When Dave saw that we were ready, his frown turned to a grin. The kind where he looked happy beyond belief. The bottom of the fifth would start with Porterville's cleanup hitter, who had hit a fly ball to center field in the second inning. Maybe he could do it again and Noah would be able to see Zeke in action. Not that I hoped anything was wrong with him…I just worry since Mr. Atkins is very against lying and hiding potential injuries. I don't know if all parents were like that, but it wasn't a bad trait to have in my eyes.
I bent my knees a little and hit my hand into my glove a few times, not because I was ready for anything to come my way, but mostly just to imitate Noah so it looks like I know what I'm doing. Unfortunately, it acted like a summons. The cleanup hitter smacked a hard grounder towards my left side.
I tried to dive at it similar to Noah's earlier stop, but it bounced out of my glove. I scrambled for it and tried my best to throw it to Julian. Julian stretched out to the max and caught my sloppy throw just before the batter arrived at first.
"Out!" The first base ump pumped his fist.
I put a hand on my chest and let out a breath of air. Shoot. I almost messed that up. I dusted myself off and stood back up on my feet. That was the first time the ball came my way all game, and hopefully it would be the last.
"Nice stop! Good work!" Noah clapped his glove. I glanced to my right and saw him smiling with pride, which only made me feel more embarrassed. He only thought it was a good stop for a newbie player like me.
I turned my attention back to the mound, where Dave was already set on facing the next batter up. The fact that Dave didn't compliment my play like he did Noah's, spoke volumes. I wasn't even close to being satisfactory just yet. Dave started to pitch harder against the batter. Not necessarily faster, but he found some good locations in the strike zone causing the batter to strike out. One more out to go.
The third batter up this inning was sixth in the lineup. Not bad, but not the best. Supposedly. He had that fly out to right field in his one and only at bat. Is it too much to ask that he repeats? I didn't dare to clap my glove in case it summoned another grounder my way.
On a 2-2 count, Dave pitched a fastball to the outer edge of the strike zone and I prayed for a strike out to end the game so Dave would receive his perfect game. The batter didn't listen to my prayers though. The edge of his bat grazed the ball and pulled it forward between Julian and me. Julian must have had more confidence in me than I did myself, because he didn't hesitate to run to first base to cover the bag instead of going after the ball. I sprinted to my left and squatted so the ball could roll into my glove. I transitioned the ball from glove to my right hand so I could throw to Julian.
As I started to throw, my planting foot slid in the dirt and my throw was off. Again. Julian athletically jumped to catch my badly thrown ball and instead of tagging the base, he tagged the player who was trying to make it there. The third out! The game's over!
The head umpire called it and our team started to celebrate. Of course, they all tackled Dave at the mound. Kyle was one of the first to run out of the bullpen and jumped on his twin's back. The rest of the team was also crowding him.
"I guess it really does count as a perfect game!" Noah slapped me on the shoulder, smiling ear to ear.
"Of course it does." Tony snorted as he joined us from the outfield. "A perfect games is defined as a finished game without giving up a walk, hit, or run. As long as there aren't any baserunners, then he got it." He patted us both before sprinting into the pack of teammates.
His words made Noah excited and he sprinted towards the pile to jump in as well.
As for me? My anxiety was amped up. Another perfect game for our team. Two in one season. By a pair of twins. And both games ended with me throwing out the last guy. I thought back to the conversation Mr. Atkins and I had on the bathroom floor after I threw up. The chances of this coming up again is minuscule. Almost nonexistent he claimed. Yet here we are.
I looked into my glove. And I almost blew it this time. If I thought I got lucky the first time around, then this time can only be considered a blessing. I slipped because of my lack of focus. I need to practice more on my fielding. Both grounders this inning were sloppy in execution.
Nepotism. The word flashed in my brain a few times. I knew the word well. Noah hated it and what it implied on a daily basis. For me, I thought it was fitting. At least to my situation. I received preferential treatment since I lived with the Atkins. My skill didn't match their level of play, yet they allowed me on the team. Sure, my batting was great, but we just killed a team 11-0. They didn't need me for that. With someone like Zeke in their lineup, why would they need me?
"Kid? Kid, you alright?" A deep voice said from nearby, then my vision was suddenly filled with the trainer putting the oxygen mask on me. "It's okay. Just breathe normally. Relax."
My arms felt heavy and my knees felt weak. I wanted to throw up, but I couldn't with the mask on. The trainer pulled me off my imaginary cliff in my head before I could lose myself to the ugly thoughts in my head. Worthless. Loveless. Useless.
I started to sway before falling backwards. Arms caught me from behind, then slowly lowered me, helping me sit on my butt in the dirt.
"Jake?" It was Zeke. He came out from behind me to look at my face, but I closed my eyes, trying to not let him see my shame. I heard him ask the trainer. "Will he be okay? Should I go get my parents?"
"What's happening over here?" Another masculine voice joined the encirclement. It was coach. "Is Jake still having trouble breathing?" Yes, but not because of the high altitude.
"I want to suggest to his parents that he be taken to a hospital to get checked out." The trainer told the pair. "At the very least, get below 4000ft. elevation and schedule an appointment with his primary care physician before he takes another trip to the mountains. I don't believe there's anything significantly wrong, but it's always good to check for a second opinion."
More words were said, plans were made, yet I wasn't focused. With my eyes closed and the oxygen mask over half my face, helping me breathe, I started to feel tired. Not a sleepy kind of tired, but more of an exhausted kind of tired. Mentally tired. Of myself. I sighed.
