Page 166 of Chasing Headlines
“Yeah, I heard.” A smug-looking grin tugged one side of his mouth.
“I'm not leaving till the game ends.”
“Not what I meant.”
I shot him a look that was meant to be a question, but he just turned away. Dereks battled at home plate. Ahead in the count, he fouled off another pitch that was too close to the strike zone. And it was three and two.
“Let's go!”
Graphics on the stadium monitor—supposedly a noise-o-meter tried to keep the audience in the game. They jeered at the pitcher, trying anything to support Dereks.
The Arizona pitcher wound up, and delivered the pitch. We held our breath as Dereks stopped his swing.
“Ball.” The ump signaled toward first base.
“Yeah. Good eye. Good eye. Let's gooooo!”
Eberhardt turned toward the dugout. He signaled at Fendleman. Dereks touched the bag.
“Time out.”
Fendleman tossed a helmet at me. I caught it. Stared at him. Glanced over at Schorr . . . who might have been taking a nap. Nevins waved. Dereks stripped off his batting gloves.
It felt a hundred pair of eyes turned to stare right through me.
Then finally, the world moved again. “Cooper, get your ass on that base!”
Helmet crammed onto my aching head. A heavy tap. Fendleman shoved me out of the dugout like my first at-bat in little league.
“Pinch running for Edward Dereks is number twenty-seven, freshman Breslin Cooper. Breslin Cooper.”
My stomach pitched and churned. I'd wanted to play, but fuck . . .
This was a bad idea.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Olivia POV
“Pinch running for Edward Dereks is number twenty-seven . . .” My heart dropped into my stomach. I rose from my borrowed folding chair.
“Freshman Breslin Cooper. Cooper in for Dereks.”
What the hell are they thinking? He's supposed to be . . . Oh my God. This is why he's on the roster. He tied a record in stolen bases in high school.Of course that was whySchorr had looked smug, they weren't doing anythingbecauseof me. They wanted me to cover their asses, and use Coop.Royal fucking shitsnack . . . assholes!
Could he even run in his shape? Why take this kind of risk for an exhibition game? Should've left Dereks. He did a decent job.
Coop adjusted his helmet and tugged on his gloves. From this angle, I could see the tight set to his jaw. He's used to competing. Even at this level.
But, still . . .
“He's flesh and blood. A human person . . . cared for, loved by his parents . . . he will, like us all, die . . .”
My stomach wrung itself out to dry.What if he gets hurt?
I shot a glare at the dark figure of Coach Schorr, standing at the entrance to the dugout. Did he need a win here that badly?Was something else driving him? I suddenly wanted to know—his whole history. What people would say about him if I went and asked. Why he'd take on a guy with a toxic reputation to begin with? Was this some sudden death last chance for Coop to make the spring roster?
I snapped pictures. Coach Schorr's stern, weathered gaze. Zimmerin in the on-deck circle, taking practice swings. The field lights cast a golden glow, gleaming off helmets, bats, uniforms—casting Schorr half in the light, half in shadow. I captured that image. It'd be dynamite in black and white.