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And to Jessica’s question about Amber. “That’s your call,” I say, motioning toward the field like I’m totally in control.
    My friends follow my lead, turning to stare at the gaggle of girls. Some nervously tug on their glove strings. Others stare at the grass. And still others dig at the dirt with their feet. Amber is busy chatting with Danielle.
    “I already have my own opinion about Amber.”
    “Sounds juicy,” Jessica says.
    “Oh, it is,” I reply. Then I realize Coach Kate is about to begin her speech.
    “Just a reminder that teams will be posted on Wednesday,” she says, flanked by the assistant coaches. “Also, please make sure you have the number we gave out earlier today safety pinned to the back of your T-shirts so we know who you are. For the returning players, this is not necessary since all of you remembered to wear your practice jerseys.” She scans the crowd, looking pleased.
    I hope that doesn’t mean I’m not doing enough to distinguish myself . Quickly, I do my own survey, mentally counting the number of teammates who aren’t tucked. I breathe a sigh of relief. Only three of us remembered.
    “Plus, I know who you are already.” Coach grins, locking eyes with me for a split second.
    My stomach doesn’t just somersault, it does a round-off back handspring. I look down at my white-and-blue number seven practice jersey. After feeling anxious (to say the least) about Amber, I’m momentarily filled with a sense of ease. Amber’s going to have to do a lot more than pitch to prove she’s ready for varsity softball at Beachwood.
    Coach continues, “Today is our first official day of tryouts. To understand what we do here at Beachwood, pay attention to the upperclassmen, as we have specific routines when we arrive at the softball field . . . .”
    I take Coach’s endless droning as an opportunity to sneak another peek at Amber. I guess warm-up procedures really float her boat because she’s staring at Coach like she’s two-time Olympic medalist Jessica Mendoza.
    I tug at my glove and remind myself of what Coach always says: “Talent alone doesn’t win championships.” But if it did . . . Amber’s not the only one with that particular skill set. I’ve got it too. Enough talent to start as a freshman and sophomore. And certainly enough talent to crush Amber.
    Having calmed myself with Coach’s words, I force myself to pay attention.
    “I would like to turn everyone’s attention to the outfield fence. Does anyone notice anything worth mentioning?” She points to the fence, and I can’t help but stare at the state-of-the-art scoreboard that sits at the center. The words WELCOME BACK, BEACHWOOD ACADEMY SOFTBALL scroll in red on the bottom.
    The group is silent.
    Then Nyla pipes up. “I do.”
    “Yeah, me too . . . ” Emily announces.
    “Yes, Nyla?” Coach Kate’s lips form a straight line.
    “The fence is empty.”
    “Exactly. The fence is empty. We have no championship or tournament banners.” Coach Kate folds her arms across her chest. “But Wildcats, we’re going to change that this year. We’re going to change that by pushing ourselves like we never have before and by making sure that we have the absolute best talent out here on the softball diamond.”
    I swear for a moment Coach Kate glances at Amber. Fire burns in my stomach and I rub my palms against the sides of my matching mesh royal-blue team shorts.
    I’m not giving up my position that easily.
    “Remember our goal is a winning season—from day one,” she continues. “By the end of the school year, we will have a banner hanging from that fence. And I want to reiterate: no one is safe. We’re putting the best team out there regardless of who you are. So fight hard to win your spot!” Coach shouts.
    The crowd responds with paralyzed silence.
    Coach waits for the nervous looks to peter out. “Today, the assistants and I are going to evaluate you on your fielding. So, infielders, please go with Coach