A Game Well Played

Practice had run late again so I had to rush home. I race past stores and shops on my bike, my mom's going to kill me if I'm late again, so I decide to take a shortcut through the wreck center and past the batting cages where I used to practice. The cages are on a down-hill drop so I just cruse past when a certain sound catches my attention, the sound of a bat hitting a baseball. I stop my bike just in time to see it hit the netting of the cage, from what I can tell that one spot looks worn out. I look over to see a dark-skinned guy, no taller than me, getting ready for the next pitch. The machine sent the ball flying out at nearly 80mph and he still sent it hurtling back into that same worn-out spot in the netting, he's good. The machine keeps shooting pitches, 90, 95, and 100mph, once it got over 125mph his swing became off center, but still, over 100mph and his swing was still flawless. I have to admit, I'm impressed. He walks over and resets the machine back to 80 and starts over but still gets the same result—nothing over 125.

My cell-phone rings, I open it and press talk onlyto hear my mother yelling on the other end of the line, "THOMAS JUST WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? Even if practice was running late it still ended over half an hour ago, there is no reason for you to be this late."

I check my watch and can tell practice ended over forty-five minutes ago and was now approaching eight, I apologize to my mom and promise to be there soon. I hadn't realized I'd spent so much time watching this guy that I completely forgot about heading home. On my way home I think about both that guy and the team—I know we'll face teams that can throw over 90, and the only time this guy screws up past 125. Even so it takes a lot more that skills at bat to make a good player, but with that said good skills at bat can give you an idea what kind of player his is, and if his other skills are even half as good as his batting, then I just found our secret weapon to take us over the top.

The next day at practice I decide to tell the guys about him while we're in the dugout.

"Hey Henry, on my way home yesterday I saw this great player at the batting cages", I say to Henry before I take a drink.

"Oh really, is he good?" he asks me.

"Hell yeah, he can hit over 100mph", I say, earning some 'ooh's' and 'ahh's' from the rest of the team and a whimper from Mikey. He probably thinks he can't pitch that fast, but I manage to calm him down before he starts crying.

"So what's his name?" CJasks eagerly.

"Well I was a little busy running home in time to save my sorry-ass for introductions, but I swear when school starts up again, we will have him on our team"

Henry looked skeptical, "How can you be so sure he'll even want to join the team?" he sighs, "Look you can't force people to do anything they don't want to, so stop making empty promises."

"I'm not going to force him!" I shout, "I heard he's going to the Academy anyway, so all I'm going to do is strongly suggest that he join the team"

"Yeah, because your "suggestions" always work out", CJ butts in jokingly.

I ignore him, "Look Henry, you just tell coach that when school starts up again, we'll have a brand-new teammate", I say.

"Fine", he says reluctantly, "But you better at least get him to try-out"

I smile, "Already done"

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By the time practice is over already I'm jetting out towards the batting cages, hopping that's where he'll be. My hunch was correct, by now he's taking a water break, so I figure now's the best time to go in if I don't want to get hit with a 100mph projectile. I enter his cage and he looks up at me.

"What do you want?", he, so kindly, greets me.

"Uh, I don't mean for this to sound "stalker-ish" but I've seen you bat and I think you're really good. Oh and I'm Tom by the way", I say.

"Alright, one; it does, and two; I'm Dylan Fay… wait, I mean Fay Dylan. I forgot you all say your surnames first around here", he said as he shouldered his bat.

I laugh sheepishly, "Sorry about that. But if you like Fay, I could show you some moves, see I'm on this team and—", he cut me off.

"Hey, you can call someone by their first name if you're trying to be friendly, right?" he asks.

"Uh… well yeah—", he cuts me off again.

He smiles, "Well in that case call me Dylan", he says.

I get kind of frustrated, "Alright, Dylan, if you would like I could show you some moves", let's see if I can pry some info out of him, "So Dylan, do you actually play baseball?" please say yes.

"Well yeah, back in the US baseball was huge. So when I was young my mom taught me how to play… but now that I think about it she was more of a drill sergeant at the time. But thanks to her I can play most any position on the field" he says. I think I've found the perfect reserve.

I try to stay focused, "So you used to live in America?"

"Well there's no fooling you is there Captain Obvious? I used to, but one way or another I'm here now. Anyway, this isn't really a good practice field, but there's one by my house if you want to come over"

"Alright", I say, jackpot.

We head a little further out downtown until we get to, what I assume, is his house. We go inside and he leads me into the kitchen and pours me a glass of water without me even having to ask.

"Okay I only have a few ground-rules, one; don't even look like you're about to go upstairs, two; don't raid the fridge, and three; you can come over anytime—just call first", he leads me out the back door, "And this, my friend, is where we practice", he said as he showed me a baseball diamond, polished as though it were an actual diamond. The ground-keepers were busy dusting over it and repainting the lines, one was polishing the bleachers, and another recalibrating the electronic scoreboard.

