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When trouble comes knocking at her door, Scarlett Montgomery finds her life crumbling. As things go black, so does her performance on the softball team. Stuck in a downward spiral, Scarlett is a little puddle of potentially b...
It's the last softball game of my junior year. We are playing against Douglas High today, which is only about an hour away from my hometown and both of my parents said that they would be here.
I glance one more time in the bleachers and I still don't see my parents, just the two recruiters that stand out with their clipboards and pens, and my brother Seth, who lives here in Douglas. One more strike and this girl is out, and we win the game.
I look back at the batter who is literally sweating bullets and looks determined to hit this last pitch, but I'm equally determined to end this game.
I can't believe my parents didn't show up to my last game of the season.
I bend down to rub some more dirt on the tips of my fingers, something I picked up over the years after throwing with my dad. It gives me slight comfort and helps me control the ball better. I can still hear my dad, "Some people that play pool, use chalk for their hands. You and I, we use dirt for ball." This is the logical explanation as to why we always do this weird thing, like a ritual that we share.
I grip the softball in my hand and turn it as I look at my catcher, who signals for me to throw a curve. I nod at the catcher and stand on the mound, ready to throw my favorite pitch, which happens to be my best one.
I look once more at the batter and then back to my catcher, throwing my arm in a circular motion, pushing myself off the mound with one foot and dragging the other. I release the ball with a flick of my wrist, aiming for the glove that is 43 feet directly in front of me.
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The sound that the ball makes when a fastpitch hits straight into a glove sounds like heaven to any pitcher, one of my favorite sounds in the world. "STRIKE! You're out!" The umpire yells. My ears ring at the amazing sound, and I close my eyes briefly, smiling and knowing that we just won.
I rejoice with the rest of my team in the middle of the field as we huddle in a circle, jumping up and down with glee. I look up, glancing at my coach as he is staring back at me with wary eyes, while an Officer is conversing with him. My stomach turns, it's not a look that I'm used to receiving from coach, especially since we just won.
"Scarlett, coach needs to speak with you," Marissa says to me as she walks up to join in on the celebration.
"Is everything okay?" It was a good game. We won 11-2 and usually, I would be yelling and shouting with my team, but something doesn't feel right.
"Umm, yeah I'm sure it is. You just kicked some ass girl. Those recruiters were impressed no doubt."
I thank Marissa for her kind words, while everyone starts packing their bags to get on the bus to head back home. I nervously went to look for the coach, and when I find him, he is standing with an Officer outside the locker rooms.
