So sorry for taking so long to update. I didn't even think I'd continue this story lol. Enjoy!

Chapter 3: And Threw

I walked home that day with thoughts raging storms about the team, how I'd do in the team, how they'd do with me in the team, and, possibly more occupant than all, I thought about Natsume Hyuuga. He was famous enough to the point where even I'd be surprised if someone didn't know him. It didn't matter if you were familiar with baseball. It was just one of those things. No in-betweeners. No middle's.

Either you knew the kid spot on from the earliest start of his baseball career, or you didn't. Simple.

But, I'd guess, I was sort of a hypocrite in that aspect. When I told my friends I knew the name, but didn't know the face, their jaws had almost dislocated from hanging down too low, shocked. They screamed at me, grabbed me, slapped me and told me how in the world I hadn't seen Natsume before. I knew him now, since we were supposed to be two peas in a pod on the same team, but that didn't cut it.

He's as famous around here as Chaning Tatum is as famous around strip clubs, and you have the lady cojones to tell me you haven't seen him before?

It had been well after school, almost three hours, and I still hadn't figured out what cojones meant. Not that I'd wanted to. Last time Anna threw me a curve ball like that, I had learned how to say ass licker in Lithuanian. Which, I had to be honest, wasn't too bad on her part. I could've used that in the future, to throw someone off or something.

"I'm gonna kick your ass, Mikan!"

"Go ahead and try, you stupid subinlaizys!"

Point was, I didn't really know Natsume as much as others wanted me to. Not the way I wanted to know him.

Until I reached my house, I though of how I could get to know the guy better. Rumors were true this time: he rarely talked; a man of few words. I remembered the looks he gave me today, but I got nothing out of them. His eyes were blood-red and emotionless, as if he was purposefully guarding the inside of his mind. Therefore, I didn't know what he thought of me. Annoying? Stupid? Out of place? Untalented?

I would think so, because that's what the rest of his team depicted me as. And I would know because they said so to my face after practice.

But I couldn't care any less what I seemed like to them, because their positions on the field were mere back-up to my position as a pitcher. With Natsume it was different. A pitcher and a catcher had to be on the best terms and know each other just from the way one was standing on the mound or squatting behind home plate. How could I get him to open up to me?

Ripping my blaring headphones off, I swung open my front door and stepped inside the warm air of my house. Besides my foot closing the door behind me, a silentious void engulfed me as I dropped my bag on the living room couch. Tiny sounds still squeaked from my headphones, so I reached for my phone to pause the song and, with a grumbling stomach, headed for the fridge see what dinner consisted of tonight.

"I'm home," I called out to no one, clutching the silver handle and pulling it wide open. Lunchables. It would've been the fifth night in a row. "Dad? I'm home." The box was out of my hand as quickly as it was in it. Desperate hunger lead me as I ripped it naked of its container as soon as it touched the kitchen table.

I didn't know why I was trying. Dad was never home at this time. He was never home when I was awake, actually. The mornings started to become rough when he started to leave for work at dawn and I was left to serve myself my own concoction of a breakfast. It proved to be harder when he began to miss dinners, too, and with my stomach naturally more ravenous for meals when the moon was out, I had to learn how to properly feed myself. That wasn't a problem now.

It was a problem when I was eleven.

"—But with you, I feel again," I hummed between bites. I decided to put music back into my ears when the quietness was too loud to bear. Shoving another biscuit layered with miniature ham and cheese, I continued, "—Yeah with you, I can feel again."

It took me five minutes to finish the entire box, ten minutes to eat another three, twelve to throw away the trash, and twenty seconds to grab a glove and ball and head down to the park to pitch in the dark.

I found myself running the next day. I was so used to going home after sixth period that I totally forgot I was now part of the baseball team, and that there was practice today—there was practice everyday. I was halfway between school and home when I turned on my heel and darted back to where I came from.

Sweat trickled down my temple as I bursted into the club room, heaving and panting and late. It was my first day pitching on the field, too. Many pairs of eyes flicked to me under many cap bills with matching scowls that told of revolting smells and disgusting sights. "I'm—sorry I'm late," I heaved. Hey, I pitched. Not ran. "I have no excuse. I forgot."

At the front of the room, Bob propped his knuckles on his hip and nodded for me to take a seat. They were all occupied, so I set my stuff down beside the door and took the wall with my back. "We were just talking about you," he said.

Great. "Should I be offended?"

"Not with the way I've been sticking up for you."

Sticking up for me. That meant the boys were doing the opposite. "I guess I should thank you then?"

"You're welcome." From the corner of my eye, I saw gumboy chewing another stick of what I had a gut feeling was gum. He chewed with his mouth open and eyes burning a hole through my head.

I swore, if he so much made an attempt to repeat what happened yesterday—

"So we were talking about whether we should station up or scrimmage today," continued Bob, ripping my focus from Yume to him, "because we weren't sure if it was okay to put you on the spot right on your first day."

I shifted my weight between my left and right foot. Like I hadn't been put on the spot the minute I was introduced to this team. "Either's fine with me."

