[Tate takes direction well, his initial grip just being instinctive and clumsy. Derek corrects him and Tate holds the bat up, getting flashbacks toward little league - decades in the past. It's not enough to dissuade him from feeling shitty but it does make things feel weirdly distracting. Derek chucks a bottle and Tate almost hesitates too long, but he swings - clipping the bottle off center, with a distinct clunk against the glass. It flies off, but doesn't smash from impact - at least not until it lands.
He looks to Derek, clearly puzzled but - a keen eye sees that his plan is working. Tate's focusing on what Derek wants him to do, hands still tight on the bat and his shoulders squared but overly tense. As if to explain that lousy hit:]
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He looks to Derek, clearly puzzled but - a keen eye sees that his plan is working. Tate's focusing on what Derek wants him to do, hands still tight on the bat and his shoulders squared but overly tense. As if to explain that lousy hit:]
I wasn't prepared for that.