Out of Her League |Lesbian Story|

Chapter 8

Felik paced up and down the sideline. Grigor stood stock still, legs astride, arms folded, only saying a few quiet words to his boyfriend, who would then sign to us. Tip hat, touch shoulders and rub the nose. That means you should hit the ball. Scratch ear, rub hands and tip hat. It means don't hit.

Each of us had memorized the signs, but I wondered if any of us remembered those codes under pressure. The pack of Russian supporters was incredibly noisy, doing a commentary all through the game in a weird mixture of Russian and English. Every time, the Rejects looked like they were doing something decent, Mitko and his friends went bananas.

The parents, huddled on the sidelines, were confused, who were these crazy Russian people who didn't even have kids in the team? Why were they here cheering their heads off for players they didn't even know?

I felt guilty. I mean, so many supporters going to all this trouble for such a lousy team. It made you feel like you should make more of an effort.

There were moments when we didn't totally stink. Tonya did a few decent throws. Susan used the size-technique to block the base on several occasions.

"Great save, Susan!" Felik called out.

When Rosie got nervous, we could hear her start singing loudly, moving after the ball which flew over everyone's head. With beautiful timing, she caught it and threw it back to the homeplate. She turned to bow flamboyantly to the coaches and audience. Grigor barked a laugh and gave her the thumbs up.

Melissa buzzed out and darted across the field like a bullet.

"Good work, girl!" said Felik, applauding.

Each half-inning, the goal of the defending team was to get three members of the other team out. We were the defending team. Right now, Olive was the pitcher. I prayed that she didn't do any of her fancy curve ball tricks. They never worked.

At the start, Olive made three strikes, resulting in a strikeout for the batter to leave.

"Good job, Olive!"

The audience roared for us. April prevented two homeruns from the other team by catching the ball.

But then as usual with the Rejects, we burned out. Stefanie wasn't going to throw the ball to Nora and messed up the pop flies. Nora was furious and started yelling at her.

"Why didn't you pass to me? You blew it, moron!"

Grigor made a 'quieten down' sign. Nora shut up and stalked back to her position.

Then we heard the umpire called out to Rosie with a stern look.

"Are you muttering at me, miss?"

"No, sir," answered Rosie. "I'm just singing."

Then in her nervous way to cope with anxiety, she started shimmying away from him.

"Did you just shimmy away from me?" the ump cried, frowning at her quizzically. "You're out!"

This stirred a bit of the debate between the umpire and the two coaches. But when Grigor spoke, the umpire had to let Rosie off the hook and the game continued.

But it did seem like the Rejects were losing the charm. Tonya threw the ball to the wrong base. Melissa tripped and fell, letting the runner score the home run.

When the second halftime came, we took the homeplate. The Red Star pitcher was probably Susan's twin. Stefanie took the bat and went first.

I could see that all the hype was putting pressure on her and everyone else. In a few moments, she was out. We were shocked. Normally, she would at least hit the ball. Then Susan came to take the sport. The pitcher on the other team was way better than Olive. Their catcher did a great job in framing the ball.

The visiting team was leading the run scores. Once we'd screwed up that chance, the Rejects lost heart. After the Red Stars next home run, we practically had to drag ourselves back to positions. It all felt so inevitable. Our team would always lose.

"Come on girls, heads up," urged Felik. "Don't give up yet."

But we had given up. Except for Susan, who was arguing with the ump about the last home run.

"That was a foul ball!" she insisted. (It wasn't.) "You blind, are ya? Leave your glasses at home, did ya?"

"You out!" The umpire pointed her out to the batter's box.

Things had fallen apart on the field. Then it was my turn to bat. It seemed so hopeless and embarrassing. I gave a quick glance at the sideline. I wondered if my dad was there to witness my pathetic game. Then I caught sight of Charlotte. She was holding her camera.

Great. Just great.

Now my humiliation would be recorded and rewound countless time.

I looked at Felik and Grigor. They stared back at me. They didn't yell any instruction. They just nodded as if to say 'show them'. I thought they were crazy. I had nothing to show.

I raised the bat up and licked my dry lips. The crowd seemed to quiet down for once. It was as if everyone was waiting for me to do a miracle. To save the game. Charlotte was looking at me. She did not raise her camera to record. She just watched me.

The pitcher of the other team took her place and then threw the first ball. It was too low and I had to stop myself from swinging the bat.

"Good thinking, Darci, good thinking," I heard the coach's voice.

The pitcher sent out another fast-speed ball, and it went straight to the catcher's mitt in a blink of an eye.

I heard the crowd groan. I sighed and straightened myself up a bit. Then I tried to block all the noises and focused on the ball.

"You can do it, Darci, come on!"

I readied myself for the last pitch. One last shot or we all went home.

The pitcher threw another high-speed ball at me. Usually, the hitters strike the third ball because the pitcher might grow tired from the last two throws, and if you don't take the chance, you're out. And if you do take the chance, you have to hit the ball in the air and upward, or you're out.

Gripping my bat tightly, I took the chance and swung as hard as I could.

Pock!

The fabulous sound echoed through the field. I watched in astonishment as the ball went soaring in a high arch. It was flying so high, the catcher could barely know where it was heading.

"Darci, run!"

I almost forgot that I had hit the homerun. The crowd went berserk on the sidelines. I dropped the bat and sprinted towards the first base.

It was an inside-the-park homerun, so I had to increase my speed. The ball had landed, and the outfielder from the Red Stars went to pick it up. Before they could put me out, I had passed the first and second base and was running towards the third one.

All voices jumbled and all I could hear was "Darci, go! go!"

I was a decent runner, but at that moment, I wished I had Melissa's speed.

"Darci, slide! slide!"

And I did. My left knee bent with my right leg outstretched, and I went sliding over the ground like I was ski-boarding down the snow. I would never risk an injury if I was playing in my Dad's team, but now I was playing my heart out.

When my feet touched the home plate, the crowd burst into a cheering roar.