It Was Me by Anna Cruise Read Free Book Online

bases.
    Unless, like the first guy in our group, you trip over first base and go ass over hat into the grass. The guys ahead of me in line laughed as the guy trotted back to the line, his chest covered in dirt and his upper lip dotted with blood.
    “Shit,” he muttered as he took his place back in line behind me, as I would be last to go.
    “Don't worry,” I said to him over my shoulder. “If your time was good, it won't matter.”
    “It wasn't good,” he said, shaking his head and touching his lip. “I'm slower than shit.”
    “Go wide from here then,” I said. “On your way to first. Cut down the angle to second and just hit that inside corner and push off. It'll help.”
    “Thanks,” he said, nodding. “Thanks.”
    The guy ahead of me took off and I took a deep breath, shook out my shoulders and arms and stood at home. I got ready and when the guy gave me the signal, I took off. My body felt light going up the line and I was pretty sure I was fastest in my group when my foot thumped first and I turned outward into foul territory. I heard the stop watches click and watched as the scouts scribbled on their clipboards as I jogged back to the line. I had no clue what they were writing.
    I watched as the guy behind me did as I told him, running wide to first and taking a good angle to second and the rest of the bases. He was right. He wasn't fast. But at least he looked like he knew how to run the bases rather than just fall down in a cloud of dirt.
    He came up behind me in line, huffing and puffing. “Hey.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Thanks, man. Really. I'm still slow but at least I didn't eat shit that time.”
    “That's a good motto for life, dude.”
    He laughed. “Yeah. Guess so.”
    My turn came and I ran the bases with ease. It didn't feel like baseball. It just felt like running in a square. Again, I was pretty sure I got around the quickest. Not because the scouts were looking my way, but because the other guys in my group were now watching me. I had a target on my chest.
    And I was fine with that.
    They worked us through more stations. Throwing from the outfield. Taking infield. Calling out situations, letting us decide where the ball needed to go. Then they took a few minutes to set up the screen in front of the mound so they could throw to us and we could hit.
    I stood next to my bag at the fence and sucked down one of the bottles of water I'd brought. My shirt clung to my chest with sweat and my hair beneath my cap was soaked. I'd played well so far. No mistakes and I didn't see anyone who threw as well as I did from the outfield. I felt more eyes on me, both the other guys trying out and the scouts that ringed the field and were sitting in the stands. I didn't think it was my imagination.
    An older guy with a big belly and a big straw hat on his head ambled over to me. His bright yellow golf shirt was tucked into his khaki shorts but appeared to be trying to escape.
    His eyes scanned the clipboard in his fat hands. “You're Montgomery, yeah?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    He nodded and looked up from the clipboard. He adjusted the hat on his head. “What's your story, son?”
    “My story?”
    “Why are you here and not eating shitty dinners in double A somewhere?”
    I laughed and shrugged. “Not sure I know the answer to that, sir.”
    His mouth screwed up in agitation. “Where'd you play? Because I saw that throw from center to home and no one throws like that unless they've played somewhere.”
    I cleared my throat. “High school ball in San Diego. Had a partial ride to Stanford but it didn't happen. Took some time off.”
    He glanced down at the clipboard again. “Anything I need to be afraid of, son?”
    “Sir?”
    He looked at me again. “Drugs, alcohol, stealing cars, sex change operation? What am I gonna find when I start looking?”
    My stomach churned and I took a deep breath. “I was on probation. Got in a fight because I was stupid and mad about Stanford. Nothing big, just a dumb move on my