Throwing Like a Girl (16 page)

“Ella, you’re goin’ in at first. LeaAnne, you’re gonna catch.” Coach grabs Kat before she puts on her catching gear again. “I want you on the mound.” Kat immediately hands over the equipment for LeaAnne to strap on.

I go get my glove, wishing I hadn’t opened the Junior Mints last inning. I glance at Frannie, who made me do it, and whisper, “I shouldn’t have eaten the whole box.”

She laughs. “They’ll bring you luck.”

I make a gagging noise, and she and Mo snicker and give me the thumbs-up as I trot out onto the field.

My legs are noodles. My fingers are suddenly brittle and cold despite the heat of the day. Virginia Dalmeyer has taken out a practice ball, and as she goes by me, she says, “Kat gets a few warm-up pitches, so we’ll toss the ball to you and get you warmed up, too, okay?”

“Right,” I say casually, but I want to kiss her for explaining this instead of just hurling the ball my way and expecting me to know what to do with it.

One of the things you don’t take into account at first base is your proximity to the rest of the team sitting on the bench. If I look over my shoulder, Frannie and Mo will be right there. And Sally Fontineau. But I don’t look over my shoulder. Virginia calls my name, and I stand in the ready position as she tosses a grounder to my left. I try to backhand it and miss. It rolls beyond
the bench, and Mo jumps up to recover it.

I take a deep breath. What would Rocky tell me to do?
Don’t think
, she’d say,
just throw it. Do what comes naturally
. I throw it to Jenny Yin, at third, who throws a nice easy ball right back to me. Then I throw to Joy at second. She throws me a grounder, which I easily scoop up while feeling for the bag with my foot.

I can do this. I know I can.

Kat’s pitching is solid and steady. With her shoulders up and her back straight, she simply reeks of confidence. I try to act the same. And I notice the St. John’s batter does, too.

Sue Bee walks the sideline with the score book. She calls out, “Number six batter, walked last time.” She glances at me, nods. Treats me like everyone else, giving me the information I need. I could get used to this.
SMACK
. A hit, scattering my thoughts. It’s headed for Jenny Yin as the batter barrels down the first base line—right for me. Jenny lowers herself to one knee, snaps up the ball, and in one fluid motion, flings it across the infield toward me.

I remember that I need to get my foot on the bag, put my glove out in front of me—open—and get out of the way of the runner.

But Rocky’s right: It’s better if I stop thinking and
do
something.

Before I know it, the ball’s in my glove, the ump’s got her thumb goin’ south over her shoulder, Kat’s yelling, “
Oh, yeah
,” and the next batter’s coming up to the plate.

I did it! My first out. All by myself. Sort of.

I
love
this!

With a fly ball to left field, followed by one of those solid hits that whizzes right to the pitcher’s face—Kat easily puts her glove up to snag it—we’re out of the inning. Three up, three down.

This is so cool.

Teammates on and off the field high-five me, despite the fact that I only had to make one catch. Frannie and Mo get up and dust off the bench before I sit down.

Kat pats me on the back. “Here she comes,” she says. “Watch out.”

I can’t believe how good I feel. It’s like the incident with Sally this morning never even happened. She’s down the bench, stuck there, and
I’m in the game
.

By the fifth inning, we’ve held the score at 3–0, and Kat gets up to bat. She stands back in the box and holds the bat high by her ear. She waits on the first pitch, steps out of the box, taps the bat on each insole, glances at Dixie by first base and Coach at third, then steps back in the box. I’ve got to remember this. Imprint it on my brain.

At last, she whacks a triple down the left field line. Dixie’s hopping everywhere, sending Kat around the bases, but Coach holds her at third, and she obeys the signal. The whole bench jumps up and down, screaming. It’s the first time we’ve shown so much emotion. Even Sally joins in.

With no outs and Kat on third base, there are two more batters before me. My belly feels like one huge, monstrous butterfly. Surely someone can connect with the ball and send Kat home for our first run of the season.

