Out of My League

{2} Strike Three

Charlotte's POV

As I made the walk of shame to the dugout, I tried not to meet the eyes of my teammates. It was just one bad play, I attempted to reassure myself. You just need to focus Charlotte and everything will work out.

But who was I kidding? Nothing ever seemed to work out in my life. 

As I was approaching the spot my teammates had reserved for me, my coach gave me an inquisitive look. He didn't seem angry, thank God.

"You all right Black?" he asked with genuine concern. "You didn't seem to have your head in the game like you usually do."

"I really don't know what happened," I lied. "I think I just lost my focus for a second, that's all."

"Well if you need to sit out for the next inning, just let me know," he said, giving me a soft pat on the back.

But I knew exactly what was wrong. Today was my mom's big surgery since she was diagnosed with Stage 3 breast cancer.

I could recall the day of her diagnosis with perfect accuracy. The smell of the hospital room, the sound of children laughing and crying, and how she had just sat there, a single mother trying to be strong for her kids when I knew she was scared beyond belief. I was scared as well, but standing there in the doctor's office with my baby brother in my arms, I knew I couldn't break. I had to stay strong. Who else would?

After that day I got two jobs, one as a fast food worker and one as a tutor. With the little time I had to spare, I plunged myself into my studies and my softball training. I had to go to college and start making more money in order to support my family, and the only way to do that was through scholarships. I vowed never to lose my focus or cool ever again. I became the backbone of my family.

But everyone has their breaking point. This was mine.

For the first time in years, I was failing English, and now I had struck out for the first time this season. Whether it was the constant stress or the lack of sleep, I just couldn't seem to hold my concentration anymore. I was falling apart.

It was clear my teammates were aware something was off by their intermittent glances and polite silence, but I really didn't want to deal with anyone right now.

After my mother's diagnosis, everything I did, from my performance in school to the softball field, was for her. Even now, staring up at the bleachers, I could feel her presence and could almost picture her beaming down at me, clad in our school's colors and cheering her head off. She had stopped coming to my games a couple of weeks ago. She just didn't have the strength anymore.

Sometimes laying in bed after a hard shift, I would become angry. The type of angry that makes your blood coil and hands clench up into fists. I was angry at my dad for leaving us behind six years ago. I was angry at the world for giving my mom cancer. But most of all, I was angry at myself. I was angry that I felt like crying every second of the day. I was angry that I couldn't shield my baby brother from the daily struggle of our lives. 

I was angry that I wasn't good enough.

As I scanned the bleachers, a familiar face caught my eye. It was Lemon Hatfield. In contrast to the cheering and exuberant spectators around her, particularly her friend Cathy, Lemon looked somber. I couldn't see her well from here, but I could tell she was fidgeting with something. She was always fidgeting. I wondered what was bothering her.

"Black, you're on deck," my coach's voice interrupted my muddled thoughts. 

I knew I was going to strike out before I even got to the plate. And I did.