1st 5 Pages March Workshop - Kinser Rev 2

Name: Julene Kinser
Genre: Middle Grade Historical Fiction
Title: Softball Summer

Pitch

Thirteen year-old Tracy’s experience playing softball on school and low-key summer programs hasn’t seriously challenged her skills, or her impulsive and judgmental ways. But in 1977, Tracy applies to a Northern California city Parks and Recreation league. Longing for a winning team, she lands on the Sawdust Sallies, and isn’t sure they qualify. Their funky name and gross uniform colors are strikes one and two. Her teammates’ questionable skills may sideline the season. Worry escalates when the schedule includes a powerhouse opponent whose slick plays and boisterous fans intimidate all challengers. Tracy’s fascination and jealousy about the rival’s winning ways overshadow her appreciation of her own team’s grit and determination. Still, the Sallies battle injury and devote extra practice time, scoring some wins.

Tracy can’t shake her obsession with beating her rival, and in their second meeting, she recklessly bumps a base runner. Benched for the first time, she reflects on her motives and admits her thoughtless actions. But the battle’s not over. Tensions flare when a post-season all-star game teams up representatives from the Sallies and the rival. Tracy digs deep, eats some dirt, and finds that winning isn’t always reflected in a game’s score or a shiny trophy.


Revision 2

Chapter 1

Hang in there, baby. The poster hanging above my dresser encouraged with words that I’d read a billion times today. I pictured myself in place of the fuzzy kitten dangling at the end of a rope. Hang in there, Tracy. I snorted and popped my last frozen grape, chewing with numb teeth.

No more telling myself that the phone would ring any day, time, or minute. Forget being patient. Maybe they’d lost my application. I filled out paper work to sign up for summer league softball, like, forever ago, checking the box for the twelve to fourteen years age division. I’d attached the yucky-tasting, thirteen-cent stamp, hoping thirteen wasn’t bad luck.

Today was the deadline for team assignments. Time was running out, and no one had called yet.

Major bummer.

I grabbed my softball mitt from the nightstand. Embedded dirt poofed in a fine cloud as I launched the ball into the webbed pocket, slow at first, then faster, harder. Maybe I could speed up time.

Smack! Smack!

Maybe my brother would play catch with me.

Smack!

I stared at the wall between our rooms, listening for any sign of life.

Maybe I’d die waiting.

A car drove by outside, its radio blaring “Somebody to Love” by Queen. Can anybody love me enough to put me on a team? I sat on the bed and looked at the poster again. A billion and one. Hang in there, baby.

The phone at the end of the hall rang. I startled, sliding part-way off the bed. For a few seconds, I struggled to get my feet securely under me again, while straining to hear Mom’s end of the conversation.

“Hello?” Mom said.

Her next words faded. She probably stretched the phone’s long cord into the kitchen or the living room. I leaned forward, hoping this was the call I’d waited for.

Her voice grew louder. “Yes, I’ll tell her. Thank you.”

I held my breath as Mom’s footsteps padded on the shag carpeted hallway.

My hand hovered above the doorknob for a second before I threw open the door, almost colliding with Mom’s raised arm.

She jerked backward to keep from bumping into me. “For goodness sake, Tracy, I almost pounded on your forehead. You’re on a softball team. That was your coach calling. You have a meeting and practice on Monday at five-thirty.”

My cheeks puffed, as I exhaled. “Whew. I could not have waited another second. I am so ready to play. Practices, games, learning lots of new names. Bring. It. On.”

Mom laughed. “You’re so dramatic. School teams just finished a week ago, and here we go, again, times three, with you and Kevin playing and Dad coaching.”

“That’s normal around here.”

Mom’s eyes rolled sideways. “That’s for sure. Congratulations, honey.”

I bounded into my brother’s room. “Guess what? I’m on a summer team!”

