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My dad stands at our starting line with his arm raised, ready to start our race. I hear Sloan cheering from behind us, screeching for Quinn and Maddie to take us down.
“All right… ready, set… go!” my dad yells, and we all tilt our sleds and fly down the hill.
With the wind whipping my face, it's hard to focus on anything but the target ahead. I hear Wes grunt when his sled hits a bump and veers off track, leaving Maddie, Quinn, and me. But I can tell Maddie isn’t leaning forward enough to go the distance. Unlike Queenie and I, who are hunched over, delicately placing our weight to the front of our sleds to get us the perfect momentum. Then, when we hit the lake, we’ll need to shift back and coast.
Just as I suspected, Maddie’s sled slows to almost a complete stop before touching the iced-over lake, leaving just Quinn and me gliding across the smooth ice. But she's way ahead of me. There’s no way I’ll beat her.
I can't help but bust out laughing at her reaction when she realizes she beat me. Throwing her hands up in the air, she cheers, “Hell yeah!” The victorious grin that’s plastered on Quinn’s face is contagious, and I can't help but smile along with her.
“Congrats, punk. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“I kicked your butt!” She gloats a bit more before handing me the rope to her sled.
I must look confused because she smirks and says, “That's my second win of the day... loser has to carry the sleds back up.”
Rolling my eyes, we begin our trek back to the house. Which at this point seems like it's miles away.
“I’ll get you back for this…”
She giggles and bumps my shoulder as we continue our hike.
When we finally make it back to the Turner’s, we are greeted with cheers and a round of applause.
“Way to go, Quinn!”
“You kicked butt!”
“This year's champion, ladies and gentlemen.”
“Thank you, thank you.” Quinn beams, taking a bow. I lean in to her ear, and instead of the congratulations she’s expecting, I say something I know she wants to hear more.
“Ready for me to kick your butt in a round of Mario Kart?”
“Can't wait to see you try, Hotshot… can't wait to see you try.” Her eyes light up at the challenge, and I smirk.
That’s my girl.
Two
Quinn- 13
Eli- 15
“Come on, ump! Is your strike zone the size of a flipping pea? That was a strike all day,” I yell at the umpire behind the plate as he makes yet another awful call on one of Eli’s pitches.
I can feel Mrs. Barton’s motherly look scolding the side of my face, but I refuse to take my eyes off her son. I see the little smirk on his lips as he shakes his head at me… his wild, loud-mouth best friend.
You got this, E. Show ’em what you’re made of. Throw him your curve; he’s going to swing. He knows, just like the rest of us, that last pitch should have been a strike. Number Seven isn’t going to take that chance again.
Eli does exactly that. I’m pretty sure the other player never even saw his curveball break. And just like that, the buzz of Eli Barton increases. It was obvious even in middle school how talented he was going to be at baseball. Hence why last year he was asked to play in this summer league with the high school team, a few months before his freshman year. He's drawing a bigger crowd this summer after his varsity pitching debut, striking out older opponents all season.
Eli has an incredible gift. Some of our fellow Yankees fans like to say he’s going to be the next Mariano Rivera.
I’ve been here… in the stands, cheering, absorbing all of it. Eli is every bit as special as these people think he is. I know one day the world will share the admiration I’ve always had for him.
We’ve spent endless hours in our parents’ yards perfecting our skills. I’ll never forget the day he came home from pitching practice and threw me his curveball. I knew right then there was no doubt he was going to the MLB and my days of catching for him in the yard were coming to a close. He could throw the ball harder than most college pitchers. I love to remind him he has me to thank for his stellar batting average from all those ball tosses he hit into his net at home. That always leads to Eli telling me that the only reason my jump serve is the best in our conference is because of all the time we put in on the volleyball court my dad built in my backyard.
There is no one I love to compete with more than Eli. It drives my best friend Sloan absolutely crazy. She’s Eli’s younger sister, and she may not be mine by blood, but we are sisters in every other aspect of the word. Our parents are all very close, so we literally all grew up together. It wasn’t until I was about ten years old that I realized as much as I loved hanging out with Sloan and playing with her, I equally enjoyed getting a rise out of Eli and challenging him to all sorts of contests.
