"The Lean-in Outing"
At about 5:30pm, Brooklyn set out from her dorm towards Skyhawks Gridiron Park. The football stadium was on the other end of campus, but Brooklyn decided to do an intermittent jog to get there. Enough to get blood flowing, muscles moving, but not enough to tire her out. Endurance was one of her strengths, and though she wasn’t normally a distance runner, she would go on longer runs from time to time for cardiovascular fitness purposes.
With it still being a couple weeks before the fall semester started, Sadeg State University’s main campus was mostly deserted, making it an easy run for Brooklyn. She reached the football stadium at five to 6:00, which is right when she wanted to get there. She still wasn’t sure what she was waiting for, as Jack Hoy had been cryptic in his text messages and hadn’t responded since the morning. Brooklyn decided to take a lap around the stadium, enjoying the architecture of what was now her home field.
A couple minutes after six, Brooklyn saw Jack pull up. Well, she didn’t see Jack, but it was unmistakable. The traffic by the stadium had been sparse, so when a black stretch limo pulled into the pick-up/drop-off lane in front of the stadium, she knew it had to be whatever combination of Grid Corps guys she was waiting on.
Brooklyn took a deep breath, and trotted up to the curb. The limo slowed to a stop where she approached, and one of the windows in the back rolled down. Jack Hoy, bright red shades sitting loosely on the bridge of his nose, poked his head out.
“Of course! Our guest of honor!” Jack exclaimed. “Come in, please!” The door swept open, revealing the back of the limo.
Five individuals were seated, facing each other in opposing bench seats. On the opposite side from the door was a minibar with some drinks already open. All five of the guys were Grid Corps players. Running back Jack Hoy and Leo Cross sat on one side with an open spot next to Leo. On the other side sat Sadeg State graduate Paul Gore, next to Cavsar alumni Mike Banks and none other than Lane Proudfoot.
“What a crew you’ve got in here!” Brooklyn laughed, a little faintly. What have I gotten myself into? She thought to herself as she slid past to sit next to Leo. The huge defensive end had an imposing figure and visage, but Brooklyn knew him well enough to know he was harmless to anybody not trying to move the ball upfield. She felt comfortable, almost safer squeezing into the space between him and the side of the limo.
“We good to go, Chuck!” Jack shouted forward, evidently speaking to the driver. With nothing but a thumbs up in response, Chuck took the limo out of park and the car began to glide forward on its way out of Sadeg State’s campus.
“Ain’t she a beauty?” Paul leaned forward to continue looking at the exterior of Skyhawks Gridiron Park as the limo pulled away.
“Disgusting venue, honestly,” Lane Proudfoot huffed. The Grid Corps quarterback did not look very happy to be there. “Don’t know how you played in such a dump for five years.”
“You all have forgotten your manners!” Jack exclaimed loudly. “You didn’t even introduce yourself to our guest.”
“Oh please, Jack, we don’t have to do all that,” Brooklyn said quickly. “I know who everyone is.”
“No excuse for being so improper.” Jack sniffed, putting on a posh accent. “But I acquiesce.”
“There’s no way you know what that word means,” Leo muttered.
“Always good to meet a fellow Skyhawk, though,” Paul leaned forward, extending his hand to Brooklyn. Brooklyn leaned forward to accept the shake with a slight smile. “How’s camp been? Manlio run you dry yet?”
“You don’t even know,” Brooklyn replied immediately, but she corrected herself. “Well, I guess you do know. But man, camp is kicking my ass. This weekend could not have come sooner.”
“I remember the novatim days,” Paul leaned back with his arms behind his head, reminiscing. “Don’t miss ‘em though!”
As Brooklyn and Paul continued to jaw a bit about Sadeg State’s traditions and facilities, Leo was carefully analyzing Lane Proudfoot’s every move. At the moment Proudfoot seemed to be disinterested, but Leo was still looking for a single gaze or movement out of line. Brooklyn was right to feel protected being at Leo’s side. He would ensure no harm would come to her.
“Why did you invite her? Are you insane?” Leo leaned over and hissed in Jack’s ear.
“What?” Jack replied, seeming to be legitimately confused, but he still kept his voice low. “We were in town, and I know she needs some good relaxation after her first week of college camp.”
“You said we couldn’t invite Dustin to this, but his daughter is fair game?” Leo furrowed his thick brows at Jack.
“Okay, technically that was a stipulation that Lane made,” Jack explained. “He was already pissed about losing the bet and having to come here, so he made me promise I wouldn’t invite Dustin. He singled him out by name! And you know I couldn’t tell Dusty because you know he’d ‘accidentally’ run into us.”
