Page 29 of Convincing the Catcher

And the thought runs through my head …

Am I going to be so caught up on creating a name for myself in the softball world that I’ll miss my shot at finding someone to share my life with?

God, I hope not. But I’m so young. And softball? Well, it’s the one thing in my life that I can always count on other than my parents. So, no, I’m not going to throw that away just because of a few butterflies. Hell no.

SIXTEEN

HARLEY

“That looked nice,” I say with some sort of accent that I randomly talk in when I’m with my friends. “Reeeal nice.”

Even moving as much as I am right now and wearing a long-sleeved shirt under my uniform, I’m a little chilly. It’s the last outside scrimmage of the fall, and the weather is for sure starting to change. But that’s how autumns in New England roll in, practically all at once. One day, you’re wearing your T-shirt with your Birks, sipping an iced coffee. The next, you’re in a fleece, with thick socks, boots, and a beanie on. Only, in my case, I sip iced coffee year-round.

Gigi pushes her visor up slightly and smiles, though it’s small. We’re about to play a game, and one thing about Gigi? She’s intense. Hence why I’m using my incredibly annoying accent to try to loosen her up a bit.

I’m as serious as anyone when it comes to this game, but at the end of the day, if it isn’t fun, then why would I continue playing? For me, it is fun. Maybe that’s because I’ve never had to take the field for anyone other than myself. Since I was a kid, when I stepped onto it, I was there for myself. My parents wanted me to try my best, sure. But they’ve never lived through me.

I’m not sure Gigi can say that.

When she doesn’t fire it right back at me and instead stands there with her shoulders hanging down, I stand up and walk toward her.

“Hey,” I say, flipping my helmet up and putting my hand on her shoulder. “You all good?”

She inhales slowly. “I just feel like …” She stops, sighing. “I don’t know, Harley.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Like I don’t belong here. At a D1 school, being a starting pitcher.” Her voice grows hoarse. “Like I’ve peaked. The past few weeks, I’ve been losing my edge.”

I know how she feels because sometimes, I feel the same way. Some days, I wonder how I’ve convinced so many people that I’m the great catcher they think I am. But other days, I know I’m the player they chalked me up to be because I’ve worked for it. It’s not like it happened overnight or was handed to me either.

“Gigi,” I whisper, gripping her shoulder tighter, “I have caught for many, many pitchers. Some great, some decent, and some really freaking awful. I can promise you, you are exactly where you belong. You are every bit worthy of that uniform. And every single time you step on that mound, everyone watching knows it too.”

Without warning, I throw my arms around her, pulling her slender body against mine. For being as strong as she is, there isn’t a whole lot to her.

“Do you mean that, Meadows?” She sniffles. “Like, for real?”

“Hell yes, I do.” I nod, knowing my helmet is pushing up against her visor and it’s probably ruining her smooth ponytail. “I promise you, when I say something, I mean it.” Rearing my head back, I keep my hands on her shoulders while I look her in the eye. “You, Gigi Jacobs, are the real deal. And when you step onto the mound in a little bit, you need to believe that.”

She nods slowly, doing her best to fight her emotions.

“Thank you,” she whispers before wiping her eyes. “We’d better finish warming up before Coach has our asses.”

“For sure.” I giggle, patting her on the back before I turn and jog back to my spot.

Kneeling, I pull my helmet down and hold my glove out.

“All right, Pitch. Show me what you’ve got.” I grin. “And don’t hold back either.”

In the bottom of the final inning, we’re only up by one run with our turn on defense, and of course, my blood sugar decides it’s a good time to dip. Not only that, but I slid into home plate a little too aggressively and ripped my Omnipod almost completely off.

“Meadows,” my coach says, coming beside me in the dugout with the athletic trainer next to her. “How are you doing?”

“I think you both already know,” I say, sighing before grabbing the bag of my medical supplies from the side pocket of my catcher’s bag. “I’m sorry, Coach. I just … my mind feels off. And even though this is a scrimmage, I don’t want to be the one to make an error that causes us to lose.”

She looks at me knowingly before she pats my arm. “You played a damn good game, Harley. Not one passed ball, and even though Gigi pitched great, your framing certainly earned her some more strikes.” She stops, looking at me again. “Be proud of yourself, okay?”

I know why she’s saying all of this to me. She knows that as cool as I am with my diabetes, I really hate when it affects softball. But when she walks away and tells Kira to suit up, I know it’ll all be fine. She may be a year behind me, but she’s a great catcher.

Reading my blood sugar levels on the screen before me, I grab some Skittles to bring my levels back in check.

Then, I quit moping and cheer my team on and watch them win this scrimmage. And even though I’m so proud of how well Kira did this inning … I wish it could have been me out there to start and finish the game.