Throwing Like A Girl

There was a week until the first game.

It wasn’t the game against Rockwell; the schedule said that the first time we played them would be our second away game.

But it was against another one of the best teams in the league, Drake Prep. We don’t play them in softball, since they’re an all-boys school, but we play their sister school, Bonnie Barker Academy. Those girls are super competitive and extra brutal when they get outs or slide into a base. I didn’t expect the boys to be any different.

By then, our starting positions had been set by Coach: Evan as pitcher, Jordan as catcher, Mark Christiansen at first base, Jesse Warren at second, Damien Solis at shortstop, me at third, and Carter Reilly, Emmett Nichols, and Shawn Mullen in outfield.

Many of the benched guys weren’t very happy with the fact that I was a starter when they weren’t. I got froze out even more, if that was even possible. But I kept at my practicing and tried to keep to myself. I wasn’t sure what would happen when the year was over—if I’d go back to Rockwell or stay at Florin—but I knew I wouldn’t get attached to anyone at Florin until I knew for sure if I was staying or not. Why make great friendships just to tear them apart in three months?

The schoolwork at Florin was no more difficult for me than it had been at Rockwell, which meant that I flew through my classes, oftentimes being able to space out completely and still get straight A’s. So I fell into a routine: get up and dressed, eat, go to classes and chill, eat a quick lunch and do homework from the first part of the day, go to afternoon classes, work my ass off at practice, finish homework, then go work on some aspect of playing baseball, take a shower, head to bed. Repeat.

Tonight, though, after finishing my homework, I dug out my softball instead of my baseball when I headed for the field for my personal practice. I got into the pitcher’s warm-up cage and did something I hadn’t done since mid-February: I pitched underhand.

I was rusty at first, of course. It took a while to get the right release point, but once I did, it was great. Each thwack against the pitch back released so much tension for me. It was like ecstasy.

“You do realize that you’re now a baseball player.”

Those words made me release the ball way too early, causing it to scuttle in the dirt pathetically. I whipped my head around to find Evan Collins leaning on the gate of the cage behind me, smirking a little.

“I was never first-string pitcher,” I told him, feeling some strong urge to explain myself. Why the hell are you talking to me now, when just a little while ago, you barely acknowledged my existence? I thought. Out loud, I said, “Not even second-string. I was the backup’s backup. It just feels really good to do it.”

“You guys must’ve had one hell of a team at Rockwell for that to be third-string.”

I nodded shortly. “Cora was amazing. And Cassie was great, too.” I took a few steps to retrieve my Sharpie-signature-covered ball. “What are you doing out here? I’ve never seen you out here before.”

“To use this thing,” he replied, tapping his glove on the chain-link. “Figured I could use the extra practice before the game.”

“Oh, sorry,” I said, starting for the gate, feeling my face heating up. “By all means, practice.”

“Are you insinuating that I desperately need practice?” he asked with the same little smirk.

“The way I see it, we all do, always,” I replied, lifting the catch on the gate. “Don't you think?”

“Sure,” he said in an easygoing sort of way. I squeezed past him, trying to ignore his piercing gray-eyed gaze.

I’d just closed the gate when he called, “Bridgette!”

“Yeah?” I asked, turning back a little toward him.

“You can stay if you want. You were here first, after all.” The baseball he held rolled between his fingers easily.

“No, it’s cool. You need the practice for the game,” I said, and turned to go.