Stealing Bases

by Mikulski, Keri

  “Is that a problem, Kylie?”

  “No, I’m just surprised. That’s all.”

  “You shouldn’t be. Martie tells me that you’re quite the second baseman for your ASA team.”

  “Yeah, I guess. . . .”

  “So, does that mean you’re not interested in playing second?”

  “No. No. I am! I’m thrilled!”

  “Good. Go suit up with your teammates.”

  The words tumble out in a rush. “Will do! Thank you so much for this opportunity. I won’t let you down.”

  I take two steps in the direction of my teammates when I hear Coach Kate pipe up again. “And Kylie . . . ”

  I turn around. “Yes, Coach?”

  “Please know that this does not mean you’ve been reinstated to prom court. There has to be some punishment for your behavior.”

  The air sucks out of me like a balloon. But then reality strikes. “You know what, Coach? Just two minutes ago I thought I’d be watching three games go by without seeing any playing time.” I pause, mustering more maturity than I thought I was capable of. “I’ll take what I can get.”

  Hours later, the Desert Invitational tournament is in full swing and Beachwood is that much closer to saving the softball program. We won the first two games by five and are now squaring off against the reigning champions, Santo Bay, in the tournament final.

  “Going to first. One out,” Nyla shouts from shortstop during the top of the seventh inning. Since we won the pre-game coin toss, we’re the home team.

  I’ve been on fire all day—going five for eight at the plate and sucking up everything at second. But right now, my skills hardly matter. The game is tied, zip-zip. It’s truly a pitcher’s dual.

  Santo Bay’s stud pitcher, Steffi Norcross, digs into the batter’s box from the left side. I take a step backward and set up to cover first base in case Jessica is pulled off the bag.

  “Winning run at the plate,” Santo Bay’s side shouts. “You got it, Steffi!”

  Amber takes her time filling in the mound.

  I breathe in the scent of my leather glove. Then I rise onto the balls of my feet and squat into position, placing my glove out in front of me.

  Amber sets up, winds, and fires a fastball.

  “Strike,” the umpire yells. (For the nine-hundredth time.) The scouts in the stands salivate.

  Emily fires the ball back to Amber. Then she turns around and waves at Zoe and Abby, who sit in the dugout, Abby’s leg in a soft cast.

  “Hit the ball down the middle, make the pitcher bend a little. Make her”—the Santo Bay dugout claps twice—“eat some dirt!”

  Amber sets up again and fires.

  Steffi leans into the inside pitch, allowing it to graze her right hip.

  “Dead ball,” the umpire shouts, taking off his mask. He points to first.

  Steffi smirks, tosses her bat toward her dugout, and jogs to first.

  “Way to take one for the team!” the dugout shouts.

  “Time.” Coach Kate jogs toward the umpire.

  “She leaned into it!” I shout to the field umpire as he jogs by.

  “She hit me!” Steffi yells from first. “On purpose.”

  “If Amber wanted to hit you with a pitch, she would have hit you in the face,” I shout at Steffi.

  “Kylie, bring it in,” Nyla yells from shortstop.

  The infield gathers at the pitcher’s mound.

  “Hey, pitcher, what’s the matter? Can’t you stand a little chatter?” the Santo Bay dugout sings.

  “Shut up,” I say to Santo Bay. “This is BS!” I shout to my teammates. Then I stare at Steffi, who’s rubbing out her hip.

  “Remember what Coach Kate said. We have to keep our emotions in check in situations like this. Santo Bay is trying to rattle us. Let’s just get the next two outs and get our turn at the plate,” Nyla says. “Let’s play our game.”

  We watch as Coach Kate gestures wildly at the umpire. Then she hangs her head and jogs back to the dugout.

  “On three, team,” Nyla says, bringing us together on the mound.

  We shout “team” and jog back to our positions.

  The next girl, number eleven, also digs in on the left side.

  “Watch another drag or chance for a free ride,” I shout, glancing at Steffi.

  Nyla looks over at me and smirks. “Nice to have you back, Collins.”

  Then she shouts, “Hit and run,” while watching the third base coach give the signs to Steffi and the girl at second.

