Chapter 4- Panic
The sun dipped below the horizon as Sam trudged to her beat-up Corolla, her muscles screaming with every step. She tossed her gear in the backseat and slumped behind the wheel, hands gripping the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white.
"Get it together, Sam," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You're fine. Everything's fine."
But the tears came anyway, hot and fast, blurring her vision. She fumbled for her glasses, wiping them furiously on her shirt before shoving them back on her face.
"Why can't I just be normal?" she choked out, slamming her palm against the dashboard. "Why can't I just fit in?"
The words of her teammates echoed in her head, a cacophony of cruel laughter and biting remarks.
"Look at Four-Eyes, can't even catch a simple pop fly!"
"Maybe if she spent less time with her nose in a book, she'd actually be useful on the field."
"God, Sam, do you even want to be here?"
Sam's breath came in ragged gasps as she struggled to calm herself. She reached for her phone, her finger hovering over Hannah's contact before she thought better of it.
"No," she muttered. "I can't keep dumping my problems on her. She's got enough to deal with."
Instead, she pulled up her playlist, letting the soft melodies wash over her as she started the car. The familiar route home stretched before her, streetlights flickering to life as she drove.
"What if I just... quit?" she wondered aloud, her voice barely audible over the music. "Would anyone even care?"
The thought sent a fresh wave of pain through her chest. Softball had been her escape, her one chance to prove herself. And now...
"No," she said firmly, gripping the wheel tighter. "I can't give up. I won't give them the satisfaction."
As she pulled into her driveway, Sam caught sight of her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were red and puffy, her hair a mess from practice.
"Look at you," she sneered at her reflection. "No wonder they all hate you. You're pathetic."
She slammed the car door shut, wincing as the sound echoed through the quiet neighborhood. The porch light flickered on as she approached, and she could hear movement inside.
"Great," she muttered. "Just what I need. An interrogation."
Taking a deep breath, Sam plastered on a smile and pushed open the front door.
"I'm home!" she called out, her voice unnaturally cheery.
Her mother's voice drifted from the kitchen. "In here, sweetie! How was practice?"
Sam hesitated, her hand on the banister. "It was... fine. Just tired. Think I'm gonna head up to shower."
"Are you sure? I made your favorite-"
"Thanks, Mom, but I'm not hungry," Sam cut her off, already halfway up the stairs. "Maybe later."
She shut her bedroom door behind her, leaning against it with a heavy sigh. Her room was a sanctuary, filled with books and softball trophies from her younger days. Back when things were simpler. When she still believed she could be something.
Sam's gaze landed on a framed photo on her desk. It was from last year's season opener, her arm slung around Hannah's shoulders, both of them grinning widely at the camera.
"We were so happy then," she murmured, picking up the frame. "What changed?"
She set the photo down, her fingers trailing over the other frames. Family vacations, birthday parties, moments frozen in time when she felt like she belonged.
"Stop it," she chided herself. "You're being melodramatic. It's just high school. It'll be over soon."
But the thought of graduation, of moving on to college, sent a fresh wave of panic through her. What if things didn't get better? What if she was always the outsider, always the one who didn't quite fit?
Sam flopped onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow. She wanted to scream, to let out all the frustration and fear that had been building up inside her. Instead, she reached for her phone, pulling up her messages.
"You awake?" she typed to Hannah, then deleted it. "Need to talk," she tried again, before erasing that too.
Finally, she settled on a simple, "Thanks for having my back today."
The response came almost immediately. "Always. You okay?"
Sam stared at the screen, her thumbs hovering over the keys. She could tell Hannah everything, pour out all her fears and insecurities. But...
"Yeah, just tired. See you tomorrow?"
"You bet. Get some rest, superstar."
Sam smiled despite herself, setting her phone aside. She rolled onto her back, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars she'd stuck to her ceiling years ago.
"You can do this," she whispered to herself. "One day at a time. You're stronger than they think."
But even as she said the words, doubt crept in. Was she really strong enough to face another day of Scarlett's taunts? Another practice where she felt like a failure?
"Maybe..." she mused, her voice barely audible. "Maybe if I just tried harder. If I practiced more, stayed later..."
The thought of spending even more time on the field, under the scrutiny of her teammates and coach, made her stomach churn. But what choice did she have?
"I can't let them win," she declared to the empty room. "I can't let Scarlett see how much she's getting to me."
Sam sat up, reaching for her laptop. If she couldn't sleep, she might as well be productive. Maybe if she studied some new techniques, watched some training videos...
As the blue light of the screen illuminated her face, Sam felt a renewed sense of determination. She might not be the best player on the team, but she could work harder than anyone else. She could prove them all wrong.
"I'll show them," she muttered, her fingers flying over the keyboard. "I'll show them all."
But even as she dove into her research, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered doubts. Would it ever be enough? Would she ever truly belong?
Sam pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand. One step at a time. One day at a time. That was all she could do.
As the night wore on, Sam lost herself in a world of statistics and strategies, determined to find the key that would unlock her potential. And if a few tears fell onto her keyboard, well, no one else had to know.
