by me
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Mine, all mine.
Summary: What happens when the best high school pitcher in California meets the best high school pitcher in North Carolina? Well, they fall in love, of course.
Notes: Well...the bunny attacked. I had no choice. I don't like several parts of it, especially Damien's family, but that's what the muse wanted, and who am I to say no?
When I first met Kyle Wilbourn, he was sitting in Mr. Kinney�s Calculus class filing his nails.
I sat down and he noticed my weird look because he blushed and put the file away. �Oh, it�s, uh, for baseball, you know, I need the nail the right length for a � who are you anyway?�
�Damien Radack,� I told him, shaking his hand. �Baseball, uh? That�s a good excuse.�
�No, really! For a knuckle-curveball.�
I raised my eyebrow in disbelief, but really I was laughing inside. I was a pitcher, too, I knew perfectly well what he was doing. �Riiiiiiiight.�
�I swear, it has to be the right length so I can get the right grip but so the nail won�t break off.�
�Exchanging beauty tips, Mr. Wilbourn?� A young man I assumed to be the teacher, Mr. Kinney, set his materials down and gave his student an amused glance.
I distinctly heard the whisper �Kinney would know about beauty tips,� from behind me, and I�m sure he did too, but he didn�t say anything.
�No, sir, just baseball,� Kyle replied.
Class started so we couldn�t talk anymore, but Kyle waited for me. �So, you�re new?�
�Yeah,� I sighed, as we walked down the hall. �My stepdad got a new job here, so we had to move. Middle of senior year. At least it wasn�t in the middle of baseball season.�
He looked at me. �You play baseball?�
I grinned. �Yep, I pitch.�
�And you let me go through that whole ordeal in there? Asshole.�
�Oh, come on, you were all flustered. It was funny.�
He rolled his eyes. �That�s your next class,� he pointed. �Hey, uh�you want to throw some after school?�
�Yeah, sure,� I grinned.
�Ok, just meet me out front. See you around.�
He quickly disappeared as I went into my English class.
I found Kyle quickly enough. �Hey, I have to go home first. To get my glove and stuff.�
He shrugged. �I�ll walk with you. How far is it?�
�Just a couple blocks away.� We walked mostly in silence to my house. �Hey, Ryan, I�m going to throw with someone from school, ok?�
�Ok�wait, just a second.� I grabbed my glove off the table and leaned against the wall until he emerged from the living room. He was tall and well built, and unless you knew better, you might think that I inherited my height and muscle from him. �I�m on tonight, so you�re on your own for dinner.�
�Yeah, yeah, I know the night shift drill. Oh, this is Kyle, he�s in my math class. Kyle, this is Ryan.�
�Nice to meet you. Have fun, Dame.�
�Bye,� I called as we went out the door.
�So�that�s your stepdad?�
�Yep.�
�What�s your mom do?�
�Takes up space in San Francisco,� I replied, trying not to let my bitterness show.
�Oh,� he said, furrowing his brow. �So...ok, I�m confused.�
�My family can be that way. Ok, my parents split up not long after I was born. My mom was a psycho and tried to kill my father - she didn't try that hard, but it proved her psycho-ness - so naturally, he got custody of me. He met Ryan not long after, fell in love, all that stuff. My father died when I was 8, and Ryan raised me from there.�
Kyle blinked. �Oh...ok. That�s-�
�Odd? Maybe.� I shrugged. �But it�s worked. We moved here because Ryan�s the new Chief Resident of Pediatrics at Duke. It�s not like he ever had trouble with kids. And, I mean, what else were we going to do? I couldn�t go back to my mother. And Ryan was another father to me, he taught me how to read. And how to throw a baseball, more importantly.�
Kyle glanced at me as we stepped onto the outfield grass and started towards the pitcher�s mound. �I�m sorry. I didn�t mean anything by that. Just kind of surprising, that�s all.� He grinned. �You�re catching first.�
I took the mitt he offered me. �Sure.� Kyle didn�t really look like a pitcher. He was a good 3 inches shorter than me, and looked kind of scrawny, his blond hair falling into clear blue eyes. As soon as he stepped on the mound, though, I threw away that assessment. A change passed over him. His eyes hardened, and I could almost see the fire in them from here. He looked at home, comfortable, and completely in charge on the rubber. I crouched behind the plate.
�Fastball,� he called. I watched his windup carefully. His mechanics were excellent. He was quick, too, I noted that he was in good fielding position before the ball reached me. He was stronger than he looked, too, his fastball felt to me to be high eighties. And if he was a junkballer, which seemed likely, that wasn�t bad.
�What else you got? �Cause if that�s it...�
Next came a knuckler, darting left, then right, then over the plate. Pretty. �I don�t throw those much. Only once in a while, to keep them off guard. Don�t like it.�
A junkballer who didn�t like knuckleballs? Whatever. I threw back to him. About that time, I realized I was wearing a lefty�s catcher�s mitt, which was good since I was a southpaw. Kyle, however, was not, so why did he have this mitt? I asked him.
�Oh�I noticed you were left handed in calc, so I borrowed one from the gym.� He threw the knuckle curve this time, and it broke beautifully. �That�s my favorite,� he grinned.
�I can tell.�
�Got a slider, too. And a change.�
He threw me both of them. Five pitches. Five good pitches. Moving to Durham, North Carolina was shaping up to be a pretty good thing. Most high school pitchers, like me, rely on blowing the ball past people. Of course, in my case it works, because I�ve got a nasty 12-6 curveball to accompany my 99 mph fastball. Oh, and a changeup. I led the CHSBA in wins, strikeouts, ERA, and innings pitches last season. My high school won the 3A state championship. I have talked to scouts from 13 different major league teams. I realized Kyle had just said something to me. �What?�
�Do you want to switch?�
�Oh. Sure.�
I switched places and stared him down like there was a hitter. He just rolled his eyes and set a target. I threw a fastball. He stood up, sliding his hand out of his mitt and shaking it. �Jesus. How hard do you throw?�
�I reach triple digits every now and then.�
I could see his eyes light up. �Damien Radack, we are going to be the best 1-2 punch in North Carolina.� We played and messed around until it was too dark to see. �Want to get something to eat? I know this great place right down the street, called Cosmic Cantina.�
�Your parents won�t mind?�
He shrugged. �My parents don�t give a shit what I do.�
�Ok, then.� The question about his parents seemed to put him in a bit of a bad mood, so I got him talking about his favorite baseball players instead. Jesus, the guy could go on for hours about Mike Mussina. But he looked happier as we ate, and I was kind of sorry to have to go home. Ok, really sorry to have to go home.
�So, I�ll see you tomorrow?�
�Seeing as we sit next to each other in math, I�d say so,� I grinned. He smiled back, and his gaze settled on me for a minute before he turned away. I walked the opposite way, wondering why those blue eyes were staying in my head.
TBC?