The Hitting Zone



We joined the line that seemed to be getting longer and longer. I glanced at Noah, starting to feel more awake and more unsure. 

Noah noticed and smiled encouragingly my way. "It might look like a lot now, but we'll be in smaller groups later. Don't stress."

Mom put her hand on my shoulder. "You can come find us at any time for any reason."

I nodded, happy that they weren't going to be too far. I don't know what we would do if this tryout conflicted with Zeke's game. Actually...I think I do know. Mom and Dad would choose to be there for me. And Zeke wouldn't mind one bit. 

The lines started to get divided as someone in charge yelled out instructions. "Last names starting with A all the way to H on the far left. I to R in the middle. And on the right we have S to Z." With the line divided into three smaller ones, things seemed to be going quicker. 

Even Mom commented. "Someone up there knows what he's doing."

"I would hope so." Noah joked. "Otherwise the Northwest will probably be a bunch of losers in a couple of months." Mom gave him a pointed look and he zipped it. 

The shorter lines moved much faster and it only took a couple of minutes before we reached the front. Behind a table, were a couple of men, each with stack of papers before them. 

"Name?" The guy in charge of our last names didn't even look up to make eye contact. 

"Noah Atkins." Noah went first. 

"Infield?" The guy found a line on a piece of paper and was highlighting it. 

"Shortstop." Noah corrected. 

"Can't be picky, kid." He went to a different stack of papers and pulled out one. The sheet had the same number written all over it: 333. "These are stickers." The man finally looked up at Noah. "Put them on everywhere you can. Front. Back. Sides. Helmet. Thighs. This is your identity for the day. Lose it and the coaches just might forget about you."

"Got it." Noah accepted the sheet and stepped to the side to let me go up next. "This is my brother Jake Atkins. Infield too."

The guy went back to work, highlighting my name right under Noah's. He found a sheet of stickers with the numbers 334 all over. "Same deal. Peel them and stick 'em." He looked to Mom next. "Are you their guardian?"

She nodded. 

He grabbed two pieces of paper and slid them her way and put a pen on top. "We'll need you to sign a release for the both of them. Basically you won't sue us if they get injured during the tryout."

That made Mom frown. 

"It's just like when we sign up for high school baseball, Mom." Noah spoke up. 

Mom nodded and bent down to sign. She filled out each and slid them back towards the guy. "Since the boys numbers are next to each other, will they be in the same group?"

"Probably. At the very least in the beginning." He filed the paperwork in a box next to his feet. "The first hour and a half to two hours, we'll be moving in stations like a basic tryout. In the second half of the morning, we'll do simulations and maybe even a scrimmage of an inning or two." He looked at the both of us. "There will be coaches in charge of the stations. Ask them if you have questions or if you need to run to your bag or the bathroom. Coaches with clipboards are graders. Do not ask them questions. Not about the stations and not about your scores."

I nodded immediately. 

"They're not really coaches then if they're not doing the actual coaching." Noah said casually. "More like scouts for the team."

The guy let out a short laugh. 

"Noah James." Mom glared at him. 

Noah shrugged. "I'm just kidding." He nodded at the guy. "He laughed."

The man smiled. "It's okay. Don't worry." He pointed to the closest field. "Infielders will start here. Make sure to warmup properly on your own because we're going to jump right into things at 8am sharp."

"Sounds good." Noah nodded. He gestured for me to follow. "Let's go, Jake. Mom, you can go back on your own, right?"

It was rhetorical because we were already leaving her behind. She waved and smiled as I looked back. She gave two thumbs up and wished us luck. 

Noah and I found a spot to put our bags and took a seat on the grass to get our cleats on. After that, we started putting our stickers all over our clothes. Noah was willing to put his on his helmet but I didn't want to. I figured it was enough to have the numbers showing on each sleeve, on my back and stomach. I put the extras in my bag in case any of the originals fell off as we moved around. 

"Let's get loose." Noah twisted back and forth. "Just follow my lead."

I nodded. 

We did a shortened version of our school's workout. At first, we were the only pair moving with purpose, but as soon as we started throwing the ball back and forth, quite a few others started to do the same. Either matching up with friends they came with or strangers they just met. 

Noah stepped further back with each throw, but since we knew one another well, he knew when to stop and bring it back to a comfortable distance for me. Unlike some of these other guys that were competing for the longest throw or something. Baseballs were flying everywhere and it was getting a little messy as more and more guys showed up. 

Noah read my discomfort and jogged it in. He slapped my shoulder and we headed back to our bags. "It's almost time. Let's take a water break."

Just as we picked up our bottles, a sharp whistle pierced through the air. "Bring it in and take a knee!" Someone shouted. We ditched the waters and jogged to the outskirts of the giant group of teenagers. Everyone took a knee, revealing an old man in the center. He was very old. Like Grampa's age. 

"Listen up." He said loudly once, waiting for everyone to quiet down before speaking again. "I'm Coach K, one of the assistants for the Northwest Regional Team. I will be in charge of this first station here. We'll be fielding grounders and pop ups for the infield. I don't care what position you played before. Everyone will do every position."

"Catching too?" Someone asked. 

"Pitchers and catchers have already been put in their own groupings." Coach K answered. He looked around. "Try not to interrupt and waste time with stupid questions. This is a tryout. Not a camp. If you don't know how to play by now, then I've got news for you, this isn't the level you can play at. Go back to your club teams and get more practice in for a chance next year."

I glanced at Noah, trying not to fidget too much. This guy sounded tough. Noah gripped my shoulder and held on as the coach finished talking about the infielders station.