No Turning Back (2)

Linus sat on his bed, scrolling through the search results, his eyebrows raised in mild surprise. He hadn't expected to find baseball teams in Sweden, much less one so close to where he lived. The Salem Witches, of all names. It felt like a small twist of fate—or maybe something more. Could the system have known? Was there a reason it showed up in the first place? It was hard not to wonder if it had been all just a coincidence.

Even though he still didn't fully believe in this "system" or its importance, there was no denying it anymore. Something was pushing him towards baseball. Whether it was this weird system or simply the curiosity that had been gnawing at him since that game in the States, he decided that ignoring it wasn't going to help. What did he have to lose by giving it a shot?

He typed out a quick email to the Salem Witches, explaining his situation: that he was 16, had never really played baseball beyond a casual game, and didn't even own any equipment. When he hit send, a small knot formed in his stomach. What if they laughed at him? But as soon as the thought surfaced, he shrugged it off. They wouldn't laugh. Worst case, they'd just tell him no.

With that task done, Linus went back to doing what he'd been doing all week—lazing around. Vacation was in full swing, and while he liked the time off, there wasn't much to fill his days. His sister, Klara, was out with friends, and his parents were busy with their own routines. So Linus lay on the couch, flipping channels aimlessly. Every now and then, he'd glance at the clock, feeling time crawl by, until eventually, it was dinner.

After eating, he pulled out his phone and checked his email again out of habit. He didn't really expect a response so quickly, but there it was: a reply from Coach Erik.

Linus opened it, scanning the message quickly.

Hi Linus,

Thanks for reaching out! We're always happy to have new players, especially someone who's eager to learn. Why don't you come by our practice tomorrow evening? It's at 6 PM at the field just outside of town. We can talk more then, and you can see if it's a good fit for you.

Best, Coach Erik

Linus smiled a little. They were welcoming, at least. No harsh rejection, no weird questions about why a Swedish teen would suddenly want to play baseball. Just an open door and a chance to try.

Now, there was no turning back. He was actually going to do this—really try out baseball for real. The nervous energy bubbling up in his chest made it hard to focus. His mind jumped between excitement and uncertainty. What if he was terrible? But then again, he had always been decent at sports, even if he'd never found one to truly stick with.

The next morning, Linus casually mentioned to his parents that he'd be out for the evening, hanging with friends. He didn't want to get into the whole baseball thing just yet. His parents, especially his mom, would get excited about it, asking a million questions and making a big deal out of it. And if he ended up not liking it, he'd never hear the end of it. Better to keep things low-key until he knew for sure.

The rest of the day passed slowly, the clock ticking toward 6 PM. Linus found himself pacing around the house, feeling the minutes stretch out. By 5 PM, he threw on a pair of athletic shorts, a t-shirt, and some old sneakers, then grabbed a water bottle. He didn't really know what people wore to baseball practice, but this seemed like it'd work.

***

As he arrived at the field, Linus stopped his bike near the chain-link fence and looked around. There were a handful of teens who looked to be around his age standing in small groups, chatting and tossing baseballs to each other. Linus felt a momentary pang of hesitation. These kids all looked like they knew what they were doing. He, on the other hand, had never even properly played baseball before.

Before he had a chance to dwell on it too much, a young man approached him. He was tall, maybe in his late twenties, with an easygoing expression and a casual walk. He greeted Linus with a smile.

"Hey, you must be Linus, right?" the man asked, his voice carrying a friendly tone. The accent wasn't quite Swedish. In fact, the man spoke in English, which caught Linus slightly off guard.

"Uh, yeah, I'm Linus," he responded, adjusting the strap of his backpack. "You're the coach?"

The man nodded. "I'm Chris, the youth coach. Coach Erik told me someone new was coming to try out today. Welcome! Glad you could make it."

"Thanks for letting me try out," Linus said, feeling a bit more relaxed. "I've, uh, never really played before, so I wasn't sure if this would be okay."

Chris waved it off. "No worries at all. We're always happy to have new players. Just jump in, see if you like it. There's no pressure."

Linus smiled, appreciating the welcoming atmosphere. Maybe this wasn't going to be as intimidating as he thought.

Chris turned and motioned toward the rest of the team, who were still milling around, some of them glancing in Linus's direction with curiosity. "Let me introduce you to everyone."

They walked over to the group of players, and Chris clapped his hands to get their attention. The chatting quieted down as all eyes turned toward the coach.

"Alright, guys," Chris began, still speaking in English, "before we get started, I want to introduce someone new. This is Linus, and he's here to try out with us today. He's never played baseball before, so let's make sure he feels welcome."

There was a momentary murmur as the kids exchanged glances. Linus could hear bits and pieces of their conversations—nothing too judgmental, just some comments about how it was rare for someone to start baseball at his age. The murmurs died down quickly, though, as Chris continued.

"We're going to start with a warm-up jog around the field," Chris announced. "Easy pace, just get the blood flowing."

The group lined up along the edge of the field, and Linus found himself somewhere in the middle. As they started jogging, Linus focused on keeping a steady pace, though his eyes kept darting around, trying to take in his surroundings. The field felt both familiar and strange—like every other sports field he'd ever been on, yet completely different because of the unfamiliarity of the game.

As he was settling into the rhythm of the jog, a boy came up beside him. He had sandy brown hair and a confident stride, clearly comfortable on the field.

"Hey, I'm Elias," the boy said, matching Linus's pace. "My dad's the coach. He told me someone new was coming to play today, so here you are."

Linus glanced over at him, recognizing a friendly tone. "Oh, cool. Nice to meet you. Yeah, I'm Linus."

"My dad told me to help make you feel comfortable," Elias said, a small grin forming on his face. "So if he asks, just tell him I helped, alright?"

Linus chuckled, appreciating the humor. "Yeah, sure, I can do that."