So… ever been in a situation where the tension is so high that you're scared to even breathe? Like, one of those super high strung moments where everybody is watching and waiting for shit to go down, and you don't want to be that asshole to break the atmosphere with the sound of your noisy intake of oxygen?

That's pretty much what's happening right now. The whole baseball club, Meteors members or not, surrounded the diamond, pressed as close as we can to the white base-running lines, but simultaneously afraid of the consequences of crossing it.

There are only 3 people (allowed) in the playing field right now.

Fuel, who stands menacingly with his bat over his shoulder in the batting box.

A kid who was unfortunate enough to be recruited to be catcher by Fuel is crouched behind home plate.

And Lucas, on the mound.

You see why there's tension, right?

...maybe I should start at the beginning…

"Because if you keep him on, I'll join the team."

Everything had gone down so perfectly that it felt like some cliché author wrote the entire script. Starting with the Coach laughing off Lucas' offer, but sarcastically humouring him the whole way until Lucas somehow had gotten a chance on the mound with a glove and a ball in his hand, with one of the Meteors' catchers behind the plate, as well as a spare batter or so. Coach then told Lucas to show 'em what he's got, but he said it in an overly obnoxious way that conveyed clear skepticism, as if the whole thing was a waste of his time and the skinny blond kid that looked like he would blow over from a breeze was crazy for ever trying whatever he was trying.

The first wave of batters, mostly reserves or players that didn't make the team, stepped up.

Lucas struck all of them out.

Coach did a double take, and then called some of this bottom order batters over.

Lucas struck all of them out.

A crowd was forming at this point, and a frowning Coach barked at his best hitters, including Ninten, up to the plate.

Lucas systematically sat each and every one of them down without a hitch.

This went on for an hour.

Barely any balls even went into play, let alone roll out of infield.

It was, both from a baseball fan and Lucas' friend's perspective, utterly glorious.

Seriously. I was so glued to the scene that I almost forgot why he was doing this in the first place. And watching Coach's expression slide from smug to shock was just incredible. Soon enough he had taken position as home plate umpire to get a better view as Lucas continued to work the mound, pitching balls like I've never seen at the high school level before. The batters never knew what hit them until it whizzed past their bug eyed expressions. It almost felt like Lucas could read their minds. Whenever they would square up for a fastball, he'd bury a circle change or slider into the dirt, and whenever they tried to lay off his out pitches, he'd slam a 4-seam or 2-seam or drop a curve low over the plate.

Not even Ninten stood a chance. I watched (with a bit too much satisfaction) him get eaten up by sliders and changeups. And just to reiterate, Ninten's the guy rockin' the .400 plus average on our team, the guy everyone knows to be a monster hitter. But of course, he didn't look soured by that at all, instead he was the first to come up to Lucas and happily congratulated him.

Needless to say, a performance like that immediately put a neon sign on Lucas' forehead, and soon enough all the players are coming up to him asking him questions and doing their general best to completely ignore the flustered and uncomfortable expression on his face. Gotta start working on that if we want him in good form for the League games, which take place with 40 something other players and a whole lot of spectators.

As clear as it was that Lucas was not a player to be passed up, Coach pulled us aside immediately afterwards, and all but demanded Lucas to stay on the team as starting pitcher. To which Lucas counter-demanded that I stay on with him. To which Coach counter-counter-demanded an explanation.

An explanation that I didn't hear clearly, though, as they started talking all hushed and stuff, and I got the vague feeling that Lucas was using himself as a bribe for me… or using me as blackmail…

But whatever bribemail Lucas was using on Coach worked! I'm staying on the team! Coach put me as backup 1st baseman or pinch hitter!

The euphoria still hasn't left me yet, even as practise winds down to a close. I can't believe that just happened. Oh my god, it honestly feels like getting pushed out of a plane, then discovering you can fly. It's almost enough to make me forget I'm supposed to be on the verge of collapsing from lack of sleep. I get to keep playing baseball. Oh man…

And then, the other shoe dropped.

