an inch taller than both Rafe and me, the six-two dirty-blonde captain made all the gears turn. A skilled first baseman with polished leadership skills, he was the reason we won States last year. But now, with a fresh batch of juniors on varsity, I hoped he'd lead us to Nationals once again.