TITLE: The Sweet Spot
They call it the sweet spot of the bat, the perfect place for the ball to make contact to allow as little vibration as possible, almost always ending in a line drive or home run. I found that spot in my last game, the one before my world turned upside down. The one before I started to question who I was. The one where I was just a grungy ball player named Sam.
The smirk on the pitcher's face told me he was one of those guys who didn't think a girl should be playing on the boy's team. He went into a slow wind-up, making a big show of the ease at which he would get me out. I bit my lip and focused.
The ball came in. I judged the timing and location of my swing, then swung low.
"Strike!" the umpire yelled. Coach called time.
"Sam, what was that?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" I tried to sound innocent, but I couldn't hide the grin. I eyed the pitcher. He looked gleeful, smug. I might have to slam the next one right at his...
"Are you listening to me?" Coach asked. His large face reddened. "Stop fooling around and play ball."
"Okay, Coach," I said.
"And Samantha, you hit this guy with the ball, you're benched for the rest of the game."
I sighed and moved back to the plate.