Out of Left Field by Kris Hui Lee

Author:Kris Hui Lee [Lee, Kris Hui]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Published: 2018-02-23T05:00:00+00:00

13

So here I am, in the girls’ locker room, half an hour before the first pitch, staring at myself in a mirror. It seems like a lifetime ago that I wore these gray softball pants and a black-and-red jersey with Corrington scrawled across the front in white and Locke printed across the back. The last time I put on this outfit, I was preparing for my softball regionals game. If I had known it would be my downfall, I would’ve faked sick and let someone else shoulder the burden of pitching. Maybe we would have won. Maybe I would still be playing softball. Maybe I wouldn’t feel like I’m about to die right now. How do I know I’m not walking into my second pitching demise? Returning from the ashes only to burn down again?

I take a deep breath and braid back my hair. Before that last softball game, my mom braided my hair because my hands were trembling so hard. My hands are trembling now, but there’s no one here but me.

I asked Mom this morning if she was going to come to the game.

She was busy wearing her accountant hat, and without looking up from her desk, she said, “Mmm… I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on today.” Then she glanced up briefly. “I’m sorry.”

I could tell she was sorry, not because she was going to miss the game, but because she knew she was disappointing me.

“You used to come to my games,” I reminded her.

She smiled sadly but didn’t say anything. I know there is a difference between her going to the games and liking the games. She only used to go because Dad told her she should support me. He probably never wanted me to hear him tell her that, but I heard anyway. Kids always hear things they shouldn’t. If I had to bet my measly life savings on it, I’d guess that now that I’m seventeen and get that my mom is not a sports person, she figures she doesn’t need to go. She might not care about sports, but it would still be nice for her to be proud of me. I don’t know if she is. Dad’s always been proud enough for the both of them.

I wind the hair tie around the end of my braid once more for good measure. I take another deep breath, wishing my heart wasn’t beating a million miles an hour.

Across the hall, the guys are gathered in the boys’ locker room. They’re waiting for me.

As I head over for the infamous pregame speech, I’m in a dreamlike haze. My feet move on their own, carrying me down the hall. My fist knocks on the door like Chizz told me to, and when I hear someone shout, “NO ONE’S NAKED!” my hand pushes the door open, and then my feet take over again. They bring me to the bench in the center of the locker room where fourteen guys, plus Chizz, are assembled. All thirty eyes turn on me, and my eyes—braver than the rest of me—dare to meet their gazes.

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