Do Not Fall For The Baseball Captains novel Chapter 52

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Captain of the Team

Captain of the Team

Elijah’s POV

Coach Miller stood by the whiteboard, marker in hand. The squeak of it echoed through the room as he circled home plate one last time.

The entire Crowswell varsity baseball roster sat packed into the tiered theater seats, the atmosphere tense and quiet.

We had a massive three–game series against Oakridge coming up this weekend, and the scouts were descending on the stadium in numbers we hadn’t seen all season.

The final showdown against State wasn’t until the end of the semester–still a long two and a half months away–but these mid–season games were exactly where we needed to build our momentum.

Coach Miller capped his marker with a loud snap, turning around to face us. He rested his hands on his hips, his sharp eyes scanning the rows of players until they landed squarely on me.

“As you all know, leadership on the field has been a bit divided over the last few weeks,” Miller began, his deep voice bouncing off the concrete walls.

“With the regional tournament right around the corner, we need a singular anchor on the diamond. Effective immediately, Carter is taking the captain’s patch.”

The room erupted. A wave of loud cheers, whistles, and supportive shouts broke out from the tiers as the guys pounded their sneakers against the floorboards.

Beside me, the row completely erupted. Nate reached over, aggressively shaking my shoulder like a lunatic, while Miles let out a loud whistle that echoed off the concrete

walls.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Nate cheered loudly, slamming his palm against the back of my seat. “Captain Carter! Let’s go!”

“About damn time, Coach,” Miles added with a broad, satisfied grin, leaning past Nate to give me a heavy fist bump.

Even Leo, who usually kept things a bit more reserved, was beaming. He leaned

forward from the row behind us, tapping the top of my head.

“The crown fits, sweet prince. Don’t let it go to your head.”

The only one who didn’t make a scene was Jace.

Sitting quietly at the very end of the row, he just caught my eye through the noise, offering a slow, respectful nod of successfullyafnlookedining back.

A massive surge of pure satisfaction hit my chest.

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autain of the Team

i’d sacrificed my entire social life, my sleep, and my body for this program, and seeing it finally pay off in front of the whole roster felt incredible.

Just last semester, I thought I was going to ruin everything. For the first time since the eleventh grade, when a severe case of the flu left me too sick to study and landed me a pathetic C, I had been staring down a failing grade in one of my toughest courses. I’d spent years beating myself up over that high school grade, and history had been a single step away from repeating itself.

But I hadn’t let it. I dug my heels in, pulled out a perfect result on the exam, and now the captain’s patch was mine. The victory tasted sweet, but the job wasn’t finished.

I still had to clear the remaining finals this semester, and more importantly, I had to ensure Crowswell took home the championship trophy.

My little celebration lasted all of five seconds before a loud, aggressive scoff cut right through the noise from the row beneath me.

Caleb pushed himself back in his seat, his jaw clenched so hard the muscles were leaping under his skin.

“Are you serious, Coach?” he asked, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his tone.

He stood up halfway, gesturing toward the board.

“I’ve been leading the batting average for the last three weeks. I haven’t missed a single voluntary practice, and I’ve put in the time with the freshmen. You’re just handing the patch to him?”

“I’m not handing anything to anyone, Ashfield,” Coach Miller snapped back, his voice rising as he took a step toward the seating tier.

“Carter earned it. He’s been driving the defensive plays from third base and

commanding the infield. Meanwhile, your head hasn’t been in the game for weeks. I can’t have a captain dropping easy fly balls and letting outside distractions compromise the lineup.”

Caleb’s face flushed a deep, angry red.

“That was one game, Coach! It only happened once, and it was completely beyond my control.”

“Well,” Miller countered, crossing his arms as he looked down at him coldly. “I guess that even makes my decision a fair one. I need consistency, not excuses. Sit down.”

Caleb stared at the coach, breathing hard as his chest heaved with pure frustration. He turned his head slightly, glaring a hole straight through me.

I didn’t flinch. I just leaned back in my seat, locking eyes with him as I shot him an incredibly smug smile.

utain of the Tearn

“Alright, that’s all for the general roster,” Miller called out, waving his hand toward the

exit.

“Hit the showers, keep your heads locked in, and get some rest. Carter, stay behind for a minute. We need to go over the scouting reports.”

The room quickly emptied, the players shuffling out with a chorus of sneakers squeaking against the tile.

Miles and Nate lingered by the door for a second, pointing at their watches to let me know they’d wait out in the main hallway, before slipping out.

I walked down to the front of the room, stopping by the coach’s desk. Miller handed me a manila folder thick with player profiles and pitching statistics from State’s roster.

“They’re going to throw their left–hander on Friday.” His tone turned serious and professional as we leaned over the desk.

“He’s got a mean slider that breaks late outside the zone. I need you to communicate with the batting lineup. Tell the guys to lay off the low stuff and force him deep into the count.”

“I’ve watched his film,” I said, nodding as I scanned the breakdown. “He struggles with command once he gets past sixty pitches. If we can wear him down in the first three innings, we can get into their bullpen by the fifth.”

“Exactly,” Miller agreed, clapping me on the shoulder. “That’s why you have the patch, Elijah. You see the macro game while the rest of these guys are just trying to hit home runs for the cameras. Keep your head clear this next few weeks. Don’t let any outside noise distract you.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Coach,” I muttered, closing the folder and tucking it securely under my arm.

“Good. Get out of here.”

I walked out of the office, the heavy door clicking shut behind me as I navigated the long, concrete corridor of the athletic wing.

My footsteps echoed down the corridor as I headed for the exit doors. Nate and Miles were already there, leaning by the glass with their bags over their shoulders.

“Look at him,” Nate teased as I approached, bowing dramatically. “Captain Casper. Do we need to call you ‘sir‘ now, or is ‘your highness‘ preferred?”

“Keep talking, Nate, and I’ll have Miller put you on conditioning drills for the next month,” I said, though a small smile touched my lips as we pushed through the heavy exterior glass doors.

The warm afternoon air hit us, the bright sunlight reflecting off the concrete steps leading down to the campus walkway.

214

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