Kevin was lying on his bed. “Cool. It’s about time you got your call.” He lowered his comic book. “It’s weird you had to wait so long, when girls don’t even go through try-outs.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that, anyway?” Things were different in little league. Boys started younger, played in tournaments. “Hey,” I raised my mitt, “wanna play catch?”

“Maybe later. I’m busy right now.” The comic book went up again.

“I see that. Very busy. Say ‘hi’ to Batman and Robin for me.”

As I turned to leave, sunlight glinted on Kevin’s trophy shelf. He was nineteen months younger than me, but already had a few league participation and tournament trophies. Their sparkle attracted my gaze, stalled my footsteps.

“Man, I hope I’m on a good team.” I’d competed on my school teams since sixth grade. The last two summers, I’d played on the VFW team coached by my uncle in his small hometown in the mountains. If you showed up, you played. No trophies, just experience and fun. But I still liked it when my uncle’s friends called me his “secret weapon,” and asked where he’d been hiding me.

Even without girls’ tryouts, the city Parks and Recreation league was a step up in competition. Some teams signed up complete rosters. Being new to the league, I did open registration and suffered the long wait for team assignments. Even more of a drag--I had no idea who my teammates would be. Only a few of my friends went out for sports, so chances were good that I wouldn’t know anyone.

I shifted the mitt to my hip. “A shiny trophy would look nice on the shelf in my room.” It could replace my pet rock. I meant to get rid of that stupid thing ages ago.

“Earth to Tracy.” Kevin snapped his fingers. “You’re getting a little ahead of yourself. First, you need to be on a team that’s good enough to earn a trophy. For that, you’ll just have to wait and see.”

“No duh, Mister Obvious. And don’t snap at me. I hate that.”

“Quit spacing out, and I won’t snap. Now, get out.”

Two more days until the team meeting. An absolute eternity.


Chapter 2

Saturday and Sunday passed at a snail’s pace. A snail that swallowed lead pellets. And crawled through dry sand.

On Monday, I slogged through school. The bus dropped me off twenty minutes late, spewing black exhaust as it roared away.

“Ugh!” I fanned at the nose-stinging smell. How much bus yuck have I inhaled in my life? It’s a wonder it hasn’t killed me. A short walk, a key turn, and home!

“Hello? Anyone here?” Nope. I dropped my bell bottoms and smock top on the floor before changing into a t-shirt and shorts. I finished pulling on long tube socks when Kevin slammed the front door.

I met him in the living room. “Hey, where’ve you been?”

“I went home with my friend, to work on our solar system model. His mom bought us fries and milkshakes on the way here.” Kevin slurped the bottom of the cup to show there was no possibility of sharing. “Mmmm, chocolate.”

“Lucky you.” My stomach rumbled. Good thing I was hungry. I wanted to eat early so I wouldn’t barf at practice.

In the refrigerator, I found leftover spaghetti and zucchini. I stirred a scoop of each together in a bowl, and ate them cold while I finished homework. I also downed two big glasses of water. Gotta get ready to sweat.

I jiggled my leg non-stop, and checked the clock every five minutes. At four-fifty, I grabbed my stuff and headed for the kitchen, my braided pony tail thumping against my back with every step.

I added my dirty dishes to the neat stack Mom had rinsed. She was in the dining room with Dad and Kevin.

“Sure,” Dad said, “we’ll take care of dishes. Toss me that dishtowel. It has Kevin’s name all over it.”

Mom wadded up the towel and fired it at Dad.
He caught it one-hand and whistled. “Good arm.”

“I still got it,” Mom said. “Be careful what you ask for in this family.” She kissed Dad goodbye.

I didn’t say much on the drive to Sequoia Junior High School.

Mom glanced sideways. “Why so quiet? Nervous?”

I nodded. “And excited.” I sort-of smiled, then flicked my right index finger against the back of my thumb during the remaining trip.

We joined the other families gathered in the shade of a big sycamore tree. Conversations hummed through the crowd, interrupted by parents’ shouts at little kids.