Usually a play like that, one that saved two runs at least, would have gotten her a high five from Allie. Not today. All Allie did after the infield umpire signaled that the runner at second was out was toss the ump the ball and run off the field. But Allie did get a high five from Greta, waiting for her near first base.
Yeah, Cassie thought, because Allie didn’t drop a perfect toss that a five-year-old could have caught.
Whatever. They were still ahead by a run. That was the important thing. And they stayed ahead by a run through the bottom of the sixth until Cassie tripled home Lizzie, giving them a two-run cushion going into the last inning. Brooke was through for the night by then. She went back behind the plate, Maria went to second, and Allie came in to pitch the top of the seventh. Usually, after she finished her warm-up pitches and the infielders had thrown the ball around, Cassie would bring the ball into the mound and stuff it into Allie’s glove, maybe ask if she had all the runs she needed. She started to do that tonight, then stopped about ten feet from the mound and just tossed Allie the ball underhand, the way she had to end the fifth.
As Cassie ran back to short, she called over to Lizzie and said, “We got this.”
And Lizzie said, “Which ones of us?”
Cassie got into her ready position, hoping what she always did: that somebody would hit a ball to her. Not all of her teammates felt the same way in close games. They’d told her so, at least when they were still talking to her, admitted they never wanted the ball hit to them in a big spot. But Cassie did.
But she didn’t get her chance to pitch the seventh. The first Moran batter, Kelly Wasserman, who’d been the Mariners’ starting pitcher, hit what looked like a routine ground ball to Greta’s right at first base. Not routine. Greta booted it like the soccer player she was.
Cassie thought: Well, maybe we don’t have this after all.
Allie walked the next batter.
First and second, nobody out.
The Mariners were still down two but had a great big inning shaping up, because Allie looked as shaky now as she had in their first game. Cassie took one step toward the mound, and then stopped herself. Usually she’d call time and run over there and give Allie a pep talk. But she wasn’t doing that today, because she didn’t know what would happen when she got to the mound, whether she’d be adding more drama and more pressure to a situation that seemed to have enough already.
Allie managed to strike out the Mariners’ catcher, the girl getting overanxious and swinging at a 3–2 pitch up in her eyes. But the next batter ripped a single to left. Kathleen had no chance for a play at the plate but threw home anyway, the ball sailing over Lizzie’s head when Lizzie set herself up to be the cutoff. Brooke had to run into foul territory to catch the ball, and when she did, both runners advanced.
Second and third now, one-run game, still just one out. Tying run at third, go-ahead run at second.
“Just get an out,” Cassie yelled out from short now, the words just coming out of her. Or the ballplayer coming out of her. Allie was still her teammate, even if she and a lot of her teammates were acting like idiots.
Allie didn’t act as if she’d heard. Cassie didn’t care whether she had or not.
She thought: Get an out.
And keep the runner at third.
Allie got an out. The Mariners’ shortstop swung at a pitch that was too far inside, getting jammed, and badly. She made contact with the ball, hit a soft, looping liner over Allie’s head. Allie had no chance at the ball by the time she got herself turned around. But Cassie read the ball all the way. It still wasn’t an easy play, because she had to come a fair distance from short. She ended up going to her knees to make a sliding catch, her glove pocket-up, what her dad called a basket catch.
Allie had kept the ball in the infield. Kept the runner at third. Two outs now. And all of a sudden this felt like more than just the second game of the season. Cassie knew that the Red Sox getting their first win of the season wasn’t going to change anything except their record, at least not tonight. Wasn’t going to make things any louder around their team. But maybe, she thought, just maybe, if they could get out of this with a win, it could be the start of something. Maybe better days.
The Mariners’ best hitter, Karen Dale, their third baseman, was at the plate. Cassie had been playing against her since they’d both started playing softball. Karen could hit, could field her position, didn’t show off or chirp, and had always played the game right. It had always been big fun competing against her, especially when Cassie was pitching.
Now Cassie just wanted Karen to hit her the ball.
Only, she didn’t.
What she did was hit the first ball she saw from Allie high and deep to center field. You didn’t even have to track the flight of the ball. You could just hear the sound it made coming off Karen’s bat.
All Cassie could do was turn and watch.
This one wasn’t in the gap between Sarah and Kathleen. No, this one was directly over Sarah’s head.
Cassie thought it was gone.
Sarah Milligan clearly didn’t.
Cassie wasn’t sure how Sarah, having been on the team this short a time, knew the things she knew about being a softball player. Maybe you had to be born with some of them. Or all of them. Maybe it was the same for everybody, even if people thought you were different.
In this