Virginia’s up next. She gets the sign for bunt and is successful on the second pitch. The ball hops out to the left of the mound. Shortstop comes in, digs up the ball, and makes a fake throw to first as Virginia kicks up dust to beat the throw. But then Short turns and plants both her feet like she’s going to pick off Kat at third. Fortunately, Kat notices and doesn’t take off for home—but she’s a few feet off the bag.

There’s a standstill for a second. I’m so anxious I get the hiccups.

And then Short fakes a throw, Kat strolls back to the bag, and we’ve got runners on first and third.
No outs!

Center fielder Nicki Porter, our sixth batter, goes up to the plate and seems completely surprised by the first pitch. As soon as it hits the catcher’s glove, the catcher rips off her mask and fakes a throw to second as Virginia steals. I’m so glad that wasn’t me—I wouldn’t have known what to do.

I’m standing in the on-deck circle for the first time in my life. I remember this scenario from practice: When you have runners at first and third, the runner on first always steals second, because the catcher’s not going to risk the throw and give the runner on third a clean shot at scoring.

I can’t believe I actually understand this!

I don’t know if Nicki is thrown off by the play or what, but she swings and misses at the next three pitches. So now it’s my turn. I’m supposed to walk up to the box. So I do. I’m supposed to look mean, slightly distracted. So I do. And then, I’m supposed to look the pitcher in the eye like I’m gonna smack the hell out of the ball. So I do.

I try to remember exactly what Kat does. She takes the first pitch (which means
don’t
take the pitch; that took me about two weeks to remember). So I do this, too. I stand there all smug and let the first pitch fly by—a ball, luckily. I step out of the batter’s box, just like Kat did. I tap my insoles with the bat, glance at Dixie, who nods at me like she has no doubt, and then I glance at Coach. She gives me a sign. I think it’s “hit away,” because what else could she give me? I don’t know anything else.

The second pitch comes in low, and I swing. A huge swing. And I miss. Before the next pitch I repeat the whole damn thing. It seems to take hours—stepping out, hitting my cleats, looking around, stepping back. Is it obvious I have no idea what I’m doing? But here I am, waiting patiently, holding my stance, and then without thinking I swing big again, using my whole body, and there’s this delicious
ping
off the bat!

I don’t even know where the thing goes. I just hear everyone yelling, and I see Dixie waving me on. So I start running.

Kat waits until the ball drops over the second basemen’s head and then takes off for home. Dixie has me rounding first, but holding until the center fielder overthrows to second. As I take off, Virginia scrambles for home, and the pitcher scrambles for the ball, not sure whether to throw me out, or Virginia. Coach gives me the signal to slide, both of her palms pushing for the dirt.
Oh, no
. I basically throw myself down, face and boobs first. A mouthful of red infield dirt. But I did it! I got a hit—two runs scored. I’m standing on second with a dirty uniform.

The whole team cheers and claps. They’re high-fiving Kat and Virginia, whooping for me out here on my own. I make the tying run and in the end, we win 5 to 4. And even though I never got on base again, I didn’t make any errors playing first, and I was at the beginning of the line when we shook hands with the other team.

Coach praises us in the dugout. “You were down, and you brought yourselves up again. That’s a really hard thing to do with such a young team. Be proud of yourselves. You deserve it.”

Walking back to the locker room, Frannie and Mo give me a group squeeze and tell me I played great, but something’s different. I see it in Mo’s pinched smile and Frannie’s quick
change of subject. I didn’t ride the bench for the duration this time.

I shower and get dressed along with the rest of the players that got in the game. The people who didn’t play change their clothes and fold their uniforms neatly.

As I sling my backpack over my shoulder, I think of Nate’s comment about sports at Spring Valley, and although it may be true that coaches keep everyone, it doesn’t mean they have to play them, not if winning is important. And in most cases, it is.

