Don’t tell me what to do! That’s what she wanted to say, to scream, but she didn’t have the guts. His presence was unnerving. It made her chest feel tight and uncomfortable. With her vision blurring, she couldn’t focus on the ball even if she wanted to. Skye wound his arm and then the ball was hurtling her way. It seemed like a fist was coming to punch her in the face—Skye’s or Taured’s. She dropped the bat as she swung; it slipped out of her slimy fingers, landing with a plunk on the ground. The ball hit her on the shoulder, and she was too stunned to cry out. Her shoulder was hot, a dull sting that grew into fire. She stood there, cradling her hurt arm, tears stinging her eyes. A strange sound was coming from somewhere behind her and she swiveled, confused, the pain so intense a single line of tears was soaking into the neck of her T-shirt. Taured was laughing so hard he was bent over. It was a belly laugh, so filled with joy that anyone who heard it would suppose he’d heard the most fantastic joke. You’re the joke, Summertime, she thought.

“You dropped it!” he shouted like a madman, spittle flying from his lips. He walked away like he couldn’t stand to be near her, clapped three times, then suddenly turned around and came back faster than he’d left. He was angry now. She’d seen him like this before, with other people. Why hadn’t it bothered her then? She’d thought they’d deserved it, just like most people probably thought that now about her.

“You know what to do, Summer, pick up the bat. You can’t afford not to.” He swung around to everyone else, spread his arms wide as if he were an Old Testament prophet. Perfect for The Taured Show. “None of us can afford to drop the bat when God hands it to us. You cannot let fear dictate what you do.” He turned back to her, the smile still on his face, but something else in his eyes. When she just stood there, staring at him, he said it again: “Pick up the bat, Summer. Swing again.”

Her fingertips tingled as she bent to obey him. Her face felt funny, like it was frozen despite the heat. She tried to arrange her expression into something besides horror, but everyone was staring at her and it felt like too much. Taured’s eyes on her felt like too much. She covered her eyes with her palms, pressing. She didn’t want to pick up the bat, she didn’t want to do it again.

“Pick up the bat, Summer,” he said. “Or else...”