Throwing Like A Girl

Shannon was really freaking hilarious.

Instead of sitting to one side of the room, like I normally did, I sat a little closer to the middle, in front of Shannon, at her insistence. All through class, she muttered little one-liners to me about what our clueless math teacher was saying, making me try not to burst out laughing. I was getting weird looks from Mark, but I couldn’t help myself. I’d never had this much fun in geometry.

“Because not drawing a straight line on my homework is gonna hinder my ability to grasp the concept of a triangle,” she scoffed quietly as Mr. Mochrie droned on about the importance of perfectly straight lines in our homework.

“We’re already scarred by non-straight lines, anyway,” I muttered, referring to our teacher’s inability to draw a straight line on the board.

“Miss Throckmorton!” Mr. Mochrie yelled. He was an insufferable little man, all pudge and beady eyes and moody when he didn’t seem to eat enough. “Do you have a question?”

I shook my head. “No, Mr. Mochrie.”

“Then why are you talking while I’m talking?” He glared at me through his thick glasses, a red pen poised over his ever-present clipboard.

“Sorry, Mr. Mochrie. It won’t happen again,” I told him. He always insisted on being addressed with either his name or “sir” out of the respect he believed we owed him, although he rarely gave his students any respect in return.

He seemed to accept this, even though I hadn’t answered his question, and went on about simple things we could use to create perfect circles.

When class ended about fifteen minutes later, Shannon and I giggled our way out of the classroom and headed down the hall.

“That was the best time I’ve had in geometry class, ever,” I told her as we came to the hall where we would part ways.

“That was fun,” she agreed. “See you at lunch?”

“Sure thing,” I told her, and waved as I started down the hall toward my English class.

Practice was great. The guys’ newfound respect for me seemed to be more than a one-time thing, and they were even joking around with me.

“Hey, Throckmorton, what’s with the letters on your butt?” Jesse yelled from behind me as we jogged for our warm-up.

My shorts for the day were red with “RPSP” in black across the butt, with my number and last name on the front of the right leg. “They stand for ‘Rockwell Prep Softball Player,’” I told him over my shoulder. “We got ‘em my freshman year. Why are you looking at my ass, anyway, Jesse?”

“Yeah, Jess, why’re you starin’ at Bree’s ass?” Mark asked with a smirk in his voice. I could hear Mark grunt and laugh, and looked back to see him stumbling while Jesse glared at him.

Jesse turned his eyes to me, smiling apologetically. “Sorry, it was kinda right in front of me.”

I shook my head as I looked ahead again. We came to our normal warm-up spot and started doing just that—me with Jordan, same as always. But instead of us quietly tossing our ball back and forth, we talked with the pair next to us, Jesse and Damien.

“So, how do you like Florin?” Jesse asked me, taking a knee as Damien tossed him their ball.

“It’s great,” I told him. “Of course, the baseball’s great, but the classes are good, too, and my roommate’s pretty cool.”

“Who’s your roommate?” Damien asked.

“Allie Konnerth,” I replied, fixing my hat as Jordan drew back his arm to throw.

The ball ended up sailing over my head. I shot him a dirty look and got up to go retrieve it.

“What the hell was that, Jordan?” I asked when I returned, motioning him to stand up from the kneeling position we’d all been in.

“Sorry,” he said distractedly. “Allie Konnerth is your roommate?”

“Yeah, what’s the big deal?” I asked, throwing the ball back to him.

Damien snorted. “The big deal is that Jordan’s been in love with Allie since his freshman year.”

“No way,” I laughed. Jordan blushed under his hat, dropping the baseball at his feet. I remembered breakfast, how Allie quickly defended his changed personality. Maybe there was something there on her side, too.

We finished warming up and went into the main part of practice, everyone fielding while one person hit. We got through our hitting quicker than usual, and Coach let us go early since it was Friday.

“Yo, Bree,” Jesse said, catching up with me as I headed off the field.

“What’s up?” I asked, slowing down a little.

“Wanna catch some dinner?” he asked as we neared the locker rooms.

Much as I enjoyed the guys’ new attitude toward me, I was a little tired of human contact for the day, especially after how little I’d enjoyed in the past few weeks. All I really wanted to do was grab a minimal dinner and spend the night watching chick flicks on my laptop.

“No offense, Jess, but I don’t really feel like hanging out with a bunch of guys tonight, you know?” I said, trying to give an apologetic smile.

“Well, it doesn’t have to be a bunch of guys,” he said, the side of his mouth curving into a half-smile.

I’d been asked out like this before; in fact, this was how Taylor and I got together. A dinner after practice here, eating together after a game there. That eventually turned into actual dates and our official relationship status. I could see where Jesse was going with this, and I knew I had to turn him down or risk screwing up the team. I didn’t want to be a bitch about it, though, since I would still have to play with him.

“I’m sorry, but I’m kinda wiped,” I told him. “I was just gonna grab something little from the caf and go watch some movies. Rain check?” We were at the locker rooms now.

“Okay,” he said reluctantly. “I’ll hold you to that, though.”

“Bye, Jesse,” I told him, escaping into the girls’ locker room. I didn’t bother changing, like usual; I just grabbed my stuff and hurried to the caf, where I quickly grabbed some sweet and sour pork and headed back to my and Allie’s room. I popped How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, my all-time favorite chick-flick, into my laptop and just relaxed, trying not to let myself think about Jesse or any of the other guys.

I failed epically.