1st 5 Pages March Workshop - Kinser

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

 
Chapter 1

The music finished. After a moment’s silence, the record player arm swished to the paper label, lifted, swept over the turntable, and flipped off the power.

I rolled onto my belly, watching the record slowly spin to a stop. “Somebody to Love,” by Queen topped the last stack of six 45 rpm records threaded on the tall plastic adapter.

The rest of my collection spread across the floor toward a wall in my bedroom.  I could play up to ten at a time on the record player my mom had owned since her high school days. A few of her old 45s mixed with mine, songs like Elvis Presley’s “Blue Suede Shoes” and “Love Me Tender,” and Little Richard’s “Good Golly Miss Molly.” Their paper label colors of navy blue or a combo of black/white/yellow were easy to distinguish from the brighter oranges, purples and marbled greens of my records.

The phonograph was covered in vinyl, forest green on the bottom with a streaked black and white hinged top. It hogged a two square-foot area of my bedroom floor. Even so, I’d found space to dance until my muscles felt limp. Carefully, so the records wouldn’t skip.

Later, I switched to belting songs into my felt marker “microphone.”

Between songs, I popped frozen grapes until my teeth froze.

Tired of music, I straightened up the record mess.

Anything for distraction.

Today was the deadline for finding out what softball team I’d be on for the summer.

Supposedly.

No one had called yet.

Major bummer.

I pulled my softball mitt from under my bed, its resting place since my school team’s last game one week ago. Some 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.

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, all the while straining to hear Mom’s end of the conversation.

“Hello?” Mom said. Then, her voice muffled as she stretched the phone’s long cord into the kitchen or the living room.

I held my breath. This could be it—The Call.

“Yes, I’ll tell her. Thank you.” Mom hung up.

“Tell her what?” I whispered. I shook my head. “I mean, tell me what?”

Mom’s footsteps padded on the shag carpeted hallway.

I bounced on the balls of my feet. My hand hovered above the doorknob. I couldn’t stand this another second. 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.”

My cheeks puffed, as I exhaled. “It’s about time!”

I’d filled out paper work to sign up for summer league, like, forever ago. One thirteen-cent stamp later—I’d hoped thirteen wasn’t bad luck—my application was on its way. And now, the waiting was over. I’d be in the age division for twelve to fourteen year-olds.

“I am so ready to play. Practices, games, learning lots of new names. Bring. It. On.”

Mom laughed. “You’re so dramatic. There’s a lot of ‘bringing it on’ that comes with joining a sports team. Things are about to get busier around here, times three, with you and Kevin playing and Dad coaching.”

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

Kevin was lying on his bed. “What a relief.” He lowered his comic book. “You’ve been crashing around like a rodeo bull for hours. But, hey, it’s cool that you got the call. 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?” 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 participation and tournament trophies. Their sparkle attracted my gaze, slowed my footsteps.

A trophy meant that a team was good, right?

I kept staring. “Man, I hope I’m on a good team.”

I’d played 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. No trophies, just experience and fun.

The city Parks and Recreation league was a step up in competition. Some teams signed up complete rosters. Since I lacked experience or contacts in the league, I’d done open registration and suffered the long, make that endless, wait for team assignments. And, let’s not forget an added mystery--I had no idea who my teammates were.

“I wouldn’t mind a shiny trophy on a shelf in my room.” I shifted the mitt to my hip. “Of course, I’d need a shelf first.”

“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.”

“Now, get out,” Kevin said from behind the comic book.

“Alright, I’m going.”

Two more days until the team meeting. It may as well be an 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?” My voice echoed. I changed t-shirts and shorts twice and switched from ankle socks to long tube socks when I finally heard Kevin come in.

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

“I went home with my friend, so we could work on a science project. 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 kitchen, Mom’s note on the refrigerator cued me to find left-over spaghetti and zucchini. Heating them on the stove would take too long, and I’d have to wash the pot. I stirred some pasta and vegetables together in a bowl, and ate them cold while I finished math homework. I downed two big glasses of water too. Gotta get ready to sweat.

That only left history homework, a problem because history always made . . . me . . . sleepy . . . .

Sometime later, my eyes strained open to a blurry view of my U.S. History book. I peeled my forehead off my arm and massaged my stiff neck.