The Hitting Zone

Finally after class, we got to head down to the fields. Since we took a golf cart up to the office in the morning, I didn't realize it was a bit of a walk back to the car. We ran into the twins and Zeke by the car, and Noah grabbed his bag.

"We change in the clubhouse behind the dugout." Noah said as we followed his brothers down to the field area. "It's nothing fancy, a very simplistic locker room." Simplistic was an adequate description. The large singular room only had open lockers in a U-shape, with a bench before it all around.

Noah dragged me to the far corner. "My locker is over here." We passed by fellow students who had already started changing. We got a few curious glances, but surprisingly no one said anything. "Here ya go." Noah started to pull out some baseball clothes and placed it on the bench. Then he started to take off his shirt.

I suddenly realized I would have to change in front of him. And the team. Everyone would see my scars. I held the edges of my shirt down, refusing to take it off. My scars were long, jagged, and were still an ugly shade of red. The doctor said they would start to fade in a couple of years and eventually be unnoticeable. But that was forever away.

After Noah changed his shirt, he saw that I had not. "What's up?"

I wrapped my arms around my stomach.

"Bathroom? It's just around the corner." He squinted. "Are you getting nervous?"

I picked up a pair of pants and a shirt from his pile, then quickly ran off to the bathroom. I went into a stall and safely changed, alone. I returned to Noah at his locker.

He rolled his eyes at me. "Such a kid; afraid of changing in front of others."

I stuck out my tongue. For good reason. I get enough pity already, being known as the foster kid. I don't want them to wonder why my mom almost killed me. It's too hard to think about, let alone talk about it.

Noah passed me a worn out pair of cleats. "These will have to do for now. They might be slightly bigger since I'm taller. We really have to convince dad to take us to the sports store asap."

I put them on, laced them up, and walked a step forward and a step back. They weren't too big. Doable. I gave Noah a thumbs up.

He laughed at me. "Dork. You'll be getting new ones soon, so they don't have to be a great fit for you." He stuffed our school clothes at the bottom of his bag. "Most of the team is already in the dugout. Lets go." I followed him out of the locker room and he led me to the dugout. He placed his bag on the ground and pulled out our equipment: bats, gloves, his helmet and batting gloves, a few water bottles.

"So you're Jake?" A voice from behind made me jump. The man was as tall as Zeke, but more filled out. He looked to be near the same age as Mr. Miller, but unlike him he gave off a more friendly demeanor.

I nodded, but still took a step closer to Noah.

Noah threw an arm around my shoulders. "Hey Coach! Meet Jake, my foster brother, and your new second baseman." Noah's easygoing attitude helped me relax.

The coach smiled at us. "Oh? Already picking out a position? How cocky."

I tended up. Noah gave me a pat. "It's called confidence, Coach. Jake is more amazing than me."

"That's not saying much." Dave laughed as he joined us.

Noah's eyes narrowed. "Remind me again, who made varsity as a freshman? Was that you and your crappy pitching? Oh no. Wait. It was me and my superior fielding."

Dave glared. "Pitching requires more effort. A kid like you wouldn't understand."

"Boys." Coach cut in. "Let's focus on the tryout first before we get lost in this endless discussion."