𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 | major league baseball

- one

"What's up, Pumpkin?"

Mischa couldn't help but smile as she joined the video call from her laptop. Her best friend, Brett, was on the other end, already geared up and ready to go for the day's game. Meanwhile, she was still in bed, on her day off, pajamas and everything, despite it being close to 12pm; a stark contrast to what he looked like. Her lowkey tangled, brown hair fell in front of her eyes, and she pushed it out of the way to see him as she spoke. "I should be asking you that. How's the season been going so far?"

Mischa knew the answer, and Brett knew that she knew the answer. The truth was, it wasn't great. "Meh."

"Just meh?"

"Yeah. It's been rough."

"Yeah, I figured. I just wanted to hear it from you."

"Oh, fuck off." Brett rolled his eyes. "Yeah. It's been awful out here. Really, really bad lately."

"Well, it's only the beginning. If you make it to June and you're still doing awful, then a conversation needs to happen. Y'know?"

"Yeah. New manager and all."

"Right. It'll come. Be patient."

"Speaking of being patient..." Brett raised his eyebrows. "How's Syracuse?"

"What does that have to do with patience?"

"Since you're still there."

"It's only my third season, Baty."

"Well, whatever. Still, how is it?"

"Alright. I mean, I don't feel like I'm playing as much anymore. But, y'know, that's how it eventually ends up for me." Mischa sighed. Truthfully, she had expected to start being benched more and more earlier on in her career. Maybe after the first four months of her first season. So she was kinda shocked that she had, essentially, played full time (save for her elbow injury) for two consecutive minor league seasons before so,embody took her place. "That's how it goes in my story."

"You story's far from over, Mia. You and I both know that."

"Well, the only reason I played my senior year of high school was because our ace had Tommy John and was out for the whole season."

"And that got you drafted, didn't it?"

"Barely."

"Barely, you say, picked in the first round." Brett shook his head. "Mischa, you just turned 20, what, five months ago? Your career is so far from over. It's only just started. I know I've had this conversation with you before, too. You can't say anything's over until you actually hang up your cleats for the last time. No?"

"I hate you and your positivity sometimes. You know that?"

"I get that a lot."

Before either of them could say anything else, Mischa's phone started to ring. It was an unknown number, but she instantly recognized the area code as being from Queens. She held up a finger to the camera and muted herself, answering the call from her phone. "Hello?"

"Hi, Mischa, this is Carlos Mendoza."

"Oh! Hi, Mr. Mendoza. How are you doing?" Mischa was shocked at the call, watching Brett's confusion on the screen next to her as he tried to read her lips.

"I'm doing well, thank you for asking. I was actually calling to ask you if you'd be able to get down to San Francisco within the next two days."

"San Francisco?" Mischa raised her eyebrows. "Me?"

Mendoza chuckled at Mischa's surprise. "Yes, you. We've decided to select your contract from Syracuse relative to our upcoming series against the Giants. Welcome to the big leagues, Mischa."

"Holy shit." were the first words out of her mouth after a moment to process. "Sorry. I— Yes. Yes, yeah, I will, um, I will look at flights right now, um— You guys get there tomorrow?"

"Tonight in California."

"Okay. Yes, I can... I will get there. I'll be there, for sure." Mischa spoke despite not even having the words to explain what was going on. "Thank you. Thank you so much. Thank you."

"Of course, Mischa." Mendoza chuckled. "I'll see you in San Francisco. Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir. I'll see you soon."

The line disconnected and it took Mischa a second—or, rather, multiple seconds—to process what just happened. Every emotion seemed to rush over her at once, and she had to just sit back against her bed, staring ahead, realizing the gravity and the reality of the situation. After the conversation she had just had with Brett, after doubting herself, after everything, she was going to the major leagues. She, officially, was a New York Met.

Brett's laugh rang out from the speakers on her computer, and his smile was as big as the emotion that was continuing to build up inside of her. "I told you so, Mis! I fucking told you so!"

Mischa clicked the button to unmute herself. "Did you know this was gonna happen?"

"Yes!"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I knew he was gonna call you!"

"Fuck off!"

Brett laughed. "Listen, I gotta bounce, alright? We're about to go warm up."

"Go win some baseball." Mischa smiled. "Good luck."

"Thanks, Mis. I'm so proud of you and happy for you."

"I'll see you in California." Mischa grinned, as did Brett.

"See you in California, Pumpkin."

"Kill it out there, Brettjamin."

With a wave, Brett ended the call, leaving Mischa by herself and in her thoughts. She, again, zoned out, trying to process what was happening to her and what she was going to do from here. She looked around her room. Her equipment was in one corner, a stack of laundry was in another, and her suitcase was thrown underneath her desk.

"I need to pack."