Caught Running Read Free Page B

of the barrel.” He muttered that last.
    Jake blinked. And blinked again as his mouth fell open slightly. They were short a coach? Who? “Do you know anything about baseball?” he asked incredulously.
    "I do watch the game. I happen to be a Braves fan, thank you very much."
    "Good for you, Sport,” Jake responded in slight irritation. “Do you know enough to coach it, though?"
    "I would say no. Which is what I tried to tell Tom, only his cheeks and nose were already turning red, and you know what that means.” Brandon crossed his arms. “He said something about me being ‘male and big enough to keep the boys in check', so I guess that has to count for something,” he said, eyes downcast. The comment had stung, actually, intimating that he couldn't coach—never mind that he was an excellent teacher. “So. Since it's that bad an idea, you can tell Tom no way, and that'll be it,” he proposed shortly.
    Jake frowned at the man. “I didn't mean to insult you,” he said with a sigh. “It's just that we're looking at state this year, and I didn't even know I was a coach short. I'm sorry,” he offered, his tone slightly frustrated and huffy. “God, who did we lose?” he muttered almost to himself.
    Brandon looked up at him and saw the truth of his words, and he again shrugged. “Guess I'm the bearer of bad news. Don't kill the messenger?” he asked, a tinge of humor creeping into his voice. “Surely there's something I can do to help. I do happen to be an above average teacher. It can't be that far off to coach, at least small things,” he offered seriously. “A shot at State is nothing to sneeze at."
    "It's certainly not,” Jake responded in a hard voice. “This ain't just a sport here. We've got eight kids who should be scouted this year. We're talking their futures at stake."
    "Then don't throw away my offer,” Brandon said just as firmly, face set.
    Jake met the man's eyes and nodded finally with small sigh. “Just remember to at least act like you know what you're doing. Since you just got this dumped on you, you'll need clothes, won't you?” he asked with a wave of his hand at the man's attire. He was a step away from wearing tweed. Christ, he could almost see the lab safety goggles on the guy.
    Brandon blinked at the about face. “Clothes? I've got running shorts, T-shirt and shoes in the car."
    "Nah, not workout clothes,” Jake huffed. “The coaches dress out every day just like the players do. I'm talking cleats, baseball pants, Under Armour, jersey. You got a number you want?” he asked as an afterthought as he gestured for Brandon to start walking with him.
    Baseball pants? “No preference,” the science teacher answered. “You know, the whole ‘act like you know what you're doing’ thing probably isn't a great idea. The kids, especially yours, being so good, will see right through it. It might be better to say I'm observing or something."
    "Nope. Then you'll get plowed over,” Jake countered. “They have to respect you or else you're just wasting your time. We'll figure something out. Third base coach, maybe, all you'll need to learn are the signs and know the basics of base running,” he mused as they entered the gym to head for his office. A few kids were loitering amidst the bleachers, and Jake narrowed his eyes. His class should have cleared out by now. “Where are you supposed to be!?” he bellowed suddenly, his voice echoing around the gym and causing the kids to jump and scatter.
    Brandon pulled back a little at the resounding shout, but he had to smile as he followed Jake back to his office. He remembered that bellow from the football field—Jake had been the star quarterback, of course. “You don't sound much different, you know that?” he said before thinking about it.
    "Different?” Jake asked in confusion as he went to the free-standing aluminum locker in the corner of his tiny cinderblock office. “Different than what?"
    "You used to yell like that on the football