Freaks of Greenfield High (18 page)

The entire girls’ baseball team tore their gazes away from Shawn to stare at her like she was an alien life form.

Jay didn’t seem at all fazed. She contemplated a fry. “I observe body language. It’s a useful skill to master. Especially when dealing with annoying persons of the opposite sex.” She popped the fry in her mouth and chewed.

“He doesn’t do it for you?” Sara blinked in a bemused fashion.

“He doesn’t do it for me,” Jay agreed. And frowned. “These fries seem to be lacking some essential ingredient.”

“Salt,” Tyler said. “They never salt them enough. You gotta ask for extra. Hey, is Shawn still bugging you?”

She nodded. “Not as much as before, but I wish he’d stop staring at me as though he wants to eat me up. I’m afraid that soon I’ll be forced to do something drastic, like beat him up.”

Sara shook her head in mock despair. “Uh, right. Whatever.”

Yeah. Whatever. Tyler was not-so-secretly pleased Jay hadn’t been bitten by the Shawn bug. If she’d fallen for Shawn like any other normal girl, he’d have been gutted.

“So. What’s the time, Jay?” Caro waggled her eyebrows in a meaningful fashion.

Tyler bit back a groan. Could his sister be any more obvious?

Jay stuck her hand in her pocket and—

“Wait!” Caro flushed pink when Jay frowned at her. “Ummm. I need to, uh, text Shawn. About a homework assignment. Can I borrow someone’s phone?”

Sara tossed over her cell phone. “Use mine.”

“Thanks.” Caro flushed and scratched the back of her neck when Em tossed her a how-the-hell-did-you-get-to-be-such-a-loser? look. She flipped open the cell phone.

What are you up to?
Tyler mouthed at her.

She winked at him.

He smothered an appreciative grin. Ah, revenge. It was gonna be so terribly sweet.

She started texting. “Get ready,” she murmured to Jay. “Do… whatever it is you’re gonna do, when I give the okay, all right?”

Jay raised her eyebrows and Tyler heard her whisper, “This was not part of my plan.”

“Pleeease? For me?”

Jay blinked. “Very well. For you.”

Caro pressed Send, then skimmed Sara’s cell across the tabletop and settled back in her chair to watch the fun.

Shawn’s silver cell phone buzzed. As soon as he picked it up to peer at the screen, Caro whispered, “Go!”

Jay activated whatever device she’d hidden in her pocket. The cafeteria echoed with blaring ring-tones as every cell phone in the cafeteria logged an incoming call. Christmas cracker-like pops mingled with squeals and muttered imprecations from startled students.

Shawn shrieked like a girl and flung his phone away. It skidded across the table and landed on the floor. The shocked expression on his face was absolutely freaking priceless.

Next to him, Vanessa whined and moaned piteously, wringing her hands. “OMG! My phone’s died! What am I gonna do now? This is like, terrible! Oh. My. God!”

Tyler gleefully watched Shawn’s indecision. Shawn finally got off his chair and scrabbled about on the floor to check his precious phone. He tapped it a couple of times, wrinkled his nose with disgust, then tossed it back on the floor.

Sara bashed her phone on the edge of the table a couple of times in an effort to get it working again. “Dead as. What the hell’s going on?”

“A localized signal surge,” Jay said. “I believe you’ll find it’s only affected cell phones within a short radius. May I?” She held out her hand for Sara’s phone and checked it over. “Yes. It’s as I thought. You’ll require a new SIM card but other than that, your cell phone will be perfectly useable. Provided you don’t whack it on the table again.”

Sara leveled her a narrow-eyed, suspicious glare. “Yeah? How come you know all about this stuff?”

Uh oh. Tyler sought about for something to say to make Jay’s knowledge seem reasonable. “Uh…. Jay’s, um, a—”

“Before we moved out here my uncle worked for a cellular service provider,” Jay finished for him. “I used to help out after school.”

Tyler widened his eyes at her, wordlessly encouraging her to go on.