Quite literally, as a foot stamped down hard on home plate, attracting the attention of us and all the other kids who were still suffocating our new pitcher.

Fuel, having been suspiciously invisible throughout Lucas' introduction to the Meteors, finally made his appearance, staring straight at us from home plate with a bat slung over his shoulder.

Instant silence. It's interesting how everybody could instinctively pick up the tension buildup, though the looks on Fuel and Lucas's faces don't leave much to imagination. They kept staring at each other, seemingly having a conversation none of us could hear. I was just hoping to god it didn't contain the words 'want', 'to', and 'fight'. A gust of wind blows serendipitously over the diamond, kicking up small clouds of dust.

Then Fuel, in a voice that bade no room for argument, called Andrew, our top catcher, over and ordered him to get in position. Then he slung the bat over his shoulder and stared at his blond opponent.

Immediately the field cleared, people squeezed into spots along the sidelines to watch the show. I was caught between wanting to stay on the field and try to mediate any fight breakout that was always a possibility between these two, and wanting to watch what really promised to be a good show. In the end, seeing everyone clearing the field, I felt compelled to do the same, not wishing to be accused of being a spoilsport, and left the diamond to let the scene play out.

And that's where we are now. Waiting. Hell, even the Coach has stopped scribbling on his board, towering behind us to watch what the hubbub was about.

A twitch of fingers. All eyes fly toward the Meteors' newest star pitcher, who's bringing up his hand clutching a ball.

Challenge accepted, it seems.

And I'll admit, I'm excited to see what will transpire. Excited and a bit frightened, because Fuel is volatile, and Lucas might be the spark.

Lucas winds back, a picture perfect windup, and whips the ball over home plate.

Fuel swings.

Half the eyes watching went straight to the catcher Andrew, because that's where they were expecting the ball to be, after seeing Lucas so effortlessly strike out the rest of them.

The other half, the half that paid attention to the loud and very satisfying crack of the bat, are following the path of the ball as it flies over the outfield chain link fence, and lands somewhere in the trees beyond.

Nobody says a word. I assume most of us haven't really comprehended what just happened yet, because I sure as hell haven't. That looked effortless. Like, the most nonchalant and assured home run ever hit. If all of us hadn't just been sat on our asses by the same pitch, we'd think Fuel was facing an amateur. What the hell?

The fiercely serious expression on Fuel's face curves up into a superior smirk.

"Is that all you got? Looks like all these years haven't done you any favours."

I would read more into that if I'm not so invested in Lucas's reaction. Or rather, lack of. In fact I don't think he had even turned around to watch his pitch get destroyed. There is no reply to the taunt, he just keeps his own expression schooled and firm, and merely plucks another ball from his pocket and gets ready to throw again.

Fuel obliges, continuing to smirk confidently as he readies himself to hit another home run.

He strikes out on three pitches.

I didn't think it was possible, but the silence becomes more silent. It's literally silence2 in the park right now. I can even hear the low thrum of Onett's town centre and cars honking in the distance.

There's a distinct look of biting-off-more-than-I-can-chew on Fuel at the moment. I avidly examine the wordless interaction between pitcher and batter. And I saw, for a moment so small that I'm not sure if I hallucinated it, Lucas twitch his eyebrows in a mocking manner. I probably did see it, because the next second Fuel's scowl has returned twice as ferocious. It's clear that this has despite being played out to an audience, this is becoming a rather private exchange…

More pitches are thrown. Our eyes flicker back and forth as we follow the ball from Lucas' hand to the batting box, all expectations of where the ball may end up gone. Some pitches land in the catcher's glove, some pitches are sent on a ground ball or liner to outfield. Every pitch is intense.

One more pitch thrown, and Fuel connects, the ball heading on a line drive foul and riGHT TOWARDS MY FACEOHGOD -

Thank. Christ. I'm wearing a glove.

I let out a relieved breath, thanking my instinctual reflexes for being fast enough to snag the line drive and save my face from being flattened. When I open my eyes back up, I find both Lucas and Fuel's gazes have landed on me. Where I'm standing, I'm at equal distance apart from the both of them, quite literally put in the middle of their brawl. And there is something in the looks they're shooting me that appears distinctly accusatory.