A smile crept onto his mouth. "I figured you'd say that, so I decided stations today." He stepped aside and reveled what was written on the board behind him. There were four columns, all respectively labeled outfield, infield, batting, and pitching. Of course, the only names under the last one were mine and Hyuuga's. The second I read it, my eyes traveled to the person. I was surprised to find him already staring at me.

Bob coughed. "Everyone's here, correct? Alright, Nogi, Yume, Libel, Youichi, take infield. Pick your spots. Mochi, Combs, Cespedes, and Yuu all take out. Rest of you go home—kidding! Sit you ass back down, Daichi! Rest of you, bring out Betty and bat until you're ready to switch. Everyone's on their own today. Watson's not here, and I'll be busy working with Mikan. Oh, and we're running it short half an hour."

Before I could ask, someone casually piped up, "Another date, Bob?"

"Italian tourist," he answered, grinning. "She needed someone to show her around town, so I offered dinner." Bob never striked me as the dating type, and the way it sounded was like he did a lot of it. Uh, okay?

"She brought relatives?"

"That speak English? No. She can barely speak herself. And what the hell, Cespedes! No dating! It's almost season, punk!"

Three people down from me, the aforementioned raised two hands in defeat as a easy, mischievous smile made its way around his more I stared at him, the more I realized I knew him. He was in my algebra class—he's that kid that was almost always late. And whenever he did come, he'd be in uniform and lugging a duffle bag over his shoulders. I should've known he was on varsity.

"Alright, let's not waste time. We're out for only an two hours today and I want to get the best out of it. Mikan?"

I answered with my chin up in the air. "Coach?"

"You ready to pitch?"

"I never know," I sighed, kicking myself off the wall and grabbing and strapping my bag back onto my shoulder, "until I'm on the mound." I brought it out in front of my chest to unzip the top. I rummaged around until I found my socks, pants, and shirts that I received from Watson yesterday before he left. "So the second I'm on it, I'll let you know." I held up my shirt. "I need to change, first, though."

"Don't take too long."

"Don't start without me." I turned around and slid the door open. Immediately, platonic heat waves hit my face and began to already make me sweat. I was wishing I had a water bottle to cool me down all the way to the girl's locker room. Not for drinking, but for pouring it all over my head, which, I swore, was sizzling.

There was another thing I swore on. As I left the club room, I was pretty sure Bob was the only one who stared after me without hostility.

"We'll be waiting! Not."

"Man, we're already ten minutes late."

"Good luck, Natsume, you'll need it."

"Hn."

"God, don't tell me she's using our uniform."

The trudge to the locker room consisted of nothing but heat, sweat, and a sudden difficulty to not imagine every varsity baseball player's head shoved in a pile of dirt. Were they so filled with pride that they'd do anything to drive me away, even if I meant a shot at winning championships? Well, I wasn't going anywhere. Once I started something, I ended it. I'd gone through life meeting enough people with unfinished business. No way in hell was I going to end up like them.

But . . . why did I even say yes to the coaches in the first place?

Was it because it got me out of P.E?

Or because I couldn't say no to two men both holding a bat?

Or because I was so—too in love with the game?

Or because of my dad?

Of Juro?

I didn't get in too deep with the topic. It was always one that lingered in my mind for week's on end and prevented me from pitching right. I got changed as quickly as I could and jogged it out to the field with nothing but a glove and a ball, though I probably wouldn't have had needed it.

Surely enough, the boys were standing idly around home plate while Bob stood in the center, humming a melody under his breathe. When I reached them, their eyes picked up from the dirt field and met mine. I scanned all over fifteen pairs of multi-colored irises. Words that popped in my head—bright, pretty, determined.

But definitely not welcoming.

They all started to disperse, excluding Bob, who came and stood next to me, and Natsume, who slid on his catcher's mask and squatted a few feet behind home plate. Catcher's position. So we were starting already? I hadn't even stretched.

As I made my way to the mound, I was aware that nobody was going to outfield, or any other position at infield. Everyone lined up against the first base dug out and watched me like how an eagle watched its prey scamper off to try to find shelter.

"What are they doing Bob?" I asked as he matched my stride. He handed me a ball, which I dropped since I already had one, as I positioned my footing on the mound upon reaching it. There was a hole where a pitcher's foot usually went for the wind up—I stuck my right foot in there.

"Watching," he said, fixing his cap and going behind me where he's out of my pitch's range. "They said they had the utmost right to. Do you mind?"

I peeked a glance at all fourteen bodies, with arms crossed and attention on me, fixated where they stood. They had the perfect view of my pitch, as well the perfect view to catch any mistakes in my stance, or throw, or anything else I knew they'd kill to call me out for. I then darted my focus straight ahead of me. Natsume's eyes were still so bold and evident even when they were hidden under his mask. They didn't waver. They didn't blink. His determination was almost too clear just by the sight of his eyes, and I didn't want my catcher any other way.

He was perfect.

"Not at all," I said, setting myself up. "I didn't mind you and Watson; they're actually kind of a better audience."

I got it. They didn't think so, but I got it. They didn't want me here.

So, I took a deep breathe, twisted the ball in my hand to find its stitches, wounded up.

And threw.

Any questions you have will be cleared up in the upcoming chapters. I promise. So stay tuned(: thanks for reading, and don't forget to review!