“A lightning strike or electrical storm could cause a similar thing,” Jay said, taking the hint. She shrugged. “My uncle told me sometimes there’s no logical reason, and not even the technicians can figure out how or why such things happen.”

Em had a very smug look plastered all over her face. “Shame. Guess this is one time I’m glad my Mom can’t afford to buy me a phone.”

“Darnit!” Sara made a face. “Looks like I’ll be spending the weekend reprogramming in all my numbers.”

“Awww, poor baby,” Em crooned, reaching over to stroke Sara’s hand, making like some doting girlfriend until Sara shoved her away.

“They’re not the latest models by any means,” Jay said, “but my uncle has a box of cell phones at home. You’re welcome to take your pick, Emma.”

“And me?” Caro clasped her hands prayer-like before her chest.

“Of course. And Tyler, too.”

“Thanks!” Caro’s expression abruptly clouded. “But won’t your uncle be pissed if he finds a couple missing?”

“No,” Jay said. “They’re just collecting dust. He’ll be pleased someone’s found a use for them.”

Em’s freckled face lit up. “Awesome! Thanks, Jay.” The bell rang, and she and the team headed off for class. “Hey,” she yelled back. “Almost forgot. Meet you at the lockers after next period?”

Jay gave her a thumbs up.

Caro hung back. “Is that stuff about your uncle true?” she asked Jay.

“Partially.”

“Which part?”

“The part about the box of cell phones. Don’t worry,” Jay said. “He won’t mind me giving a few away.”

Caro hugged her and practically skipped from the cafeteria.

“You’ve made her day,” Tyler said. “She’s wanted a cell phone forever.”

“And what about you, Tyler? If I give you a cell phone, will it make
your
day?”

He did his best to ignore the pit-a-pat of his heart and the squirming sensation in his gut as he returned her intent gaze. Cool, calm and collected, that’s how he’d play it. He took a deep breath then grabbed Jay’s hand and pulled her to her feet. Then cradled her face in his palms and leaned in to kiss her lightly on the lips. “You’ve already made my day.”

As he exited the cafeteria, some instinct made him glance back over his shoulder.

Jay was standing exactly where he’d left her. Her eyes were closed and her fingers rested on her lips.

Whoa. He hadn’t expected that kind of reaction. It’d just been a friendly kiss. Nothing for either of them to get worked up about.

Yeah. Riiight.

Jay’s lips curved as she anticipated Tyler’s reaction. He hadn’t spotted her yet. Right now his attention was on Emma, the team’s pitcher. The corners of his mouth were curved downward and when he spoke, his voice was gruff. “You’re off your game, Em.”

Emma slouched over to him, rotating her shoulder joint. “Sorry, Coach.”

“What’ve you done to your shoulder?”

“Hurt it yesterday. ’S only a strain. Nothing serious.”

Tyler’s scowl deepened at Emma’s folly. “Next time, tell me straight up. No point in making the injury worse.” He jerked his chin at the bleachers. “Plant your dumbass self over there and rest up for the rest of the session.”

Em jogged over to the bleachers to join Jay. She leaned back and stretched out her legs. “Coach wasn’t
too
pissed with me not being on my game. Reckon he’ll give Rachel a turn, then you’ll be up.”

“Why are you insisting that I do this? If I turn out to be an excellent pitcher, you risk losing your place on the team.”

Em shrugged and threw Jay a lopsided grin. “Can’t see that happening. Not unless you’re really something special.”

Jay quirked her brows. “I can hardly be worse than Rachel.” With her gawky, graceless limbs, the team’s relief pitcher resembled a flapping seagull—a resemblance that was compounded even more when she lost her balance on the follow-through.

Em hissed in a breath between clenched teeth. “Rachel, Rachel, Rachel. That’s just plain sad. Tragic, even.”

Jay analyzed the pitch. Rachel hadn’t had anything like the leverage needed to make the ball curve as she’d intended, which was the main reason the ball had stayed up in the strike zone and proved so easy to hit.

