Nic Stone - Fast Pitch

W e have to win this game.

Like gotta win. No other option.

Ive been playing base-related ballfirst tee, now softsince the minute I could hold up a bat. Just like my daddy. And his daddy before him. And his daddy before him. Its in my blood. And I learned the meaning of love/hate relationship in a game situation like this one.

Its the bottom of the sixth and were up by three, but the opposing team is at bat. Bases are loaded, two strikes, two outs. Any time I say something is stressful, my mama rolls her eyes and says, Youre twelve, Shenice. You have no idea what that word means. But this? Is stressful.

As I drop back into my squat behind home plate, my eyes scan the field, and I inhale deep. Impossible to not noticefor me at leasthow different our two teams look. While every player on mine, the Fulton Firebirds, has some shade of brown skin, all of the Stockwood Sharks girls are white.

Which is the case for most teams in the 12U division of the Dixie Youth Softball Association. DYSA, if youre feeling fancy.

Not only are we Fulton Firebirds the first all-Black team in this leaguewhich even considering the name is a huge dealwere the only team in the entire DYSA with more than three Black players on the roster.

Across eight states. All of which were on the pro-slavery side during the Civil War. Something my daddy reminds me of every time he sees DYSA.

Its a weight no one your age should have to carry, but cant ignore, he says. And hes right: Every win feelshistorical.

I hate itbut also love it.

Victory is almost ours.

I hear the umpa short dude whose middle is shaped like the highlighter-hued ball that gives this game I love so much its namehock a loogie above my head. It slams into the dirt on my right with the force of a slimy bullet.

So gross.

I breathe in again, though it definitely makes me feel like the hot dog I ate earlier is going to join ump guys blob of mucus beside me. The air has to be full of phlegm germs right now.

I gotta get my head back in the game. Yes, were up, but Id be lying if I said the Sharks arent good.

Theyre real good, in fact.

But so are we.

We have to win this game.

Their best batter is at the plateSteph Mahoney. I know her name because of her rep as a home-run hitter. Not surprising once you see the latest Louisville Slugger LXT choke-gripped between her half-covered hands. Her batting gloves are fingerless, which Ive never seen in our league. But considering that bat costs 350 buckaroos, its clear good ol Steph is serious about this sport.

I lock gazes with our pitcher, Cala Quickfire Kennedy. My teammate since the days of rolling one of Daddys baseballs back and forth in our shared playpen (though we havent always played on the same actual team). Shes the best, most epic fast-pitch heat thrower in the state. Likely even in all of Dixie, and maybe the whole country.

All shes gotta do is throw one more strike.

In my peripheral vision, I see the blond, freckly-faced girl on third base take a quick peek at her coach, who tugs at his right earlobe, and then brushes a finger beneath his nose. After a slight nod, she subtly steps one foot off the slightly raised white square, and shifts into a ready-to-run stance, eyes on Cala, like a little lion cub who has decided home plate is her prey.

Steal a run? Not on my watch.

We HAVE to win this game.

I adjust my face mask with my left handmy signal to Hennessey Lane, our go-to third-base girl (and a robotics champion to boot), that the ball is coming at her fast so she can pick the runner off, which would win us the gameand within a second, Quickfire has thrown a pitch. Its wide, and Steph rightly doesnt swing. But I was right about blondie: she takes off from third.

Good thing they dont call me Lightning Lockwood for nothing. Before the ump can shout, Ball two! Ive fired the yellow sphere at Hennessey, and the golden-haired Shark is diving back toward the base, her fingertips reaching the edge a mere breath before Hennessey tags her side, ball in glove.

SAFE! the third-base ump says, slashing his arms out to his sides.

Hennessey lobs the ball back to Cala, and as the LXT batter repositions herself, I use my fingers to signal my suggested pitch: rising curve, outside edge. Cala stands, centers, and whips her arm around quick as a camera flash. It hits my glove before I can blink