Grand-Slam

∞Chapter 1∞

Grand-Slam. Copyright © April 2016. All rights reserved.

Song: Eye Of the Tiger- Survivor

“The pain you feel today is the strength you will feel tomorrow.” -Boonaa Mohammed

I rounded third base, watching as the ball flew over the catcher’s head, allowing me to easily slide into home base. Dirt flew in my face, and my knees burned from the contact of the base and field, but the adrenaline rushing through my veins masked the pain as I jumped up from home and ran to my team. They picked me up and carried me on their shoulders, chanting loudly.

I had hit the winning home run.

Coach called us over to the dugout. I grabbed a water bottle out of my bag and poured it over my face, drenching myself in the process. It was cold, but damn, did it feel good-- especially with the ecstatic feeling I had from my end game.

“Great game, girls!” Coach faced me, a huge grin plastered on his face. “Brooke, you’ve got one hell of an arm! Nice run!”

“Thanks, coach.” I replied, smiling back, and he patted my shoulder before walking out of the dugout. I took another drink of my water before trading my cleats for my converses. The girls were chattering about the look on the catcher’s face when the ball flew over her (complete and utter shock, by the way), when coach walked back in and grinned at all of us again.

“Practice next week will be every day except for Friday!” He hollered, and every girl groaned except for me. It was the game I lived for. The one thing I dedicated my whole life to.

Softball.

I placed my bat, helmet, and mouth guard in my bag before heading to my dad’s truck and sliding into the front seat. Dad hopped in and started driving home, a proud smile on his face.

“Nice home run, Brooke. That’s the best I’ve seen you play.”

“Thanks, daddio.” I grinned, patting his shoulder. “Did you see the look on the catcher’s face when the ball flew over her? It was priceless.”

Dad chuckled as he turned on the radio to my favorite station, 103.4 KQR. The song “California Girl” by Nate Jackson blasted through the speakers, and I immediately turned it to another station.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like his songs. There was no doubt he was a talented singer. I just didn’t like him in general, and I couldn’t see why every girl fangirled over someone as egotistical and thick-headed as Nate Jackson.

You act as if you know him.

My conscious teased, and I rolled my eyes. Let’s just say I didn’t need a brain to realize his looks had gotten to him, and he believed every girl would fall to their knees when in his presence. I wasn’t about to be one of those girls.

We pulled into the house, and mom was standing on the porch, talking on her phone. She was pacing back and forth, a different facial expression crossing her face every time she paused, and she was holding a binder in her free arm.

“I’ll get your bag. You head on in.” Dad said as he turned off the truck. I grabbed my water bottle and headed towards the front door, my feet tingly from wearing my cleats for so long.

“Yes, it’s ready. No, I haven’t called the arena yet.” Mom replied, starting her pacing again. “He won’t be here until next week. Stop worrying, I have this under control.”

I opened the front door, and mom shot me a smile. I smiled back before walking into the house. She never came to my games. Mom was always busy with work, with her being a music manager and all, so I understood. I couldn’t imagine how she dealt with all the musicians signed with her label, especially one I despised most-- Nate Jackson. Just the thought of him made my eyes roll.