All Of My Glove

Can of Corn

It wasn't every day that Analie Thompson found herself sitting on a century-old bus surrounded by fifteen smelly, burping guys clad in scuffed white baseball pants and sweat-soaked jerseys. She couldn't help her frustrated sigh and Samuel Hicks snored loudly in the seat behind her as she tried to sort out the statistics for each player based on the scorebook in front of her. After the brief quiet resumed, she was able to figure Danny Halsey had the best ERA of the pitchers over the course of the season, combining his numbers from the start to the finish. She scribbled his name on a sheet of paper with the accomplishment before closing the book, satisfied with the work she had been able to do during the short bus ride.

Coach Connolly shot her a smile from the seat across from her. "How's it coming over there, Ana?" he asked, though she knew better than to believe he was genuinely intrigued. "It's coming," she answered nonchalantly, not surprised to not received any acknowledgement.

He should be concerned, however. The Spartans baseball team was heading to the District Final for the first time in fifteen years after the win today against the Pirates. If they won against the Dragons the next day, the team would be heading to state for the first time in St. Anthony history. Analie was beyond thrilled by this, but by the looks on the players' faces, she could tell they didn't truly have the heart for the game she had so much love for.

One look at David Sampson's batting average, a solid .352, would indicate that the guy was good at baseball. A look at the actual David Sampson would show you a typical jock giggling like a school girl in the back of the bus as he FaceTimed his girlfriend. The same went for Roger Harris, whose home run total (8) lead the team, but in reality, Roger was the biggest pushover and the most sensitive guy in the entire high school. It was a wonder that this team had made it this far without heart.

"Hard work beats talent when talent doesn't work hard," she murmured to herself, leaning her head back against the leather seat.

"What does that mean?" someone asked above the noise of the loose bus windows rattling. She looked up to see Allen Raybin and Jonathan Smith staring at her expectantly. She rolled her eyes. "It's a quote. It means that hard work is better than talent, especially when people who have the talent just don't appreciate what they have."

Jonathan laughed as he leaned back in his seat, then said, "That's so stupid. If you were born to do something, you're going to do it and do it great because it's what you were meant to do. Hard work is for overachievers and nerds."

"I wouldn't expect you to get it, considering how slow you are," she shot back. It was rude, but she was irritated already with Jonathan for asking her if she was on her period earlier when he had tried to erase his two errors from the scoresheet when she wasn't looking, and of course, she had exploded on him. Her stats were her only friend on this team, and she worked very hard to maintain them. Jonathan was not her friend. To her, he was nothing more than #69 (eye roll) on the field, but #15 on the team in fielding percentage with a whopping .619. Every time the ball was his to right field, she automatically had her pencil ready to tally yet another error on Smith. He had horrible range and always took the worst route to the ball. It was as if he had never even played the game before this season.

"Be nice, you two," Coach Connolly warned. "Look at it this way: the sooner we win, the sooner you can say adios."

"I wouldn't have a problem with him if he wouldn't try to cheat," Analie pointed out, giving Jonathan a glare. "I really shouldn't be surprised, though. He's always peeking over my shoulder in calculus. I don't even know how he got into that class."

"Hey, I only copy your answers when I know I don't know the answer," he shot back. "So all of them?" she asked, holding her stat sheet tighter to her.

Jonathan huffed, falling back against his seat and crossing his arms, pouting like a two year old. "Whatever," he muttered. His demeanor had changed so suddenly, and Analie nearly apologized for her harsh words, but decided to keep her mouth shut. Honestly, if he hadn't wanted a fight, he shouldn't have asked her a question and then say the answer was stupid, so it was his fault that he was being dramatic.

Still, when she glanced over, she couldn't help but notice he didn't seem as confident as he had earlier. The strangest thing was, she couldn't figure out why she even cared.