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Zimmer. And outfielders, you’re with Coach Dominico. Catchers, please grab your gear and follow Coach Jackie. Pitchers, you’re with me,” Coach says, pointing to the various assigned areas. “Now, let’s get started!” Coach charges toward the pitcher’s mound.
    We all immediately stand up, eager to begin the tryouts. Amber somehow manages to come out of nowhere to stand next to me. Her freckled face flushes and she grins. I attempt to grin back, but I suspect I look like I’m in pain. She turns to say something to Danielle, and, overwhelmed by curiosity, I ignore my own friends and peek behind her to see what number she has pinned to her shirt.
    Instantly, I regret the decision. There, taunting me, is a big number one.

six

    “This is so not good,” Jessica says, drumming her long concert pianist fingers against her cheek.
    “We have nothing to worry about,” I chime in, attempting to convince the others as much as myself.
    “Yeah, it’s not like this is brand new to us,” Nyla adds, pushing up her Gator hoodie sleeves. “We’ve been here before.”
    “Of course you two aren’t worried.” Emily rolls her eyes. “Nyla, you’re like the best player in Beachwood history. And Kylie, have you ever not played varsity?”
    “Seriously,” Phoenix adds, twirling a skinny braid.
    “Will you guys relax? Coach is talking about the new girls,” I say, taking deep breaths as I watch Amber jog toward the mound. I feel the anxiety beginning to overwhelm me and immediately shake myself out of my stupor. “Come on, girls, let’s go!”
    Zoe, who has been silent this whole time, looks up at me, and I give her arm a squeeze. Then she and Abby—who is also visibly quivering at this point—run out to their spots on the field. The rest of us give each other a final nod and all follow suit. Jessica, Nyla, and Phoenix join the infielders on the dirt between second and first. Chloe jogs toward right field. And Emily joins the catchers to my left.
    That just leaves those of us on the mound: me, three freshmen, last year’s JV pitcher, Sophia, and Amber. Clearly, there’s only one real threat.
    Too nervous to chat, the six of us turn to face our evaluator. I allow myself to revel in my good fortune—Coach Kate is the one scoring us. She knows me. She’s the same person who just asked me to join her at the coaching clinic. She can’t bench me now.
    I hope.
    “Okay, Wildcats. I hope you’re all warmed up and ready to give us your best,” Coach Kate says, holding her clipboard like a lunch tray. A radar gun balances on top. “Today, you’re going to pitch off the mound without a batter. Emily, our returning catcher from last year, will catch you. I will stand behind the backstop fence and clock your speed with this.” She holds up the black radar gun. “Kylie, why don’t you take the mound first since you know the drill?”
    The five other girls trying out for pitcher look up at me in awe. Including Amber. For a second, I feel like everything is normal—Coach Kate is still loyal to me. And I’m standing on the softball mound, my home away from home.
    Coach tosses me the ball, and I dig my foot into the familiar soft orange dirt. Lifting her face mask, Emily winks at me from behind home plate. She knows I got this. Then she adjusts her chest protector and knee guards and crouches down.
    Coach Kate, satisfied that Emily is ready to go, looks at the other girls. “The rest of the pitchers, please wait for your turns in the dugout.” Turning to me, she says, “Since you should be warmed up, Kylie, why don’t you throw three practice pitches and then we’ll get started?” She begins flipping through the papers attached to her clipboard.
    Emily gives me a nod and I take a deep breath. Then I step onto the rubber, focus, wind up, take a giant step, and push off, whipping the ball toward Emily’s glove.
    Smack .
    “Nice work, Ky!” Emily’s muffled voice shouts from behind the catcher’s mask.
    Nick and