| |
After a half-hour of practicing throwing overhand, there was significantly less banging. Juniper sat with her back against the wall, arms crossed and eyes blazing. Emily approached her. “I would like to invite you to rejoin us now, but I’m serious, Juniper—I can’t allow you to disrespect me like that.”
“Disrespect?” Juniper whined indignantly. “How about making me sit in the corner—how’s that for disrespect? Are you kidding me? I should quit this stupid team. You’re not going to win a game without me.”
Emily squatted down to be eye level with her. “Juniper, I would rather lose every game than give in to your stubborn, childish antics. So if you want to quit, quit. If you want to stay, then act like an athlete.” She stayed perched there, looking at her for a few seconds, and then she stood and walked away.
After a moment, she heard Juniper get up and follow her.
“Come on, guys,” Emily said. “Bring it in.” Most of them trotted toward her. A few lollygagged, but she let them. She started talking before they all got there. “Now I’m starting at the very beginning because this is our first year. I know that most of you know most of this, so don’t be offended by how simple I’m trying to make it.” She took a big breath. “In softball, pitchers pitch the ball underhand.” She glanced at Juniper who didn’t roll her eyes at this. Emily was greatly encouraged. “You’ve all probably seen softball pitchers windmill the ball”—she demonstrated in slow-mo—“but you absolutely don’t have to windmill pitch.” She paused, waiting for the argument.
Hailey provided it. “Isn’t every other team going to windmill?”
“I have no idea,” Emily admitted.
“Rangeley’s pitcher doesn’t windmill,” Natalie said.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Juniper said.
“How do you know that?” Hailey asked.
Natalie shrugged. “Someone told me.”
“Who on earth do you know in Rangeley?” Hailey asked.
Natalie blushed, making everyone think her mystery friend was a boy. “I mean, I don’t think they are very good, but they don’t have a windmiller.”
“That’s Class D for you,” Juniper muttered.
“Oh, and what class was your last school, Miss Big Deal?” Sydney said.
“Class A Southern Maine Champs,” Juniper said. “You got anything else you want to say?”
Sydney opened her mouth to say more.
“Sydney!” Emily scolded.
“Me?” Sydney cried defensively.
“The point is,” Emily said, “I can teach any of you to windmill if you’re interested. But whether or not you’re interested, someone is going to have to pitch, and I don’t yet know who that will be. So we’re all going to try at least a basic underhand pitch.”
“But we have Juniper,” Jasmine said.
Emily looked at Juniper. “Yes, we do. But we’re going to need more than one pitcher.”
“Why?” Jasmine asked.
Because we can’t count on her—at all. And even if we could, people get sick. People get injured. “Because we will. Just trust me. OK, we’re not actually going to get into a catcher’s position until we get some protective gear, but for now, Juniper, would you please go stand in front of the wall pads?”
Juniper looked at her as if she’d asked for a kidney. Emily quickly walked over to her. “I just need someone who can actually catch the balls. I’m not asking you to be a catcher. Just humor me, OK?”
Her expression transformed from irritated to acquiescent as she realized the common sense of Emily’s request, and she jogged to the end of the gym.
“All right, now the rest of you”—Emily paced off forty feet—“line up here.”
A small squabble ensued, as no one wanted to be first, and finally MacKenzie took the spot. Emily set the bucket of balls at her feet. “OK, MacKenzie. Absolutely no pressure. Just do your best. Try to hit the glove.”
MacKenzie looked as though she felt no pressure whatsoever. She might have been flying a kite at the beach. She flung her arm back, bent over, and fired the ball to Juniper.
And it almost got there. It hit the floor with a distinct lack of oomph and then rolled to Juniper, who bent over, grabbed it, then stood and quickly returned it to MacKenzie. The first six girls in line all ducked as though it were a missile set to explode on impact, but MacKenzie caught it.
“Sorry,” Juniper mumbled.
MacKenzie looked at Emily.
“Again.”
MacKenzie threw the ball again. This time it made it to Juniper, but barely.
“Again.”
MacKenzie looked at her as if to ask, “Really?”
“Really,” Emily said.
MacKenzie pitched the ball again and though it didn’t travel fast, it took a completely straight path and landed square in Juniper’s glove.
“Not bad,” Juniper said, and Emily almost fell down in shock. Not so much at the pitch, which was a surprise, but at the fact that Juniper had uttered two encouraging syllables.
“Next,” Emily said, trying to look impassive. James had rubbed off on her—a little.
Hailey stepped up looking as though she were about to throw a pitch in a state championship extra inning.
“Just relax, Hailey.”
Hailey showed no signs of relaxing. She flung her arm back and threw the ball, apparently as hard as she could, toward Juniper. It went about three feet wide to the right. Hailey and Juniper swore in unison.
“Girls,” Emily scolded.
Juniper chased the ball down, again surprising Emily, and fired it back to Hailey, who didn’t catch it. Hailey chased it all the way to the other end of the gym and then ran back to her spot. “Can I try again?”
“Of course.”
Her second pitch went wild to the left. Her face grew red, and her fist clenched. Emily walked over to her. “Hailey, just relax. Don’t try to throw it so hard. Just throw it.”
Apparently Hailey misunderstood because this time she lobbed the ball toward Juniper, and it floated for an eternity before dropping into the strike zone from above. Emily figured this was better than nothing and said, “Next.”
Chloe threw it over Juniper’s head three times in a row.
Jasmine let go of the ball during her windup, and it hit Sydney, who was standing six feet behind her.
Sara couldn’t get the ball to travel forty feet. Neither could Allie.
Hannah rolled one and hit the basketball backboard with another.
Sydney spent at least an hour on her windup and then was furious when it rolled forty feet. She tried again, didn’t shorten up her windup despite being encouraged to do so, and didn’t improve on her pitch. Emily didn’t let her try a third time.
Lucy, Natalie, and Victoria refused to try at all.
Ava threw it straight and true, two out of three times.
Kylie Greem, seventh grader, asked if she could windmill, was told not yet, sulked a little, and threw three strikes in a row.
Emily made a mental note: Hailey, Ava, and a seventh grader were their only hopes. And she wasn’t sure it was even safe to put a seventh grader on the mound. She guessed Richmond could probably hit the ball—hard.