  Amber sets up and fires.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Steffi take off toward second. At the same time, the batter shortens up her swing and drags the ball to Phoenix at third.

  I sprint toward second. At third, Phoenix bobbles the ball, finally picks it up, and launches it to me. I catch it at second, attempt to step off the bag, and twist to fire the ball at first. Before I can throw it, Steffi takes me out with her slide. I tumble to the ground, catching myself with my hands. The ball rolls out of my glove.

  “Safe,” the field umpire shouts behind me.

  Nyla grabs me as I’m about to land one on Steffi’s face. “Come on, Kylie. She’s not worth it.”

  Then I remember—let it go.

  Even though I’d rather let it go all over Steffi Norcross, this game is too important. I take a deep cleansing yoga breath and return to my spot at second. Steffi stands up and wipes the dirt off her uniform.

  But not before I yell something that goes against my attitude re-do in Steffi’s direction.

  “One out,” Nyla screams.

  Amber sets up, nods, and fires from the mound.

  The Santo Bay batter doesn’t move as the ball whizzes past her.

  “Strike!” the umpire yells.

  The batter steps out. At the same time, Amber receives the ball and digs out her mound.

  I watch as three recruiters in the stands drop their radar guns and furiously write on yellow notepads.

  Although I don’t want to, I can’t help but feel a tad green. I mean, I’m still Kylie. Quickly, though, I shake it off.

  I squat into position as Amber explodes off the mound. The ball spins and hits Emily’s glove on the outside corner. The batter swings and misses.

  “Strike two!” the umpire shouts.

  Amber receives the ball once more and walks back to the mound.

  “No balls, two strikes,” the umpire says.

  Just as Amber is about to take the mound again, I spot my dad in the stands. I still can’t believe he came all this way. He’s been watching me all day long. He gives me a thumbs-up.

  I’m about to give him a little wave when I see Amber burst off the mound.

  Smack.

  A perfect rise ball lands in the center of Emily’s glove. The umpire punches the air.

  Our side goes wild. Another K sign is added to the left field fence behind me.

  “Two outs, any bag!” Nyla shouts.

  “See what happens when you cheat?” I say to Steffi at second.

  “Whatever.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ll be crossing the plate in a few. Our best batter is up.” Steffi sets up on the bag, ready to take off.

  Zoe tosses the ball back to Amber.

  Santo Bay’s number four digs into the batter’s box. She takes a deep breath and stares out toward center field. During her last two bats, she launched two balls to the fence. Luckily, we were ready for her.

  I turn around and shout to the outfield, “Big bat.”

  “Give her room!” Coach Kate shouts. “Your way twice, Chloe!” Like me, Chloe somehow ended up starting after a season of benchwarming.

  Amber sets up on the mound. She winds up and throws another rise ball.

  Number four’s eyes widen. She loads up and swings hard.

  Smack.

  The ball sails in between center and left field. It soars higher and higher.

  Clang.

  The ball smacks the fence. Steffi takes off. She’s around third before
Chloe can field the ball. Eventually, Chloe grabs it and launches it to Nyla. Nyla successfully catches the ball. But it’s too late. Steffi crosses home plate.

  Quick on her feet, Nyla fires the ball to Phoenix to keep the run at third. Phoenix runs the ball in to a stunned Amber.

  This is not good.

  “First or second,” Nyla shouts. “Two outs.”

  “Batter up,” the umpire shouts at the bottom of the seventh inning. At this point, Santo Bay leads by one.

  Before I step into the box, I glance at the stands.

  “Yay, Kylie! Woot woot!” I spot Missy, Tamika, Taylor, Eva, and Hannah on the bleachers. Each of them shakes a white and blue pompom.

  I grin at my buds.

  They came all the way to the tournament hours before our junior prom. Wow.

  I force myself to concentrate. There’ll be time to thank them later. I stare at Coach Kate. She gives me the drag sign. I’m not surprised. With Nyla up behind me, Coach is thinking, get me on base and hope Nyla hits a bomb.

  I do my best to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. I step to the left side of the plate and dig into the batter’s box. Then I hold my hand in a stop position to the umpire as I dig out the dirt.