Tyler covered his face with his hands and groaned. Loudly. “Rach! What the hell d’ya call
that
?”

Rachel screwed her face into a hopeful expression. “Uh, a curveball?”

“A curveball?” Tyler stood arms akimbo, bristling with indignation. “A
curveball
? You’ve gotta be kidding me. An extra base hit waiting to happen, that’s what I call that! How many times do I have to tell you? Stick with the fastball! No damn point trying anything fancy until you've got the fastball sussed. Which you haven’t.”

“But Coach, I—”

“But nothing. You haven’t mastered it until I say you’ve mastered it. Which will be when you can throw it for a strike just about every single freaking time. You got that?”

“Yeah, Coach. I got that.”

Tyler raked his hands through his hair and Jay could see him tugging on the ends. He didn’t look over at the bleachers as he bawled, “Yo, Em! Let’s see what this friend of yours has got.”

Emma nudged Jay. “Go on. Show him how it’s done.”

“What happens if I’m worse than Rachel?” Jay wanted to know.

“Guess Coach’ll give me heaps for wasting his time.”

“We couldn’t have that, now, could we?” Jay allowed a grin to split her face.

“Hey, didn’t you bring a mitt?”

“I don’t own one.”

Em shook her head at Jay’s folly. “Borrow mine. Just don’t let on to Coach or he’ll lecture you big-time.”

“Thanks.” Jay pulled on the mitt—not that she needed one, but it wasn’t prudent to draw attention to herself.

Tyler did the anticipated double-take as she strolled toward him. He smoothed his expression, hiding his reaction from his team, but Jay spotted his curiosity. And his pleasure at her presence.

“This should be interesting,” he said.

“Indeed.” Jay put aside her analysis of his fascinating reactions to review the mechanics of pitching.

For the entire duration of her pitch, the pitcher was required to keep one foot in contact with the top or front of the pitcher's rubber—a twenty-four-by-six-inch plate atop the pitcher's mound. This meant Jay could take no more than one step backward and one forward when she delivered the ball. Once she’d released the ball, her foot could leave the rubber.

There were five phases of pitching. Wind-up. Cocking, when the arm was brought back and up in preparation for the forward throw. Acceleration, when the arm came forward in preparation to releasing the ball. Deceleration, when the arm slowed down after releasing the ball. And follow-through. It was important for the pitcher to understand which muscles were used during each phase so injuries could be avoided. During the wind-up phase, for example, the shoulder muscles played only a very small part compared with the leg muscles.

Jay visualized each phase.

Tyler—Coach—gave her a professional once-over as if to gauge her suitability for the sport. “Em reckons you’re a damn fine athlete—just the sort we need on the team.”

“Emma presumes too much.” She held Tyler’s gaze. “I’m nothing special.”

“Hmmm. Tell me what you know about baseball.”

“Quite a bit in theory. But I’m sure we both know all the theory in the world doesn’t help when you’re out there facing the reality of the game.”

He cracked a grin. “Good answer. What’s your specialty? Pitching, batting or fielding?”

She shrugged. “I don’t have a specialty. I’m sure I can acquit myself reasonably well in all three disciplines, though.”

He chewed his lip while he processed her response, perhaps trying to decide whether she was being unduly modest. “Okay, let’s see what you’re made of. Start by showing me your pitching.”

She obliged. Under Tyler’s watchful eye, she threw around a dozen fastballs, making certain each one stayed within the expected velocity for a junior female player.

Tyler pursed his lips and tried to appear unimpressed. “Not bad. Let’s see what you can do under pressure. Trace!” he yelled at one of the girls lounging in the bullpen. “You’re up.”

Trace roused herself and wandered up to the plate while Jay debated her next course of action. She wanted to acquit herself well. But not too well. She focused on Trace, who certainly didn’t seem to be in any hurry to take her place at the batter’s box. The girl tugged her gloves, fiddling with the clasps. She stepped in the box and something inside Jay’s chest tightened with—