7
The Tryout
There were things I missed about home. I missed
my best friend, Matt. I missed some of the boys on
my house-league team, the Lightning—but not
all of them. Definitely not all of them. I missed the
ballpark where I’d played since I was four, starting
with T-ball. I moved on to baseball when I was
five, joining a group of seven-year-olds. I’d worked
my way up to play on the Red Devils, an all-star
team. They named a hot dog (“The Devil Dog”) at
my local ballpark after the Red Devils, because we
were
that
good. I was the only girl on the team, but
everyone was cool with it because of my arm.
That
girl’s got
some arm
, they always said. The hot dog
was epic. There was nothing better than eating one
after winning a game. So there were good memories,