  “Watch slap,” the catcher yells as I load my hands on the bat and set up in the batter’s box.

  Steffi winds up. Once her arm rotates toward her hip, I make my move, crossing my feet and stepping toward the pitcher. Smack. I make immediate contact. The ball skims over the first baseman’s head. I take off toward first. Fortunately for me, the right fielder and the second baseman reach the ball at the same time. Confusion erupts and they lose precious seconds before the right fielder finally snatches the ball and fires it to first. Chalk puffs in the air as I step on the bag.

  “Safe,” the infield umpire shouts.

  “Yes!” I pump my fist.

  Our first base coach, Coach Jackie, slaps my hands. We both look at Coach Kate, who’s in the process of touching her nose, forehead, and ear. Her movements are so quick, it’s a good thing I’ve been studying the signs all season from my spot on the bench.

  I adjust my helmet and prepare to sprint.

  Nyla steps into the batter’s box.

  Santo Bay’s coach shouts, “Big bat!” And his players arrange themselves accordingly.

  Nyla stares at the pitcher.

  She winds up.

  I take my lead.

  She launches a hard pitch.

  Nyla watches the ball sail into the catcher’s mitt.

  “Strike,” the umpire yells.

  Nyla steps out and looks over at Coach. Coach Kate taps her nose, her ear, and then she drags her hand down the front of her thigh.

  I nod. Here we go. Hit and run.

  I straddle the bag and move my arms into position to run.

  Nyla steps into the batter’s box again and digs in. The pitcher begins her motion and whips her arm. At the same time, I take off for second.

  Smack.

  As I sprint, I look up and see the ball sailing toward the outfield. Santo Bay’s left fielder turns around and takes off after it, but the ball is years behind her. I turn it on. Everything I’ve got. Every ounce of anger. Every tear. Everything.

  Coach Kate is waving me home. As soon as I round third, I spot my friends on their feet up in the dugout. Their cheers echo throughout the stadium.

  “Run home!” Coach yells.

  I don’t miss a beat. But when I reach home, Santo Bay’s catcher stands there, blocking the plate like a soldier.

  “Down!” my teammates scream.

  My helmet bobs on my head with each step. I keep my eyes down and slide into home. I lie back, attempting to slip underneath the tag. The yellow ball lands in the catcher’s glove. Dry dirt puffs like a cloud, gritty in my mouth. The catcher lays down the tag hard on my stomach.

  But the ball isn’t there.

  “Safe,” the umpire yells.

  I stand up and pump my arms. Then I turn around to spot Nyla. Santo Bay’s catcher retrieves the ball. She fires it hard to third. Nyla slides into third base. But the catcher misfires and the ball sails into left field.

  Coach Kate jumps up and down, waving her arms for Nyla to sprint home. I stand behind home plate. Will she make it?

  Nyla charges hard and slides headfirst into home. A huge dirt puff clouds my vision.

  “Safe!” the umpire shouts.

  The dust cloud clears and my teammates surround us in a mob of excitement. We fall into a human pile.

  And just like that, it’s like nothing bad ever happened.

  forty-two

  And from there, things only get better.

  “Did I just hear that you’re back on the prom court?” Missy asks, once I’m settled into the front seat of her car after our post-tournament celebration.

  I gingerly place my MVP trophy on the floor in front of me. (It should really say “co-MVP.” Amber also got one.) I choose my words carefully. “Guys, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you all were there for me today and that we saved Beachwood Softball.”

  Not surprisingly, they ignore my attempt to change the topic.

  “Yeah, I swear I heard Coach Kate say that you were back on the court,” Jessica chimes in from the backseat. “It sounded like she got a phone call from Martie.”

  “So, does this mean you’re joining us tonight?” Missy asks, stopping at the entrance to the complex. She pulls her dad’s Mercedes GL550 out onto a winding road. (It’s the only car that was large enough to fit the seven of us.)

  “Nope. I’m still not going,” I say, unwrapping my hair band from my ponytail. I flip my head upside down and rub out my hair.

  “Did I miss something? Like when you got hit in the head with a softball?” Missy asks, inching up in her seat to check her reflection in the rearview mirror. She pouts her lips. “Because you’re acting like a crazy person.”

