Force Out by Tim Green Read Free Book Online

with bases loaded and two outs at the bottom of the sixth in the championship game, that wasn’t the headline in Joey’s mind. His headline read FORCE-OUT.
    While loaded bases gave Joey the chance to blast in the winning runs, it was also a distinct dis advantage. Loaded bases made a defensive play easy. There was a force-out at every base. All a defender had to do was get the ball to the closest base, a short throw wherever it went, unless you blasted a good one. He clenched his jaw and did all he could to push the negativity from his mind, wedging in the image of him smacking the ball and it taking off for the fence.
    He stepped to the plate, and the positive image flickered out like a blown birthday candle. The pitcher went into his windup without licking his lips. The taste flooded Joey’s mouth, and he wondered if he could spit it out before the pitch got there. In the moment of indecision, a fastball streaked by him.
    â€œStrike!”
    He stepped out of the box to settle his nerves. It was as if Price had saved a couple pitches in his spent arm just for Joey. A glance up at Leah didn’t help.
    Three of five fingertips were planted between her teeth. Panic filled her eyes—nice that she cared, but no vote of confidence from the peanut gallery.
    â€œLet’s go, batter.” The ump seemed to snarl from behind the grille of his mask. His black chest protector gave him the look of an angry zoo animal.
    Joey squinted his eyes and stepped back up to the plate. Price wasted not a second. After a quick windup, the pitch rocketed toward Joey. He swung and missed.
    â€œStrike two!”
    Sweat bled from his armpits and upper lip. His nerves jangled like a string of tin cans.
    Zach shouted from third base, “Come on, Joey! You can do it!”
    Coach Barrett bellowed encouragement from the dugout, as did the entire team, now on their feet. The crowd got into it as well, cheering either Joey or Price, depending on their loyalties.
    Joey stepped into the box and the floodgates of negative energy flew open. He saw himself, not hitting it over the fence but swinging and missing, and it scared him so bad his arms trembled as they raised the bat. He stared at Price, who licked his lips.
    Licked his lips!
    In the swamp of confusion, Joey automatically changed his stance, shifting just a bit to prepare for the curve. He could hit a curve. He was a skilled and powerful hitter and now he knew the pitch that was coming at him. Or did he? The windup, the snap of Price’s wrist, the ball spinning toward him, ready to drop and fade, it all happened in the same instant.
    Joey swung.

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    He didn’t miss it.
    That was the best you could say for it, really.
    Truth is, he nicked it, and it dribbled into the dirt directly in front of him. Joey knew enough to take off, to try . You had to try. Always. Because you never know, do you?
    Sometimes you do know, though, and run as he might, the bitter taste of things going wrong didn’t disappoint. Price surged forward from the mound. Joey couldn’t help looking back to see the pitcher scoop up the ball and underhand toss it to the catcher at home plate. The simplicity of the act, a childlike toss—something you’d do with a beanbag or a set of car keys—somehow made the whole thing worse. The ump popped a thumb from his fist and jagged it into the air.
    FORCE-OUT.
    Game over.
    The Pirates players exploded from their dugout and out onto the field, where they could raise Price up and parade him around the infield.
    Joey hung his head. His stomach swelled with dread until he staggered, bloated, and unable to speak. Coach Barrett gathered them up like a hen, clucking softly but unable to keep from scolding them for coming up short.
    â€œYou let that get away from you, boys.” His voice carried the sadness of a tragedy they’d each have to live with for the rest of their lives. “Those championship trophies belonged to you.”
    Joey