Frannie and Mo have left the locker room without me, and I have to run to catch up. They don’t say anything and I don’t, either. Is this how it’s going to be?

In the van, I think of how Rocky might be able to help Frannie and Mo, too. Then we could all play together and be happy again. Except for Rocky, that is.

And that’s when I decide it: I have to get Rocky back on the team.

Suddenly I can’t stop smiling, imagining what it will be like with Rocky playing again. She deserves to be sharing that amazing feeling out on the field—which is totally new to me, but something she must miss. Being out there, playing together with these other people, even some you don’t get along with, working toward the same thing. I never knew how complete it would make me feel.

Of course, we don’t talk about this in the van. We don’t talk about softball. No one dwells on my hit or the fact that I got put in the game or anything like that. We just talk about girl stuff. Celebrities, music, hot boys, bad teachers, the stupid things our parents say. Frannie and Mo’s spirits seem to have lifted.

As Dixie explains her philosophy on why the great musicians only use one name, there’s a sound like a gunshot, except louder and fatter, like it happened underwater. Dixie grabs the wheel tight and steers us off the highway onto the shoulder. She starts to reassure us. “Don’t worry. Everything’s all right. I think the van blew a tire.”

Ahead of us, Coach pulls off the road, too. Luckily it’s a Saturday, and there isn’t much traffic. She flies out of the van and runs toward us.

“Damn!” she yells, seeing our back tire. “Everyone okay?” she asks, ducking her head inside the van.

We tell her we are. She and Dixie check the tire damage.

Frannie cranks open her window. “How’s it look?”

“Shredded,” Coach answers miserably.

“Do we even have a spare?”

Turns out we do. Coach gets it out from under the van, and Jenny Yin says, “We just learned how to change tires in driver’s ed.”

“Good. You can help,” Coach says. “Here’s the deal, everyone. You may get out of the van, but I want you to stay in the grass away from the highway. I’m serious about that. Anyone near the road doesn’t play the rest of the season.”

There’s a silence before Holly Keith says, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“So do I,” another voice chimes in.

“You can run down the ravine and find a spot, but don’t go far, and come right back.”

We unbuckle our seat belts and push our way out as if the van’s about to blow up. Coach goes to her van and tells them the same thing, then makes a call on her cell phone. After she hangs up, Coach joins Dixie and Jenny Yin by the side of the van where they start to take off the shredded tire. We all huddle in little groups on the hill at the side of the highway, talking and laughing.

Frannie, Mo, and I sit on top of the grassy slope that leads down to a drainage ditch, where some of the girls are hiding behind the trees and bushes going to the bathroom. We’re watching Jenny wrench off the first lug nut.

Coach and Dixie leap around at the success of the second lugnut.
They don’t see, however, that in front of the vans Sally, Joy, Gwen, and Nicki are trying to wave down commuters by wiggling their butts toward the road. Cars and trucks honk as they pass, and one eighteen-wheeler pulls over. Coach and Dixie look up and give the same scowl. “Away from the road, girls.
Now!
” Coach yells.

“We’re just trying to help,” Sally calls sweetly. She and the others look all innocent.

The trucker gets down from his cab and is greeted by cheers from the team. “Can I help with anything?”

“Can you change our tire?” Debra Lester asks, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Absolutely,” he says, taking charge.

“No really, that’s okay. I think we—” Coach begins, but Dixie interrupts her.

“Thanks,” she tells the trucker. “We’d appreciate it.”

“Sure, darlin’.”

Coach scowls again. We gather by the trucker while he loosens the remaining lug nuts and pulls off the shredded tire. Kim Adams comes up the little hill from the ravine and accidentally kicks the hubcap holding the lug nuts. It flies up in the air, then tumbles down the incline.

“Uh-oh,” Frannie says.

Debra Lester gasps. “Oh, my God. The love nuts, the love nuts!”

And the trucker looks around to see if this is for real. But Coach and Dixie start laughing, and we all join in as we comb the grass for the missing “love” nuts.