  “You know she’s right!” Hannah pipes up. She’s sitting in the middle next to Taylor and Tamika.

  “I second that,” Tamika says. “You have to go. You’re back on the court.”

  “And you’re our date,” Eva adds. She sits in the backseat with Jessica.

  Ugh, date. I feel my stomach flip-flop thinking about Zachary arm in arm with some random girl. Then it hits me. “Wait. What are you talking about?”

  “We’re going as a team this year. Didn’t Missy tell you? We’re meeting our dates at the prom,” Jessica explains.

  “What?” I ask, feeling my eyes tear up. “Really, guys, don’t do all that for me. I’m not going.”

  Missy adjusts her oversized sunglasses. “Why would the guest of honor miss the big party?” She points to my trophy. “You’re going to be the first B-Dub student to collect a trophy and crown on the same day.”

  She squeezes my leg.

  “We’ll be there with you, Ky,” Taylor says.

  I look around at my teammates (plus Hannah) and think about how they’re the ones who’ve been there for me through thick and thin. “Okay, I’ll go.”

  The girls cheer. Their voices are almost as loud as they were at the game.

  “But one condition,” I say, interrupting their excitement.

  “Name it,” Missy replies.

  “Amber gets to come with us in our limo.”

  “Amber?” Tamika asks, disbelievingly.

  “Yes, Amber.” I pause. “And her friend Danielle if she wants to join.”

  “Are you sure?” Eva asks.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Is the future prom princess ready?” Missy opens the door to her bedroom to find me standing there, staring at myself in her mirror, still in my bathrobe. The only indication that I’m about to leave for the prom is my hair—at Missy’s insistence, it’s been done into a messy updo with intertwined lavender ribbons. Other than that, I’m a total mess. I can feel Missy shaking her head behind me.

  “So, are you planning on not getting dressed? Guess they’re going to have to crown me ins
tead . . .”

  I’m jolted awake at the mention of a crown. “Never—” I begin to say. Then I catch sight of Missy in the mirror. “Miss, you look amazing!” Her short pale pink dress sparkles and her blonde hair is done in long, loose curls. The effect is radiant—she looks like Taylor Swift without a guitar.

  “You’re going to miss the pictures!” she exclaims. “Everyone’s waiting! Including your dad. And Amber. Get dressed!”

  “I just can’t, Miss. It’s wrong. The dress, I mean.” There’s a reason why I’ve been staring at myself instead of being productive—my mother’s absence still stings. There’s no way I can bring myself to wear the dress she shipped.

  Missy grins. “Fortunately, you have another option.” She scampers over to her walk-in closet and swings open the doors. A yellow garment bag hangs there, amid all of her Free People and Marc Jacobs. Big block letters spell out BANANA FAD.

  Missy pulls the bag out of the closet. She unzips it to reveal a breathtaking lavender dress. She holds it up by the hanger and the soft material cascades down to the floor.

  My mouth hangs open.

  “So, I assume the dress is up to par. . . .” Missy winks.

  “Wow . . . Miss. I love it!” I shout. “The way the straps loop together in the back. They almost look like two upsidedown As . . . Wow.” I’m speechless.

  “I knew it’d be up your alley.” She hangs the dress on the closet door.

  “But when did you even have time to work on it?”

  “You know, whenever you thought I was hanging out with Hannah.” She fluffs her hair. “I can’t get into college on good looks alone.”

  “Missy, I had no idea. You are really talented. And not just at marketing,” I say, still staring at the dress. “You never needed to pretend like you weren’t.”

  “It was still helpful to learn from Hannah,” she concedes, shrugging. Then she shifts gears. “So, the big question is, are you going to wear it?”

  “Ohmigod, yes!” I beam.

  “Great! See you downstairs in five.” She sashays past me and out the door.

  I grab the dress off the closet door and hold it up in front of me, staring at myself in the mirror. I picture what it will be like to walk into prom, arm in arm with my friends, in a Banana Fad dress. It’s not the image I originally had in mind—me holding Zachary’s hand, in a dress I picked out with my mom—but surprisingly, it’s even better.