“Delia! Get out there!” Coach Bobby annoyingly yelled from first base. I put my big green cap on, grabbed my mitt, and ran out of the dugout to the outfield on a sunny June day. I spent most of the game looking for four-leafed clovers, and staring at the snack shop I couldn’t wait to get to afterwards. Coach Bobby called us all in to bat.
Sean hit first, starting the third inning. On his second swing, he hit a single. Abby was up next. She held her swing back for a pitch, but then hit a ground ball down the center. It skipped past the pitcher and rolled right into the short stop’s mitt. She almost got to first base, but got thrown out before she made it. Sean made it to second base when Jacob went up to bat. He swung, and the baseball took off straight up in the air, but the pitcher made an easy catch, and we had our second out.
“Uh-oh.” I was up next.
Coach handed me a bat and said, “Just try your best. I know you can do it.”
I read the sideways wording on the bat in my head, “Parrish Little League.” “Here we go.” I mumbled to myself.
It was our 8th and final game of the season, and we were coming towards the end of a game with a score no one kept except for the over-competitive parents.
I walked up to the plate, wide-eyed and nervous. I glanced over to my right and saw my parents there, looking through the fence with ecstatic smiles. My mom shot me two thumbs-up while my dad blared my name. I clenched the bat tightly like we had learned in practice. I had never hit the ball before, and I was due for one. The four-foot pitcher wound up his arm and released a fast one.
“A swing and a miss,” I heard the first baseman taunt. I had two more swings.
“Go, Del!” Mom cheered. I heard Coach Bobby’s timid enthusiasm as he reminded me to keep my eye on the ball and swing.
The second pitch left the mound. I froze and watched the ball fly right past me.
“Good job, Delia. Wait for a good one,” Coach said. I knew if I didn’t swing, they wouldn’t count as strikes.
“This is it Delia!” Dad yelled standing on the small bleacher seat.
This was my chance. This pitch right here. The long haired pitcher by the name of Ian took a step back. He held the ball close and cocked his leg up. The ball came straight at me; I closed my eyes and swung with all the power in my scrawny arms.
“Whack.” I opened my eyes and saw the ball leave the bat. I dropped it and ran as fast as I could down the white powder line toward Snotty, my parents yelling the whole way.
“Delia!” I heard from many different teammates and parents. I ran even faster. “Delia!” This time I heard my mom’s voice. The boy stood at the base, straight-legged, staring at me blankly as I got closer and closer to his red uniform.
My smile turned confused as I heard laughter when put my foot on base. I looked around frantically for the ball, and found it in the dirt against the opposing Bears dugout fence.
I looked at my parents, then looked at the baseman. “It was a foul ball,” he sneered.
