They had practice at every speed. Zeke even started to get specific and would tell to either foul it down the first baseline or the third baseline. After almost two hours, they completely stole the joy away from the cages. It use to make feel relaxed and like I was in my own world. And now....it was boring. Zeke wanted to control my every swing and I was losing my passion for it.
Noah noticed first. "I think we should take a break and do sothing new. Jake looks annoyed."
Zeke frowned. "We could practice more."
Frustrated, I took off my helt and gave it to him. "I don’t want to do this anymore."
He looked at in surprise. The twins and Noah were shocked as well. This was my first complete, clear sentence since my mother’s attack. Besides frustration and boredom, I was angry. I can’t even say why I was angry. Just upset and off-balanced.
Their silence was crushing , making feel even worse so I took off with just my bat. I walk through the doors to go back inside and slithered my way through the crowd that was just showing up for lunch. I didn’t have a destination in mind, but I just wanted to be alone in my turmoil.
Unfortunately, Noah wouldn’t let . He was always five steps behind, just following wherever I would move to. It took awhile to settle on sitting out by the mini golf courses.
"I would ask if you were okay, but you’re obviously not." Noah plopped down beside . "I can’t believe your first full sentence, that I would get to hear, was that you don’t want to hit anymore. You’re so good and you look like you really enjoy it more than actual baseball practice."
I shook my head. "That wasn’t hitting." I pulled my knees to my chest, resting my head on them. "That wasn’t fun."
Noah blinked at a couple of tis, making embarrassed. Then he surprised by letting out a laugh. "So you don’t like fouling the ball?"
"Not satisfying." I mumbled.
He laughed so more. I turned my head the other way. "Sorry, sorry. I’m just shocked that out of all the things in the world, this is the one that’ll get you to talk." I kept looking away. "Ya know, in gas, it won’t be like this. Zeke just wanted to see you practice fouling the ball off in different ways. But we’re not going to want you to foul off fifty straight pitches, that would be impossible. A pitcher would give up and just intentionally walk you at that point. Or maybe even hit you with a pitch after five or six straight fouls."
I faced him once more so I could get a clear understanding. I had never truly faced a pitcher before unless you counted my tryout. No one had ever kept a count against though. And the twins and Garret all threw nice-looking strikes so it wasn’t like I had to try very hard.
"Realistically, Zeke and Coach may want you to work it to a full count, foul off so extra pitches to increase the pitch count and tire out the pitcher. But then, at the right mont, you can send a hit to wherever you see fit. You’ll be able to hit it how you want to and where you want to." I started to brighten up. "It’s hits that get the ga exciting, Jake! You’ll be able to drive in runs and that’s what wins baseball gas."
"Fielding?"
He grinned. "Hitting wins gas. Bad fielding loses gas. You can never win a defensive battle in baseball. Soone will eventually make an error."
I nodded thoughtfully. I realized I was being too rash. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I shouldn’t have ran."
Noah nodded. "You shouldn’t. Face your problems head on. Even if that problem is a controlling Zeke. Older brothers are too bossy sotis so you have to put them in their place and lay down the law."
....what. There’s no way I could tell Zeke, straight up, that I didn’t want to listen to him. I shivered at the thought. He would make run laps for the rest of the year, I’m sure.
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