Shadows and Lights

Chapter 1

The first time I "accidentally" met them was during a sport festival at school. Teiko middle school had a most unfortunate mantra, "winning is everything." I wasn't approving of ideology like that. I prefer to play for my team, protecting them in any way I can. It definitely didn't help that I was at Teiko on scholarship, having been uprooted from the United States in an effort to better the school's slightly-above-average softball team. I'd had barely enough Japanese rattling about my memory to make it through the average school day. Anything beyond school and softball was generally lost to me. 



That game, that tournament, was really a long string of obstacles. The inexperienced players were being obnoxious, chattering away about boys and dates. The heat was sweltering, and the catching gear certainly wasn't helping. My pitcher's self esteem had dropped drastically in the last two innings, and I couldn't stop noticing every little thing. The last thing was a constant problem for me. I see everything, and while I can easily control it, I knew that tonight I'd be much more tired than usual. Sweat has started plastering my hair to my neck and face, and the umpire had allowed me time to dunk my head in some ice-water and drench the rest of me. The cold felt like magic against my skin. Thank god I have more clothes on under my uniform. My temper is wearing thin. 
 

"Oi!" I yell, glaring at the benched players. "Get more water for your fielders if you don't have anything better to talk about than boys!" The girls scuttle away, watching me. My eyes turn to the pitcher, a shy girl called Mizuki, and I give her a nod. "Two more. Give me two more and I can end this inning for you." There are two reasons I'm here, and why I'm more specifically a catcher. The first is that I observe too much, and I can remember it with relative ease. The second is that I can manipulate our opponents. Runner on three and one. Fake a throw to two, have Mizuki cut it off and toss it back to me. I give the infield the sign for our play, tapping my wrist once and my chest twice. 
 

Mizuki's arm won't last another inning. Her pitches have slowed, and I nod to our second baseman, who seems to have caught my drift. I throw my fake, anticipating the runner crashing toward me at breakneck speed. The throw back to me is sloppy, and my eyes widen as I realize I'm in a bad position to catch it. I snatch it out of the air as fast as possible, drop my vulnerable leg to the ground, and slam myself into the runner. We both crash to the floor in a tangle of limbs. "Out!" That's three! 



The runner gets up faster than I do, stomping hard on my throwing hand. My fingers curl into the dirt, spasming slightly as I pull it back. I hate metal cleats so much. I toss the ball back to Mizuki as she nears me. With a shuddering sigh, I spring up and wince as my ankle protests slightly. A wilder pitcher replaces Mizuki the next inning. In that time, I manage to corner the opposing team at the cost of an ankle and a knee. My shoulder is the price I need to pay for the next play. 
 

The bunt is perfectly placed, nearly out of reach. It rolls my way, and with all the speed and strength I can gather, I turn to meet the runner sliding into home. One of her legs is far too high for a normal slide. In fact, it crashes closer to my ribs than my shoulder, making me grunt in pain as I slam her leg down with the ball in my glove. She lets out a yelp as her ankle gives way, and I shudder as steel cleats rake down my side. It's always like this. Injuries every game, outs whenever the chance comes my way. I'm here to make this team win, not to play nice. "Out!" 



"Hai-chan!" My last name's been shortened significantly. Heights became Hai in an effort to ease pronunciation. Our third baseman, Kagome, leans over me as I allow the runner freedom to get back to her dugout. "You're going to get yourself killed!" I stand, dusting myself off and wincing as I stretch my arms. My mask is somewhere near the back of the backstop. 
 

"I'm here to get you victories." I hiss, stretching my torso and wincing at the familiar pain of being cleated. "This is what it takes." With the ball tossed to our pitcher and Kagome running back to her position, I jog to find my mask. I adjust my ponytail and shove strands of long, dark hair out of my face, disgusted as I find them slick with sweat. The mask comes on as soon as it's emptied of dust, and I make awkward eye contact with heterochromatic eyes. The redhead gives me a strangely approving nod, and I turn my attention back to the game. We win 14-1.