Something so little, changed us forever.

Number Nine

"Sports? Really? This is a school of the ARTS. Why would we need sports?" Bianca threw her hand bag around in the air as she ranted, "Sports mean gym Sophie. GYM!"

"They won’t make you take gym Bee. Just calm down and tell me if you spot-"

"SOPHIE! BIANCA!" Avery threw her arms around us. We all giggled giddily squeezing each other and talking all at once.

None of us had seen each other since the last day of school last year; besides over Skype. Avery lives in California while Bianca’s from Maine. I on the other hand reside in Florida or Georgia, depending on if I was staying at Grandma’s or my parents.

So… if you couldn’t imagine… we were squeezing the heck out of each other.

"Have you gotten your room yet?" Avery asked, waving her key around.

"I have. Little miss slacker over here refuses to walk past any of the freshmen boys." Bee chuckled.

"I just… Young boys are rude nasty creatures." I scrunched up my face, and slung my bag back up on my shoulder.

"Agreed." Avie laughed

"But you have no choice, so move it chica." Bee slipped her hand in mine and pulled me to the main office, retrieved my key and pushed me into an elevator; waving as the doors separated me and the rest of the world. I was in my own hall; separate from her and Avie. This year I had been placed in the Art hallway instead of Music like I was used to. The only upside… NO FERSHMEN!! YEAH BUDDY!

The elevator doors creaked as they slid apart, showing a hall way that was not my floor…

A boy stepped in beside me, a dancer by the looks of his clothes.

"Your rockin’ them kicks." He laughed, leaning back to get a better look. Looks like this is a co-ed building. That’s even better, "You’ve got to be from out of town."

"And those were lyrics to Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus." I laughed, kicking my boot out to look at them myself. Baby blue on top; black on bottom. My favorite pair of Justin’s.

"Are you a dancer?" he asked awkwardly.

"Singer, photography, and painting." I nodded my head towards my bag with my painting brushes poking out.

"Awesome, that’s pretty cool. I’m a dancer."

"Yeah I kind of figured." I smiled at him politely as I walked out of the elevator onto my floor.

"I’ll see you around?"

"Sure, but ummm… I don’t know your name." I laughed.

"Cameron!" he shouted as the doors cut our conversation short. He seemed sweet. But more of Avery’s type, he’s a dancer… and I don’t dance.

I opened my door and found… a totally bland but still posh dorm. Queen size bed, vanity, desk and dresser included. A small living area and a kitchen, my own bathroom! The one thing that mattered most.

I set all my luggage down and grabbed my camera from my bag, letting the strap fall around my neck as I grabbed my key and headed for the door. I might as well get some pictures while there’s still daylight.

And I know just what I wanted to photograph.

It took me about twenty minutes walk to get to the baseball field at the academy. Even if I wasn’t very athletic, I still loved the game and the action shots were always amazing.

The metal bleachers burned my thighs, but I stayed put. Not wanting to start taking pictures until they were too involved in their game to notice me.

The academy boys played rummage games everyday at least once. But they took it seriously and even dressed in their uniforms, just for fun. But I guess when sports are your life… why not?

I crouched down and pushed my lens through a diamond in the fence. I watched the pitcher dramatically spit into the dirt (I couldn’t help but shudder) and send the ball flying towards the batter.

Click.

The ball sailed into number threes glove, just short of the fence.

Click.

Number three threw the ball back to the pitcher, who missed it, sending it my way. It rolled to a stop just two feet in front of me, settling in the dandelions.

Click.

A hand reached down to grab it.

Click,

"You know you can come sit in the dugout if you want."

"Excuse me?" Was he talking to me? I looked up at him, squinting against the sun.

"I mean most of the players girlfriends sit in the dugout when they take pictures and stuff." He ran his hand through his hair, roughing it up.

"Oh, I’m not… I’m just a photography student." I could feel my cheeks burning.

"Well, if the guys ask, I’ll tell them you’re my girlfriend." He smirked.

"Excuse me?" I was a bit confused.

"So you can sit in the dugout." He laughed, oh what a sweet laugh, "But the guys are probably getting mad so I’ll see you later." He smiled at me again and I felt my heart skip a beat.

Number nine headed back to the pitcher’s mound.

Click.

Number nine… Oh my. That’s one blue eyed number I wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon.