Life in Color ✔️

43~Jealous

It's perfect baseball weather.

The sun's setting and there's a light breeze out. Sage is in the bullpen warming up to pitch, of course they'll throw him first. He's the best they have.

I notice, back by the tree line, a group of about ten men varying from around 25 to 50. All wearing hats of various colleges: Alabama, Tennessee, LSU, Vanderbilt, and so many more. They all holding clip boards and radar guns.

Holy shit.

I slap Ella's arm repeatedly, "What?" She asks looking, up from her phone. I just point at the group and her eyes go wide. "All of them are here for him?"

"I have no idea." I admit, shaking my head, there's no way that many people would be focused on Sage, he's just a sophomore.

I buy a Gatorade as an excuse to see how he's doing.

"Here." I toss the drink to him, he's already starting to sweat. He peaks his head around the dougout, counting the scouts. "Don't pay attention to them, Bud." I order, pushing him back into the dugout.

"Scar, I'm not worried. I'm just here to throw a ball whatever else happens, happens." He shrugs nonchalantly.

I chuckle at our father's mantra being repeated. I'm envious that Sage never gets nervous about this sort of stuff but that's just who he is. Laid back about everything.

"Love you." I hug him tightly, he's not worked up but it's still a nice thing for him to hear.

"I love you too, Scar."

Of course, just as I turn to go Ashton comes over, half dressed in his catching gear.

"Any advice?" He prompts, setting down his jug of water to hug me. The game hasn't even started and he's already dirty, somehow that doesn't surprise me.

"Don't get hurt." I pop his cheek before turning to leave, slightly worried for his well being.

Since middle school, Sage hurt RJ every season. The first year he broke his thumb, the second he gave him a welt on his ankle so huge he couldn't walk for a week. Hopefully Ashton holds up better.

Sure enough as soon as Sage steps on the mound all of the scouts move behind home plate and lift their radar guns up. The ball is thrown and a collective gasp is let out.

"Holy shit." The LSU coach mutters.

The guy from Clemson compares his with Tennessee just to make sure his own isn't broken. He throws the next pitch and the Alabama coach lets out a low whistle.

Trying to be stealthy as I can I walk over and peer over the Vanderbilt's coaches shoulder. Then I check the Mississippi coach just to be sure.

92 miles per hour.

"Well boys, let the games begin." The Tennessee coach says before going to make a phone call.

Like that, all the others disperse, some stay and continue to radar, others make calls or write notes down intensely. Is this really happening?

"Well I'll be damned." A voice mutters in disbelief, draping an arm over my shoulder.

I jab my elbow into their side, turning to see who it is. "Oh my God! RJ, I'm so sorry." I panic, looking at my friend who is doubled over in pain.

He slowly pulls himself back up, wincing in the process. "It's fine, Letty, I forgot you were so strong."

He collects his breath for another moment, I didn't mean to hit him that hard.