The Sure Hit Summer
By:
Edited by: Delilah Anne Marie
Author's
Note: I'm really sorry that it's been months, but between
school,
rehearsals, and my obsession with A's, I just didn't have
the time to update
my fanfic. To make up for it, though, I've
decided to finally update! This
chapter's 700 words long, to be
exact. Woot! I'll try and update again
soon. And
reviewers…expect cookies. :]
By the way, here are some ideas
I've come up with for future stories:
Sequel to "The Sure Hit
Summer": The High School Years
Trilogy (or sequel to the
sequel): "The Reunion"
What do you all think?
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Chapter 7
I woke up extra early this morning, rolling out of bed and
stretching lazily
before forcing myself to stand up. Naturally, I
was still half-awake, and
would have liked to sleep in a little
longer, but I was determined to beat my
older brother to the
sandlot.
Once I had regained full consciousness, I strode
towards my closet and
selected a pair of bell bottoms. They were
my favorite, but considering the
fact that it was over
ninety-degrees outside, I reluctantly put them back into
the
drawer and pulled out nice pair of shorts and a baseball shirt
with
hot-pink sleeves. Then, I grabbed my cap and placed it
snuggly onto the top of
my dark blonde hair. Last year, the sun
threatened to turn my hair brown, and
since I knew I would look
butt-ugly as a brunette, I took Petra's offer of
putting lemon
streaks in my hair. At first, it turned a horrid orange color,
but
with some sunlight, it eventually evened out into a golden blonde
tone.
Before leaving the house, I looked around my room,
making sure everything was
in place before going. At that moment,
I couldn't help but thinking the root
echoed my exact
sentiments. It fit me well. It was content, as I was with how
things
were going on in life.
The window seat overlooking the pool
and the sandlot had been a haven for me
when I was out of it, or
even when I simply needed a place to read my Nancy
Drew books, or
do my homework. It was, without a doubt, the coziest place in
my
room, next to the wall lined by my record player and stack of
albums.
My orange-colored walls, which Charlie and Tommy (my
older brothers) painted,
contributed to the relaxed aura as well.
What's more is that I got an
autographed picture of the
University of Southern California's softball
team, a poster of
the Beatles (in which a mysteriously placed lipstick stain
appears
on Paul's cheek), and a Polaroid of my family from when I was
really
young (and from when my ma was still alive)—all hanging
on my walls to
remind me of the things I love in life.
In
the corner of my room sat a vanity table, which used to be my
ma's.
Tommy painted it hot pink for me though, which Lily
absolutely hated. I have
nothing against the color pink…when
it's in the right shade. I have
nothing against makeup,
either. Inside the vanity were cosmetic-rejects of
Petra's,
along with some eyeliner that was sent to me for Christmas by
my
maternal grandmother, who lives in New York.
A little
more than satisfied at how I was leaving my room, I kicked on
some
converse shoes, grabbed my mitt, and flung my window open
before shimmying
down the drainpipe—a habit I try to keep away
from Charlie. I then sprinted
down to the sandlot, and with some
time to spare.
"Oh, hey Elle," Benny greeted me when
I approached him. Since Scotty finally
learned how to get here by
himself, Benny was always here first, tossing balls
to himself.
"Sup, Jet," I nodded, smiling.
He shrugged,
indicating nothing much. "So, what time did your brother say
he
was gonna get here again?"
"Seven," I
answered, noticing Benny was talking to my legs. I cleared my
throat,
grinning. He only caught my eye and laughed it off. Busted!
"Can I?" I asked, motioning toward his bat.
Benny nodded his
head, and we traded mitt for bat. I got into position,
tapping the
bat on the home plate before squaring my shoulders.
Benny
threw a nice curveball, which I narrowly hit. I thrust my bat
against
the ball, sending it soaring towards the third base. Benny
nodded his
approval.
"That was good," he said,
walking towards me and slipping off the mitt. "But
wanna know
the secret to hittin' a homer?"
I nodded, eager for advice.
"M'kay," Benny said, coming behind me. He
gingerly wrapped his arms around my
shoulders, and held my hands
around the bat, pulling my hands slightly higher.
"You
just gotta learn how to distribute your weight to get more power,"
he
whispered against my ear. I shivered. He then nudged the bare
thigh of my left
leg and pushed it forward. My face flushed and I
silently cursed myself for
wearing shorts. Then, I felt his chest
against my back as he helped my swing.
"There," he
said, and I felt him smile against my hair. I looked back
at
him.
"Homerun," he said quietly and we both leaned in.
At that moment, I knew that if I didn't pull
away, I'd find myself
getting intimate with this boy. But I
wasn't arguing with myself. I would
have gladly kissed
Benny…
…had a voice from behind not interrupted the moment.
"Ahem!"
I jumped away from Benny, in shock to see a fuming Charlie.
"This. Is. Time. For. Practicing. Baseball," he said through grit teeth.
Benny
took a step back from me, and I knew I'd be getting a good
lecture
from Charlie when we got home. Thankfully, Petra and Lily
walked in with the
sandlotters, saving me from my current
embarrassment.
