Bras or Boxers

Prologue

                Bras or Boxers

                Prologue: 

                Introducing Me 

“Two outs! Full count!” Paul, our umpire, yelled gruffly before he started the stopwatch he held. Paul didn’t care that I either had: one more ball and I would go to a base, or one more strike and the game would be over. All he cared about was when the game would end already, so he could get back to whatever he was doing before this game started. 

He was the typical umpire.

“Play’s to first and home!” The pitcher from the team we were against yelled, informing her teammates where they should throw the softball once they’ve caught it. She most definitely cared whether it would be ball four because I would end up at first base or my third strike because that would mean her team would win.  

I hated this feeling; the pressure of losing was all on me. Sure, everyone: families and friends of players that were sitting on the stands, my friends sitting on the well groomed green grass, my teammates sitting behind a fence and on the hot metal bench, and my coaches who refused to sit at any game would say that it wasn’t my fault, but in all honesty, I would believe it was.

It didn’t help that this game would decide whether our team would make it into the playoffs and that this was our last inning, and since we were the home team, we were the last up to bat. In other words it was our team’s last chance to get at least two home runs so we would win before ninety minutes came around.

As the pitcher finally threw the neon yellow softball up into the air, everyone, and I meant everyone was quiet. Maybe it was just me zoning everyone out, but I could have sworn a hush went over the crowd.

I knew the softball would end up in my striking zone because of the way the ball was arched into the air, and as I waited for my perfect timing I quickly glanced right pass the first baseman.

Passed the first baseman was my best friend of ten years: Conner Levington giving me his knowing look. To everyone who didn’t know him as much as I did, they would think that his feelings were neutral, however knowing him for ten years has helped me know him a little bit better than the average girl or guy who was swooning over him.

Since his arms were crossed the entire game, no one could tell that his shoulders and biceps were relaxed and so was his stance: rolling back and forth on his heels. His chocolate brown eyes and dark eyebrows showed no evidence of his relaxedness because he was wearing his favourite pair of dark tinted Carrera sunglasses. The only proof of him showing his emotion was his light pink lips. His light pink lips that were pulled into a small grin which was directed right at me because he knew exactly what I was thinking: that the softball thrown was a perfect pitch.

A full out chance of me running a home run.

I took a deep breath, a mini habit of mine, before I swung my electric blue bat straight across my upper body and I exhaled as my bat came into contact with the hard, yet somehow called, “soft” ball.

I looked up, with my black helmet weighing down on my head, and I was still able to see where that neon, yellow, hard, but somehow called “soft” ball was heading. I grinned, and so did Conner who gave me one of his rare pearly white smiles.

I swooned just a tad bit before I jogged around the diamond. If only he was straight…