Page 7 of Running Home to You
“Who knows? Attitude issues?” Courtney shrugged. “But there’s something off. I heard she could only get in here because her mom or someone works for the school.”
Kate, who purposely eavesdropped but didn’t partake in the conversation, stiffened. She’d been so fixated on beating Abby that she failed to put the pieces together. She remembered Abby’s casual exchange with Professor Cruz. She didn’t seem old enough to be her mom, but they had the same last name and, on further reflection, looked alike. She kept the information to herself. No matter how much she begrudged Abby’s arrival, she didn’t want to fuel speculation. She’d beat her on merit alone.
By the end of the week, they were neck and neck. She counted only one more error than Abby in the field, and while Abby made unbelievable tags, snags, and double plays, Kate held steady. During conditioning and sprints, she outshined her. In fact, while Kate finished the timed mile first, Abby struggled in the back, coughing as she finished nearly last. Kate almost snarked something about the cigarettes she caught her smoking but bit back the taunt. Especially since the rumors grew more brutal by the day.
After Courtney’s charge that Abby must have been kicked off her last team, the theories on why turned cruel. Some believed she was suspended for fighting with her coach. Another rumor was that shehad sex with her coach. Yet another was that she’d slept with two of her teammates, causing so much drama that she was forced out.
Usually Kate, the squad’s unofficial moral compass, would put an end to the rumors, but couldn’t muster it this time. Not as she tried to edge Abby out, though this side of her ambition, one without empathy, wasn’t something she was proud of either. The best she could do was pray that Abby never caught wind of the gossip. She wondered if that’s why she avoided the dugout and locker room, trudging off without a goodbye. It wasn’t lost on Kate that her teammates only cheered for her during drills and scrimmages, never offering Abby a compliment.
“I got it.” Mick jogged to join Kate, Jill, and T.K. in the outfield, while Abby smacked line drives off the pitching machine. “I figured it out.”
“Figured what out?” Kate shagged a grounder that rolled into the grass.
“Abby,” Mick said, catching her breath. Kate and everyone within earshot fell quiet. “An old teammate of mine was a year ahead of her at UCLA. Apparently, she got kicked off the team.”
“No shit. Do we know why?” T.K. asked.
Mick’s throat bobbed as Abby launched a ball over the fence. She brought herself to a whisper, forcing them to creep closer. “I guess she had a breakdown. Her mom died and Abby lost it. Bitched out her coach, skipped classes, started showing up to practice wasted from the night before.”
Kate’s heart clenched, and a wave of nausea surged in her gut. The rumors, her jealousy, and Abby’s isolation no longer seemed a natural result of her unwelcome arrival but a shameful reflection of her own insecurity.
“And get this—her dad is Audie Cruz,” Mick said.
“Who?” Jill asked.
“You know.” Mick put on her best radio voice. “ ‘Adios, Audie Cruz! It’s outta here!’ ”
As if proving her lineage, Abby hit her deepest home run yet, theball flying over their heads to the grass slope behind the fence. Kate, still processing the new information, stared in awe. She swore Abby scowled back as if she heard them.
“He’s a Hall of Famer,” Mick said. “The Padres retired his number last year.”
T.K. raised an eyebrow. “Maybe that’s why she got another chance here.”
Abby roped a ball straight at the foursome. T.K. shrieked before Kate caught the line drive.
“Ladies, this isn’t social hour! Break it up!” Coach Whitley shouted.
As they dispersed, Mick hit Kate’s thigh with her glove. “You can beat her out, Hutch. We’re all pulling for you.”
“Thanks,” Kate said, but she frowned once alone.
Abby stepped over home plate and lined up to hit lefty, because of course she was a switch-hitter. Kate sighed as she crushed ball after ball. She didn’t want her spot handed to her, planned on working for it, had worked for it endlessly, but this seemed unfair. Even worse, now her resentment didn’t seem justified.
She no longer envied Abby but pitied her, no longer saw a competitor but someone fallen. Only Kate, who often jumped in to help strangers with a kind word or a pat on the back, didn’t know if she could do it now. It marked the first time, and certainly not the last, that Abby made her question everything she believed.
The Hazing Incident
Persistent showers shifted softball practice indoors. While her teammates slacked off in the musky confines of the retired basketball court, Kate dug in as determinedly as before. Coach Whitley promised she hadn’t made a decision about shortstop, wouldn’t until spring, and that she noticed her efforts. The small assurance pushed her harder.
She continued her morning runs, ate leaner, lifted heavier, and now, accustomed to Abby’s presence, ignored her competition altogether. Despising Abby, comparing herself to her, wouldn’t do Kate any good. She could only focus within.
That was the beauty—and simultaneously, the misery—of softball. At the heart of the team sport was an emphasis on the individual. Whether up to bat or in the field, despite your teammates surrounding you, you were alone. An island unto oneself.
Of course, despite her best efforts, Kate still observed the other shortstop. Abby never arrived at practice early, just barely on time, her uniform stained and untucked. She didn’t smile and while she exuded poise when playing, her shoulders slumped otherwise, her stare downcast except to glare at anyone who might whisper in her vicinity.
Kate knew she should try to get to know her. They had a class together. They literally shared a position, but she never spoke up. Infact, so much time passed without talking to Abby that now it seemed awkward. So, she maintained the status quo, communicating only when necessary. Until the swim to Wells Island.
Every year, after Coach Whitley announced the final roster, the team partook in a little friendly hazing. The university outlawed such practices, but they kept it lighthearted. The swim to Wells Island wasn’t even really a swim; calling it that was just part of the fun.