“Fine,” Leo co*cked a brow. “Now how about you tell Dustin you’re making his daughter hang out within ten feet of Lane Proudfoot for six hours.”
“Uh …” Jack went pale for a moment when he realized the implication. He clearly had not considered that part. “Well, you got that covered, right?”
“I wanted to relax today,” Leo huffed, but he relented and leaned back into his seat. Brooklyn and Paul were still talking, and Leo took another covert glance across at Proudfoot. Leo saw Proudfoot’s eyes wander and briefly lock onto Brooklyn, but not briefly enough. Leo’s lip curled in disgust. Proudfoot’s gaze lazily made its way to Leo, and when he saw the expression on the immortal lineman’s face, he immediately shifted into a more upright position in his seat. Point taken, perhaps.
It took a little while for the limo of footballers to make it to the side of town where Lean-in was located. The talk in the car was pleasant, and mostly football related. It was mostly talk about how the upcoming domestic season was going to go, as there wasn’t a World Bowl earlier that summer to discuss. Brooklyn enjoyed a bottle of water from the minibar, while a couple of the guys were drinking beer.
Eventually the limo pulled into the parking lot of Lean-in and stopped at the front curb. Jack opened the door and everybody inside filed out one-by-one. Lane Proudfoot was the last one, but Jack stopped him before he could step out.
“You forgot to tip the driver, o generous benefactor!” Jack grinned widely.
Lane Proudfoot muttered a couple choice words, but he turned back towards the front seat of the car and handed a wad of cash to the driver.
“So what’s the story behind this get-together?” Brooklyn asked nobody in particular. “Why does Jack keep calling him the ‘benefactor?’”
“It stemmed from a bet earlier this year,” Paul answered, cracking a smile. “There was that huge basketball game between Cavsar and Sadeg State earlier this year, I’m sure you remember. The five of us were going to have a watch party, since Mike and Lane are disgusting Cavsar grads-”
“Watch it, bub,” Mike muttered.
“-and I, a glorious Skyhawk alumnus. Jack and Lane are pals now since he joined the Redwolves, and Leo often accompanies Jack whenever he goes out. Not sure if he does it for social reasons or to prevent Jack from doing something stupid.”
“It’s both.” Leo grunted for clarification.
“Anyway, me and Lane ended up making things more interesting by betting on the game. We were both just gonna go with an obscene amount of cash, but Jack kept bugging us to do something more creative.”
“Damn right!” Jack joined into the conversation with Lane trailing behind him. “Money is so boring. Had to make these guys spice it up.”
“Easy to say from a guy who wasn’t putting anything down,” Proudfoot sniffed.
“Yeah, so Jack eventually convinced us to make it like a punishment thing. Whoever lost would have to take everyone else out in the town they hate most, doing things they also dislike. Funded entirely from their own pockets, of course.” Paul motioned behind him at the facade of the Lean-in building, surrounded by a huge net enclosure on one side. “So that’s why we’re about to do something baseball-related in Sadeg.”
“You don’t like baseball?” Brooklyn turned to give Lane Proudfoot an offended glance, putting one hand on her hips. “As if I needed any more reason to dislike you!”
“Don’t get me started,” Proudfoot growled, but he co*cked an intrigued eyebrow at Brooklyn’s defiance. “It’s just so uninteresting. A bunch of standing around, all it is.”
“That’s a little ironic, coming from you,” Brooklyn smirked. “You’re like the king of standing around and doing nothing. That’s your entire brand.”
“In one respect, maybe.” Proudfoot scowled. “At least on the gridiron I have control over the action. I get to choose when I get the action.”
“You could’ve been a pitcher, then,” Brooklyn shrugged, then broke into a savage grin when she added, “You almost have the arm for it!”
“And that’s the opposite problem. Too much action.” Proudfoot added under his breath, “The wrong kind, that is.”
“Hey, we’ve got a reservation time,” Leo Cross butted in, hoping to put a stop to … whatever this was. “Let’s get in and get going. Don’t want to miss out on any time Lane has spent his precious money on.”
“Missing baseball, what a nightmare that would be,” Proudfoot rolled his eyes.
Lean-in featured a sort of driving range stemming from the main building, surrounded by a tall net. Rather than a golfing range, it was one for baseball. The building had dozens of little alcoves for groups to rent time, where people could take turns swinging at balls tossed from a small pitching machine in the ground in front of them. The experience was enhanced by various different modes and minigames to play between each player, as well as holographic targets floating over the range.
As they walked into the lobby, Leo lagged behind to come even with Proudfoot.
