I like you, for you.

Chapter 1: Striking Out

My palms are perspiring (sweating) and visibly shaking. I reposition how I hold the bat. With the bright sun in my eyes, I realized we would probably lose if I didn't hit a home run. I can't exactly be negative right now, though.

       When I approached home base, the audience behind me abruptly became quiet. The team we are competing against and all of my teammates look at me throughly. I guess I'm some type of star in everyone's sight. I mean, I play baseball well. I have been playing it all my life. I adore it. I do, really.

     They start cheering, and I can hear and feel their anticipation. I get on my knees. My feet were firmly planted on the ground. Sand grains blowing around on the floor in the breeze. As I made the ideal elbow bend, I could feel my arm starting to burn. I've been working on this for hours. I play this game. The sound of feet pounding fiercely on the bleachers filled the air. My closest surroundings are now overwhelmed with the exhilarating metal hammering of the bleachers being hit.

   No. There was real anticipation here. I'll get a good game from Bruce Yamada. I needed to hit a home run. I could no longer let them down. You know, it can be that way at times. It almost seems like every game is a test. I risk being cut from the team the next day if I don't execute it flawlessly. I am accustomed to it. Shoot. "Focus...Bruce." I softly murmured to myself. My eyes were fixed on the pitcher. That's something I can handle. That's something.. I can do.

     I swing hard as the pitcher throws an arrow-straight baseball at me while I maintain a close watch on him.

    I miss? "ONE STRIKE!" My head echos with those words. It's alright, As I knock the tip of the bat on the ground, I make an effort to calm myself. I slowly assume my stance once more.

     The confused crowd gives me a closer look. "This man ought to be good, right?" One of them murmurs. I'm now dripping with sweat even more. My face starts to burn up. No. I'm ok. I'll get it next swing.

    I go on to swing after the ball is comes directly at my chest.

I miss. "STRIKE TWO!" I clench my bat in rage, even faking humility by glancing at the ground. "Focus!" Coach shouts at me firmly. What else could I be thinking about if I wasn't concentrating? My life is this game. Angry, I bit my lip. I adjust my stance and loosen up my elbow a little bit.

     The pitcher lays his eyes on me and smirks. "Bastard." I mumble. I hope he didn't hear that. Nah, I do.

     As I swing for the final time, the ball comes barreling back at me. My head was thumping loudly as I gave it everything I had.

    I miss..."STRIKE THREE! Bruce, you're done!" I approach the bench again with my head drooping low. The crowd is groaning, as they realize we are now unquestionably losing. I slouch down on the aging wooden bench "Hey Bruce!" I hear teammate a calling out to me.

       "Mhm?" I take off my helmet for a moment as I feel the cold air go into my hot sweaty face.

        "You will get them next time, I promise."

   "Yeah, yeah...yeah."  I say looking down at my helmet disappointed.
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   As my teammates leave the field chatting, I collect my bat, helmet, and gloves and stuff them into my bag. I could've succeeded. I...could've to have hit it. Why didn't I? I abruptly closed my eyes out of frustration. I take a deep breath. "I'm alright," I try to remain composed. I hate how weak my knees feel. It's going to be a long day, I just know it. I try to untangle the chains on my twisted bike as I move in closer to it, but I can hear someone yelling in the distance. I briefly freeze.