What the fuck did I do? I'm the one who almost got my forehead sheared off by their little piss fight!

"Alright, that's enough." The long standing silence is finally broken by Coach, who pushes through the onlookers and into the diamond. "I'm glad to see you young'uns be so competitive, but I reckon that's enough for today. Save some of that energy for the other teams, yeah?"

Lucas pauses for a second, then obligingly hands his glove to the outstretched hand of Coach. Fuel looks ready to protest, but grudgingly hands over his bat as well.

"Alright, clear out, the lot of you." Coach hollers at the rest of us. "Y'all did good today, and the final team list will be posted on the Gym front doors by tomorrow mornin', along with the practise and game schedules. And don't even think about puttin' a toe out of line, 'cause I can still kick you off faster than you can say 'strike'! Dismissed."

That signals everyone to break formation, most of them huddling into small clusters to talk excitedly about what just happened, who made it and who didn't. A few come over to me, and look rather surprised when I tell them I made the team. I mean, I get that I'm no Gabe Ruth, but can't they at least have the decency to hide their reactions? I'm also aware that this should be the perfect time for normal Ness to start rubbing it in, but honestly I can't really bring myself to do so right now, in no small part because I can't justify it.

As the field empties, there are three people left on the infield. Coach stands between home plate and the mound, as if making sure no funny business goes down between the pitcher and batter, the latter two looking at each other like they'd just been forced to down a couple of lemons.

"You think maybe being on the same team might be the chance for those two to make up?"

I turn to see Ninten beside me, looking out over the field. I shrug. "If Coach is around, maybe. Otherwise it might be just a better way to get chances at biting each other's heads off."

"Yeah, maybe."

There's a pause.

"…hold on, I'm still supposed to be angry with you." I realize, frowning at Ninten.

His expression, which looks caught between a smile and a grimace, clearly tells me he was hoping I would forget that. I huff, a feeling vaguely like defeat in my chest, before stubbornly stepping forward toward Coach hoping in vain that he'd leave me alone.

"Oh, hey kid." Coach grunts as he sees me come up. "Great catch, by the way. Maybe keepin' you on isn't such a bad idea after all. Don't disappoint me, alright?"

"Yes sir." I nod resolutely.

"Good, 'cause letting you on means an extra person that I hadn't planned for. It's gonna be more work for me, but hopefully you two are worth it."

"Yes sir."

Coach just grunts again, and stalks off. I get the feeling he's still a bit sore about being bribemailed into keeping me on, but that's just more motivation for me to prove to him that it's the right decision.

I turn back around to see Lucas still standing on the mound, looking a bit lost. He meets my gaze and gives a rather exasperated sigh. On the other side, Fuel is now doing his best to pretend the new pitcher of the Meteors doesn't exist, backing his stuff up in record time to get ready to leave the park.

Between the two, I pick the less ready-to-blow-up-in-my-face choice to talk to first. "So how's it feel, new star pitcher?" I ask with a grin.

A non-committal shrug is the response.

"Well, it'll get better, I promise. This team is full of great people, you'll love it." I pat his shoulder. "Besides, Coach loves you already, he was practically drooling when he was watching you throw."

"Good to know." He says. "I'm afraid that he may be a bit angry with me for…"

"Bribemailing him?" I supply.

"Is that what we're calling it?" Lucas chuckles. "I was thinking more like negotiating."

I snort, slinging my arm around him. "You can call that negotiating all you want, if it makes you feel better. Either way, thanks a lot man, for sticking your neck out for me. I really owe ya big for 'negotiating' me back on the team, but trust me, it won't be as bad as you think. You just need more practise talking to people and -."

"Is that what happened?"

…crap. I was so sure Fuel was just by home plate a second ago, when did he get so close? He's somehow literally in front of us right now, and I get the distinct impression he's been listening in since I said my first word, even though he was supposed to be spitefully ignoring us. How do I explain myself out of this one? I'm caught with my arm around his most hated person talking cheerfully about my part in 'negotiating' said person onto the baseball team that he's on.

