Welcome to Reefside (editing in progress)

Softball Tryouts

Tracy's POV

My shoulder is finally better. The doctor cleared me to practice a few days ago, and I've spent every waking moment preparing for softball tryouts.

Conner helped me improve my speed, turning base running into something that felt suspiciously like soccer drills. Mike worked with me on fielding. I lived at the batting cages until my hands ached.

This is my dream.
My last chance.

The quiet from Mesogog lately nags at the back of my mind, but I shove it away. Today isn't about monsters. It's about me.

Mike and I are at the diamond behind the school with a few of his baseball teammates for one last practice.

"You didn't have to ask your friends to help," I say, tightening my cleats.

Mike grins from behind the plate. "What are friends for? Besides, they wanted to see the girl who keeps Conner on his toes."

Leo's on the mound. Marcus and Dante take the outfield. I stand at home plate, digging my back foot into the dirt, ready for Leo's pitch. He winds up and delivers a fastball that comes right down the middle. I wait, tracking it all the way in, and then swing. The crack of the bat is sharp and clean—a perfect hit. I watch as Marcus backpedals, his glove outstretched, but the ball sails over his head. He stops, spins around, and watches it clear the fence for a home run.

Normal POV

What Tracy doesn't know is that a few coaches from nearby colleges have been watching her practice from the visitors' dugout. As she rounds the bases, they all walk up to the fence, their expressions impressed. Tracy jogs back toward the dugout, trying not to freak out when she sees them.

"Nice hit," the first coach says, offering a smile. He's wearing a polo with "Reefside Community College" embroidered on it. "I'm Coach Martinez."

"Thanks, Coach," she says, a little breathlessly.

Another coach, a man with a sharp-looking "Marine University" polo, jots a note on his clipboard. "I'm Coach Davies. I haven't seen you play at any of the local tournaments. Are you new to the area?" he asks.

"No, sir, I just moved here," Tracy says, her confidence wavering slightly. "My coaches back home always said I wasn't at a high enough skill level to play high school softball."

Coach Martinez shakes his head, a look of disbelief on his face. "Well, those coaches didn't know what they were looking at. You've got real talent."

"Yeah, if this is just how you prepare for tryouts, I'm looking forward to seeing you actually play full time," a third coach chimes in. He gestures to his own shirt. "I'm Coach Henderson from Northwood University."

"Thanks for the compliment, sir. I just hope I don't psych myself out before the tryout tomorrow," Tracy admits.

"I've never seen a player with reflexes as sharp as yours in high school," a fourth coach adds, stepping forward. "I'm Coach Wilson with Pine State."

Tracy gives a small, shy shrug. "Yeah, I've been taking karate classes since middle school. I guess the training has improved my game a little."

"Modest too, that's a good trait for an athlete to have," Coach Wilson says with an approving nod.

"More than a little, kid, a lot," Coach Henderson chimes in, his tone firm but encouraging. "And I agree with Coach Martinez—the coaches at your old school were blind."

"Even if I do make the team, I know now it's too late to even consider a sports scholarship. I'm way past the deadline, since all that was done last year," Tracy says, a note of resignation in her voice.