Chapter 4

Something their high school didn’t have was a Special Ed PE class. Today, they were playing softball, and, of course, Doyle had been picked last. Only sixteen people were in his class, so everyone had to play. Doyle was always placed in right field, way off to the side, and told not to move.

He hated having to come up to bat because he always struck out. His exile to the side of right field and his lack of batting skill caused him to hate playing the game. He liked the one where he could kick the ball.

The other reason he hated softball was Gabe was always a team captain, and today, he had to pick last, so Doyle was stuck on his team.

The other team came up to bat first. On the first pitch, their leadoff hitter drove a ball into right field. Doyle started to run after it but remembered what he’d always been told, so he stopped.

The ball slowly rolled to the fence.

“Get it!” screamed Gabe.

Doyle gave him the ‘who me’ look. Gabe pointed at him and screamed again.

Excited, Doyle ran to get the ball. By now, the runner had rounded second and was racing to third. Doyle knew he would try for home because no one believed Doyle could throw the ball to the infield.

Without a thought, he scooped the ball up, pivoted, and fired the ball toward home. Doyle had thrown it on a rope to the catcher. The runner rounded third and was three-quarters of the way home when his smile turned upside down. Blocking his path to the plate was the catcher, smiling and holding the ball. The poor kid was so stunned that he stopped and let the catcher tag him out.

“What the heck was that?” Coach Rehg, the school’s baseball coach, asked the universe.

“No idea, but he has a heck of an arm,” the catcher said.

“Who knew?” Coach Rehg asked the cosmos. “Doyle! Play right field normally. Let’s see what you can do.”

Doyle wasn’t sure if he meant it, but when the coach showed him where to stand, he did as he was told.

On the very next pitch, a line drive was hit deep. Doyle turned, ran to the fence, and robbed the hitter of a home run. The whole class simply stood in silence, not believing their eyes.

Being the worst player, Doyle always batted last. They usually didn’t have time in class for him to get his turn. Today was different. The score was 3–2, with one out and two on in what looked to be the bottom half of the final inning. Doyle’s team was down.

When the kid in front of him hit a long fly ball to make the second out, their opponents started talking trash. Gabe’s teams always seemed to find a way to win, so they were chirping that the tables had finally turned because Doyle would strike out.

Coach Rehg took a moment to coach Doyle up.

“Take your time and relax. Just put the head of the bat onto the ball.”

Doyle listened intently because his usual approach was to just hack away so he could go back to the bench.

With Coach Rehg’s instructions, Doyle stepped into the batter’s box.

The first pitch was in the dirt, so Doyle held up, something he normally wouldn’t do. Their pitcher looked shocked, but the next pitch was way outside. Doyle left the bat on his shoulder.

Suddenly, Gabe was up yelling, “Good eye! Let them walk you!”

Their catcher walked out to the mound to talk to the pitcher.

“What’s going on?” the pitcher asked.

“I don’t know, but throw it right down the middle on the next one and get a strike.”

“What if he hits it?”

“Has he ever hit one?” the catcher asked.