The truck's tires hummed steadily on the asphalt as James navigated through the growing town. The streets were a sharp contrast to the winding mountain paths that Daniel had spent his whole life on. The smell of engine exhaust mixed with the faint scent of fast food from nearby restaurants, and the rhythm of the city seemed to pulse in the air. Everything felt different. More hectic.
As they approached the high school, Daniel's stomach clenched tighter. The stadium lights were visible now, towering over the small corner of the field as they turned into the parking lot. The baseball diamond was sprawling and immaculate, completely different from the rustic and worn fields back home. The bleachers loomed in the distance, empty for now, but they felt huge, as though they could swallow him whole.
James parked the truck and turned off the engine, but neither of them moved for a long moment. The air was thick with the weight of anticipation.
"You'll get used to it," James said, breaking the silence as he took off his seatbelt. "It's a lot to take in at first, but you're here now. You belong here as much as anyone."
Daniel nodded, though he wasn't sure he believed it. How could he belong here, on this diamond with players who had been doing this for years, when he could barely tell the difference between a fastball and a slider?
The two stepped out of the truck and made their way toward the gate. James unlocked it, and they walked into the stadium, the scent of fresh-cut grass mixing with the unmistakable tang of chalked lines on the dirt.
Daniel took a moment to just absorb everything—the vastness of it, the distant sound of a bat cracking, the low hum of coaches and players moving in the dugouts and along the field. The noise was quieter than it had been at the practice field, but still, Daniel felt it in his chest. His heart raced as his feet carried him toward the mound.
James watched him carefully, his hands tucked into his pockets. "You're not in the mountains anymore, kid," he said, his tone softer now. "This is where the real work begins. You've got your raw talent, but it's about more than just throwing a ball. It's about consistency, control, focus."
Daniel's gaze drifted to the mound. It looked different from the one back home. This one was smoother, its clay darker, more polished. It felt… official. "I'm not sure if I can do it," Daniel admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
"You'll get there," James replied confidently, slapping Daniel on the back. "First things first—let's see what you've got."
With that, James motioned for Daniel to step onto the mound. It felt surreal as Daniel climbed the three steps that led to the top, his heart hammering in his chest. The crowd of players in the distance seemed to blur as he focused entirely on the task at hand. His breath came in slow, deep pulls, trying to calm himself as he positioned his feet. The ball felt like a foreign object in his hand, not like the smooth stones he had thrown for years. The grip was different, the seams unfamiliar.
"You remember what we practiced?" James called from behind the fence, watching intently. "Keep your eyes on the target, not the ball. Use your arm like you would with a rock. You've already got the motion down. Now, just trust it."
Daniel nodded, though doubt still lingered in his chest. He glanced toward the catcher, a kid he hadn't met yet, crouched behind the plate. The glove seemed to grow bigger the longer Daniel stared at it. He wiped his palms on his pants and took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. This was it. The moment he had feared for so long.
He went through the wind-up, the motion feeling awkward but still familiar in a strange way. His body remembered how to move—just like when he threw rocks with Ruse and Clyde. The ball left his hand with a quick snap, but instead of the sharp curve he was used to, it sailed wild, far to the right, missing the target completely.
Daniel froze, embarrassment flushing through him. He looked over at James, who wasn't fazed at all.
"That's all right," James called. "Take a breath. Focus on your grip, your release. It's going to take time to adjust. Now do it again, but this time, think about that curve you used to throw in Stone Ridge. You can do this."
The second throw wasn't perfect either, but it was better. The ball arced toward the catcher, though it still lacked the sharpness of the curve Daniel had once been able to execute with rocks.
James nodded approvingly. "Good. That's better. You're not throwing rocks, but you're getting there. We'll build on it."
Daniel exhaled slowly, wiping the sweat from his brow. It was hard to admit, but James was right. This felt different from anything he had ever tried before. The mound, the baseball, the pressure—it was all new. But there was a small part of him that felt something else too. A flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he could make this work.
_______
As the days passed, Daniel's routine started to take shape. Every morning, he would meet James at the field for practice. It wasn't glamorous. It wasn't easy. The other players were already leagues ahead of him in terms of skill. Some of them threw fastballs with a speed that Daniel could only dream of, while others had perfect control over their pitches. But Daniel never stopped practicing, never let the differences discourage him.
Every day was about one thing—improvement. He practiced his wind-up. He worked on his control. He ran through drills until his legs felt like they would give out. But what mattered most was his persistence. James could see it, and so could the players who watched from the sidelines.
One day, after Daniel had finished his throws and James was showing him how to hold his curveball again, one of the players, a pitcher named Sam, came over with a grin on his face.
"Not bad, Cooper," Sam said, tossing a baseball in the air. "You've got some pretty good stuff. You ever thought about trying a fastball? You might want to work on that next."
Daniel grinned, feeling a surge of pride. For the first time, it felt like he wasn't just an outsider trying to fit in. For the first time, he felt like maybe he could make it. Maybe he could be good enough.
He looked at James, who nodded in approval. "It's all part of the process. Just take it one step at a time."
And as the sun began to set over the field, casting a warm glow across the diamond, Daniel took another deep breath, ready to face whatever came next. He wasn't just Daniel from Stone Ridge anymore. He was Daniel Cooper, pitcher in the making. And no matter how hard the road ahead seemed, he was ready to follow it, one throw at a time.