"Places like the basketball court and the baseball diamond are part of this development, so all the up-keep is the land-lords job. We can't practice now since they're cleaning it up, so we'll head out there in about half an hour. But in the meantime you're welcome to watch TV in the basement", he says as he leads me down a flight of stairs. Waiting for us at the bottom had to be the most bicth'n basement I've ever seen. Eighty inch HD plasma screen with full speaker surround-sound, DVD and Blueray player, every gaming console released in the history of Japan and the US, and to top it all off, a fully stocked mini-bar with snacks, sweets, and sodas I've never even heard of. I don't remember dying, but I've certainly gone to heaven.

I pull myself together, "How can you guys even afford all this stuff?"

"Well…" he hesitates, "We weren't exactly broke before, and there's the money our parents left for us in their will, so we're kind of loaded now", he finishes.

"Wait, your parents will?" I ask.

"They died back in the US in this big tragety and left pretty much all their money to us, but even so back in America we were considered "upper-middle class", so we weren't poor. They left my custody to my older brother and we both moved over here", he sits on the couch and turns on the TV, "I was actually going to enroll in Nishiura starting Monday", I pretend I didn't know that.

"Well I'm sorry to hear about your parents" I say.

I can't resist raiding the mini-bar while Dylan's aimlessly flipping through channels, but damn, this thing is loaded. He hands me the remote and slouches back on the sofa, I notice some bumps in his shirt but don't think much of it. He leaves to go upstairs and I pull out my phone trying to decide who I should call, Hinai? No. Mihashi? No way in hell… I skim through the rest of the numbers on my phone and decide Tajima would have to do.

"Sup Tom", he says over the phone.

"Hey CJ, remember that guy I told you about during practice? Well his name's Dylan and I'm in his basement."

"Fine, but just keep your pants on, no need of losing it at this age", he says.

I nearly pop a blood vessel, "That's not what I'm here for! Look he's starting at Nishiura on Monday and he's going to try out for the team"

"Did he say he was trying out?" he asks.

"Well…" I hesitate, "See what happened was—"

"Tom"

"Alright, I haven't even told him about the team, let alone that he's trying out", I say.

"Look this isn't my problem, as long as you get him to tryout on Monday it's cool with me. But I would hurry up if I were you. Henry already told coach Mohamad to expect someone, and I wouldn't want to be the one to disappoint him", he said, and neither do I.

I hang up just as Dylan comes back down to tell me the field is ready. I can already tell he'd make one hell of a clean-up, all I need to do now is assess his other skills, and if they're as good as his batting—I think I've found the perfect reserve. We get out on the field and he doesn't disappoint, once we're finished I know we have to have him on the team. Once we're back inside we head to the basement again.

"Hey I'll be right back, I'm just going to take a quick shower", he says disappearing into his room.

I wait for him out here, flipping through over one thousand channels and drinking can after can of Fanta and Mt. Dew, or whatever they're called. Only once I started I couldn't stop. A few minutes later my stomach made a loud gurgling noise and I knew I had to find a bathroom—fast. I already know upstairs is out of the question so I franticly go through rooms down here while my bladder is rapidly filling up. I hurtle into the only room left thinking, by default, it had to be a bathroom. But it was only until I entered the room that I realized I didn't have to go anymore. I stumbled into Dylan's room with Dylan standing in the middle of it in a bath towel. It certainly was Dylan, only a slender, curvier version… with a rack.

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As I'm drying off I hear the door open and Abe storm in and instantly giving me a "WTF" face. We have a stand-off for a good minute before his paints become soaking wet, he was probably looking for the bathroom, but either way this sure as hell isn't it. I felt my towel start to slip and by the time it was around my ankles he had left—I try not to think about the embarrassing ordeal as I get dressed. By the time I'm in sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt I signal Abe back into the room. I let him borrow one of my brother's old sweatpants, he asks me if I need them back, I say (hell) no.

"So, when I was here the first time you were all… you know…" he makes curves in the air with his hands, "and… you know", he pushes up air-boobs with his hands, "So are you… you know", he finishes.

I hesitate for a minute, "Well… what did you think?" I think about that for a minute, "You know what, don't answer that. But yeah, I'm a girl"

He sighs, "Well this sure throws a curve-ball into my plans"

I raise an eyebrow at him, "Just what plans are we talking about here?"

"Well…" he hesitates, "There's kind of this baseball team over at Nishiura, and I kind of wanted you to be part of it", he says.

I'm skeptical, "What do you mean, 'kind of'?"

"I mean I kind of already told our coach you'd tryout on Monday and make the team by Tuesday", he says sheepishly, and he's got a reason to be.

"What the hell man?" I yell, "How are you just going to sign me up for something I didn't even know about, let alone agreed to?"

"In my defense I didn't have a choice", he says, "Our team was lacking something and I found it. And you're just what we need to take us over the top. But even so there's nothing I can do now, I already told the coach and if you don't show I'll probably be a little too preoccupied with being dead to be on the team"

I stop to think for a minute and know all my rationality has gone out the window when I sit down at my laptop. I pull up the file with my transcript and enrollment paperwork in it, make a few edits, and then press send.

I close my laptop, "Well looks like the baseball team is about to have a new member", I say.

He looks skeptical, "But girls can't play in the team", he says as I tightly tie my hair into a low-ponytail.

I smirk, "Well who said anything about a girl enrolling at Benitet?"

His eyes widened, "You didn't…"

"You, my friend, are looking at Saint. Benitet Academy's new male transfer student"