“I don’t know what your goal is, but you better shut it down immediately.” Leo grumbled into Proudfoot’s ear.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Proudfoot replied coolly.
“You keep your hands and eyes off Brooklyn. Consider this a warning.”
“As if I’d want anything to do with that little twerp anyway,” Proudfoot scoffed. “Don’t make me laugh.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday, Lane. I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you.”
“I’m a grown man. Don’t treat me like a child.”
“Just keep your vile hands to yourself.”
The group got to their reserved spot right on time, and settled in with some drinks similar to what they’d been enjoying in the limo. Brooklyn explained the basics to the couple in the group (including Proudfoot).
“I think to start we should just do the Derby mode,” Brooklyn suggested. “Should be simple enough to understand, just hit ball far.”
“I can handle that much!” Jack grinned.
Brooklyn set up the player profiles and game mode, since she already had experience. She didn’t necessarily expect to outhit the guys in the group, but she knew most of them had little to no baseball experience past grade school. She set herself last in the batting order, betting on herself to put on a good show compared to the rest.
First up was Mike Banks. He clearly had a little bit of baseball talent hidden deep down. He popped a couple over the holographic wall on the range.
“I played in high school,” Banks said sheepishly. “Obviously had more of a football frame, though.”
“You’ve got a pretty good swing,” Brooklyn nodded. “You’re barreling it up almost every time.”
Next up was Paul Gore, who was the only lefty among the group. His mechanics were awkward and stilted. He made a little contact, but was getting a lot of grounders. He only hit one over the wall.
“Yeah, I never played besides kiddy league,” Paul shrugged, but he wasn’t too bothered.
“You just need to smooth it out. Keep your hips in sync with your shoulders,” Brooklyn recommended.
Lane Proudfoot was next up to bat. He did terribly. Even with the pitching machine tossing the ball in nearly the same spot every time, Proudfoot was tipping and fouling the ball constantly.
“You could at least try, dude,” Brooklyn groaned. “Your wrists are so loose it’s hurting my eyes. Keep a solid hold on the bat!”
“Why am I getting lectured on mechanics by a college novatim?” Proudfoot spat to nobody in particular.
“A college novatim who got recruited by a top five DOCA baseball school,” Brooklyn clarified. “I might know what I’m talking about.”
Proudfoot didn’t have a rebuttal, and he avoided eye contact. After keeping a firmer grip on the bat, Proudfoot did hit a few solid balls, though none of them counted as a ‘homer.’
Leo Cross went next, and he had the easiest time of them all. He also wasn’t much of a ballplayer in his youth, but he’d received some cross-sport training while hanging out with the Elite Eleven. He also had a body that resembled a minotaur, so he was crushing balls, even if most of them didn’t have the launch angle to go over the wall.
“There’s that Elite training!” Jack whooped when Leo hit his first bomb, a towering blast that probably went further up in the air than out from the plate.
“Still got some work to do,” Leo replied quietly.
Jack Hoy had gotten some practice in the last couple years like Leo, but he obviously didn’t have the muscle mass to compete directly.
“You’re getting the bat right to the ball though!” Brooklyn said, trying to cheer Jack up after he squared up another line drive that fell short. “Good mechanics are a great place to start from. After that you just need some minor adjustments.”
Finally, it was time for Brooklyn’s turn. In a home run derby type situation, Brooklyn was obviously going to be out of her league going against bigger and stronger pro athletes, even if they didn’t have the baseball mechanics locked down. Female players weren’t uncommon in Drawkland’s baseball scene, but they were rarely power hitters. Most plied their trade as defensive specialists, or versatile utility pieces. Those that were known for their offensive prowess were best at ball placement, squaring up as necessary or poking the ball wherever was most inconvenient for the defense, or easiest to hit off the pitcher.
Brooklyn herself was very good at barreling the ball, driving it into the gaps and nabbing extra bases with her speed. She had been known to pop some over the fence, but hitting for power often meant giving up on pitches that could’ve been base hit line drives. In a situation where the fences were the goal, and the ball was served up belt-high, Brooklyn could easily get the job done.
The difference between Brooklyn’s swing and those of the Grid Corps guys was definitely noticeable. The other guys had strength, but not necessarily the precision. Brooklyn was still young, of course, having yet to take a swing at the college level, but it was clear that she had the talent.
Though most of Brooklyn’s swings didn’t get over the holographic fence, she was making loud contact every time. Her swing was smooth like butter, her follow-though was natural, and the ball jumped out in whichever direction she was sending it.
