Rosemarie’s P.O.V
I stared down at the uniform I was currently wearing; an extremely loose buttoned down jersey with the water mark ORIOLES in big letters on the front. The tight clad pants ended at my knees and I wore high socks to cover my legs (for sliding purposes.) I had my jersey tucked into my pants with a belt to keep them up. Basically, I would’ve worn the outfit on my wedding day I loved it so much.
Sadie was braiding my hair back for me, and Sodapop was standing in front of us watching with a goofy grin on his face.
He was in a very hovery mood since this was my first ball game and he wanted to be there for every second of it and blah blah blah. My brothers were extremely proud.
So he kinda just kept talking about making history and how proud he was; but I just felt I’d get there and walk onto the field and throw up.
Now that would’ve gone down in history.
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We got there just in time for everyone to see me walking towards the diamonds.
Some people gave me supportive smiles, wishing me luck with just the slightest upturn of their mouth.
Others glared; knowing I was the one who was about to re-write every rule put into place about baseball.
It was mostly older men who looked mad.
I just stiffened, trying to smile at the people who didn’t look like they wanted to rip my face off, and ignore the glares I received.
Soda was close behind me, and the rest of the gang was already sitting in the stands.
“Just ignore them Rosey, they’ll see soon why yer ‘ere,” Soda whispered, tilting the cap on my head at an angle.
I straightened it, smiling, “I hope so,” I insinuated. Soda patted my head, and then looked up.
I followed his gaze, where the older man from my tryout was standing in front of us. He was smiling.
“Hi, sir,” I greeted quietly; I could feel all eyes on me.
“Rosemarie, glad you could come,” he said. I smiled bigger.
“Glad to be here, sir,” I said. He nodded, and then looked around indignantly.
“Well, are we gonna play ball, or what?” He said, grabbing my shoulder and leading me towards the diamond, leaving Soda behind.
“Good luck, Rosey!” He shouted, I flashed him a thumbs up.
“So, here’s your team,” he pointed out to the field where about 12 boys stood throwing the ball to one another in pairs, matching my jersey.
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