Diary of an Introvert Girl and Extrovert Boy

1. Click

     If I had known it was going to be the last baseball game I'd ever play, I would have asked my mom to bring the video camera or something. But you never know that kind of stuff in advance. All you can do is play every game like it's your final shot at the World Serie, and hope that for you, it isn't.
    It was the summer after eight grade. I was the relief pitcher, trying to close out a 2-1 victory in the league championship. All I needed to do was get through one winning without giving up a run. My best friend, Aj Moore, was catchin, as usual. We were the two best pitcher on the team. Actually, we were the two best pitchers in the league, and the two best catchers ---- which meant that when I pitched, he caught, and vice versa. It was unique situation, having two best friends pitching to each other all the time. I mean l, really unique, the kind of unique that gets written up in the newspaper. The kind of unique that makes the town's high school baseball coach come out to scout our post season games.
  
    The kind of unique that girls notice. Aj and I were the golden boys of eight grade. He actually was a golden boy: almost six feet tall, with blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a relaxed smoothness that came from knowing everyone loved him. I wasn't literally quite as golden. As in, I was five-foot-three jewish kid with black hair, pale skin, and glasses. Aj was a power-throwing righty; I was a sneaky, deceptive lefty. Aj was a natural catcher. I had to work my butt off behind the plate, which was made harder by the fact that I was the only lefty catcher at our level in the whole league. Generally, coaches frown on left-handed kids becoming catchers, so you have to be really, really good at it if you ever want to get any playing time at the position.
    Off the field, the difference between us were just as obvious. Where Aj was smooth, I wss prickly. He smiled, I brooded. He could laugh things off, but I took everything to seriously. He liked winning, but I lived to win. When we lost, he would scowl at the time but get over it when he left the field. I would go home and punch my pillow for half an hour. Fortunately, I had two things going for me that helped my social standing: I was an athlete, and I was Aj's friend.

    Anyway, the way things were supposed to go in this game was that I would blow away the first three batters I faced, in order, and we would win the Lehigh Valley Knee-High Baseball League title for the second year in a row. The high school coach would be so impressed with Aj and me that he would  make us starting pitchers on the Jv team when we got to ninth grade. Aj had pitched six great winnings to get us this far, and now I was on the mound. All I had to do was the usual.
    I tried to ignore the stabbing ache in my left elbow. The pain, which had been with me all season, was my biggest secret. Nobody knew about it, and I mean nobody. Not Aj, not any of my coaches, and certainly not my parents. If the coaches knew, they might not let me pitch. And if my parents found out, forget about it. They would absolutely freak. Mom would rush onto the field and be all like "My baby! MY BA-A-A-BY!" Then I would basically have to move to Canada.

    Ever since Aj's massive growth spurt in seventh grade had left me a whole head shorter than he was, I been overthrowing the ball. I knew it, but that was the only way I was going to compete, keep getting batters out, and----- hopefully----- make the high school team. So I would throw fastball after fastball until it felt like my elbow was getting mashed up in a meat grinder, and then I'd mix in a couple of curved balls, which felt even worse. On the other hand, at this point I figured I was only nine good pitches---- three strikeouts--- away from a whole winter of rest and recovery.
    Nine. Freaking. Good. Pitches
The first batter was easy. Aj had gotten him out twice with nothing but fastballs, so I figured he would jump all over my first pitch. Aj signaled for a changeup, and the guy pounded the ball straight into the ground. It rolled about three feet in front of the plate. Aj pounced on the ball and whipped it to first.

    One day.
Batter number two was no problem. Aj hadn't shown him anything but fastballs, either. I had a feeling he'd lay off the first pitch after what I had just done to the leadoff dude, and I was right. I threw a change right in there for a strike. I knew he'd jump on the second pitch. Aj signaled for another change, down in the dirt. I missed my spot completely and threw it high. Luckily, the kid swatted at the ball, and hit a soft pop-up to third base.
    The third batter stepped into the box: their first basemen. A third-hitting lefty who had already hit two doubles off of Aj. I figured that was all right. Lefies have trouble hitting left-handed pitching. All I had to do was get one fastball by him. Then I could throw a curvedball right at his head. He would flinch, but the ball would break down and away from him, and hopefully end up on the inside corner of the strike zone. Follow that with an inside changeup, and I'd be done.