Unfortunately, she just didn’t have the power to compete with Leo Cross. She was pounding the ball, but she just wasn’t getting the lift for the pro-level walls that were the goal. She did lose plenty over the fence, enough for second, but not enough to pass Leo.
Still, the smooth swing and poise at the plate were enough to catch the attention of the guys. She may be young, but she had a certain aura.
“Not bad, Beebs!” Jack clapped hands with Brooklyn once her time was up. “Kicked everyone else’s ass, that’s for sure.”
“Well, if I gained a hundred pounds of pure muscle to level the playing field, Leo would be toast!” Brooklyn chuckled. She paused for a moment, and couldn’t help but add, “It would get the boys off my ass at camp, too.”
“Getting hazed, huh?” Paul asked earnestly. “Been there. I was pretty undersized when I came in as a novatim too.”
“Got any advice?” Brooklyn asked, half-joking, as she plopped back into her seat. “It’s driving me nuts. I get that I’m in a unique situation, but being behind the curve is brutal.”
“Get good, honey.” Paul grimaced, but he was being honest. “Maybe have a couple solid conversations with the S&C coach about bulking up while keeping your athleticism. It’s a long process.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Brooklyn sighed.
The group had time for another round, and Brooklyn went back to the console to set up. Instead of a raw derby, she put on the bat control mode. The holographic view of the field on the range would be split into thirds, with markers for distance. Every few seconds, a different section would be worth bonus points, before switching somewhere else. Not only would this be a little easier than trying to knock one over the fence every time, but it also required a little more finesse.
One by one, the guys went in their order. Once again, Lane Proudfoot was easily the worst among them, though he did manage to knock a couple grounders into a bonus zone. Leo Cross kept his power, but he wasn’t able to do much other than pull the ball to left. Jack Hoy did the best among them, prior to Brooklyn stepping to the plate.
“Check that out. 42,350 points on the board!” Jack pointed at the monitor, while looking Brooklyn down in challenge. “Beat that, Beebs.”
“With pleasure,” Brooklyn twisted her lip in mock disdain, grabbing a bat off the rack and taking her position in the right-handed batter’s box.
Within seconds, Jack regretted the smack talk. Brooklyn located the first bonus zone, shallow left field. She put all three of the first three balls right in the zone. It shifted to the infield straight ahead, and Brooklyn spanked the next three balls directly through where the pitcher would be standing. The next zone was deep in front of the right field wall, and though it took a couple swings to calibrate, Brooklyn knocked a couple into that zone.
“She’s cooking!”
Brooklyn continued her tirade, slightly adjusting her stance and swing to put the ball right around where she wanted it. All her swings put the ball in fair territory, causing her score to continue ticking up so quickly that the numbers didn’t stop rolling. Jack’s score was beaten when Brooklyn still had over twenty seconds to go.
With just a couple seconds on the clock, Brooklyn knew she only had one pitch left, so she knew she had to make it count. The pitch popped out of the ground machine, floated towards Brooklyn at the plate, and she didn’t miss it.
THWACK!
The ball shot off the bat in a hurry, carrying well past the imaginary left field wall. Brooklyn’s swing was perfect, and she couldn’t help but add a little flair in the follow-through. That last swing brought the rest of the group to their feet (besides Proudfoot), and Brooklyn took a little bow before replacing the bat on the rack.
“Figures you’d make us play the mode you’re actually good at,” Jack huffed with folded arms, though it was obvious he was kidding.
“What can I say?” Brooklyn shrugged, sh*t-eating grin plastered all over her face.
“Maybe that’s what you’ve got to do,” Leo mused.
“Huh?”
“Play to your strengths, Brooklyn.” Leo looked at her with a piercing gaze. “You’re not going to beat your teammates in everything, but you should take advantage of the things you do best.”
“I don’t have a whole lot at this point,” Brooklyn replied. “Not on the gridiron, at least.”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something!” Jack gave her an encouraging slug on the arm. “The Beebs I know would find some way out. Now, are you sure you don’t want to come out on the town with us?”
“Uhh, I don’t think so,” Brooklyn said, giving a quick glance at the rest of the guys in the group. “No offense, of course. Just don’t think it’d be smart from a fitness perspective.”
“Absolutely,” Leo affirmed immediately. “We’ll get you back to campus.” He made sure to shoot a glance at Proudfoot, who was conveniently looking aimlessly away at the swinging range.
“Sounds good. Thanks for everything,” Brooklyn said to Jack and Leo. She then turned back over to Proudfoot and added, “Thanks for treating me, Mr. Sponsor!”
“Yeah, whatever,” Proudfoot muttered.