But what I didn't expect is for Fuel's face to be as spectacularly bland as his voice. Like, literally no rage or anything. It's almost the look of someone who's seeing something they're 100% expecting.

I would reply, if I knew I could manage anything other than incoherent, poorly thought out excuses. So I opt my most repentant grin and a shrug of the shoulders.

Fuel doesn't buy into it though. His lips press into a thin white line, and I can feel Lucas tense in reaction beside me. Oh goddamn it not again…

Fuel moves toward us, and I reactively raise my arms to get ready for shit to go down. But no fists are flung. He merely pushes roughly through between Lucas and me, knocking us apart, and leaves the field with his sports duffel bag slung over his shoulder, not sparing a single glance back toward us. Neither of us seem to want to do anything to call him back either.

…I can't tell if that was a good or bad sign for the future of the Onett Meteors.

"Hey, you guys okay?"

That would be Ninten running towards us, ready to drain the mood further. I avert my eyes as soon as he looks over at me. I hum flatly in response.

There's a moment of silence, and that's all Lucas needs to immediately take note of things and start frowning slightly at me.

"…so, welcome to the team Luke!" Ninten congratulates with a bit more enthusiasm than seems natural. "But why did you wait 'till now to join?"

Lucas spares a very subtle glance at my direction, before turning back to answer. "Not sure really, I guess I wanted to try something new for once, and-."

"He joined because of me, okay?" I blurt out, and Ninten jerks his attention back to me, surprised. "I was about to get booted off, and Lucas asked Coach to keep me on in exchange for him joining in."

There's no point hiding it if Fuel already knows the truth, though I'm hoping that'll be the extent of people who know. I stare almost angrily at Ninten, daring him to laugh. But of course, being ever so chivalrous, he hides whatever opinion he may have that could show through his facial expression well and only nods neutrally. Yeah right, why don't you just tell me how you really feel about this, you stupid, secretive, pathetic excuse of a best friend…

Lucas ends up being the one breaking the awkward silence. "You should go home and get some sleep, Ness. You've got to be feeling tired."

"…no thanks to you reminding me." I mutter. He's right of course, now that the adrenaline and excitement of awesome things happening is wearing off, I feel like I'm one step away from crashing again. This day definitely would have been one to have enjoyed with the good night's sleep that I'll probably never get again. "But yeah, I need to head home… where did I park my car again?"

"Hey… you want me to drive you home?" Ninten offers tentatively.

'No' was on the tip of my tongue, but honestly there is a pretty good chance I'll cause an accident driving as I am right now.

"…fine." I grunt. "Lucas, you wanna come too?"

"I'll be fine going home on my own, thanks."

Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Lucas. I try to convey that in a glare, but even glaring seems to take too much energy. So without further hassle, I drop the keys to my shitty car in Ninten's hands and lead him to the parking lot.

The entire drive back Ninten makes constant sneering comments about how crappy and unkempt my car is compared to his amazing, spotless Corvette, and how I don't really deserve my spot on the baseball team, and how utterly unfair it was that I'm still with Paula... and when I tell him to stop, that I get the point, he counters by pointing out that this is what I wanted, brutal honesty and nothing hidden between us. Then he continues to bemoan how his relationship with Ana ended… then my phone rings, and when I pick up it's to see that Fuel's decided to quit the team… and then Coach calls as well to tell me he's changed his mind about putting me on because I'm just not worth it…

"…dude?"

Hmm…? What happened?

"Ness, we're here."

I groggily open my eyes and lift my head from where it was leaning against the window. Oh… I'd fallen asleep… Out the window is indeed my house.

I grunt a thanks as I open the door, looking forward to a shower and flopping down on my bed forever.

"Hey dude? You gonna take your keys?"

I glance back. Ninten looks at me expectantly, keys to my car in his hand.

…does he honestly expect that I'd make him walk all the way back to his own place, which is like, and hour away by foot? I mean, I get that we're not on the best of terms, but it doesn't mean we have to be total assholes to each other…

"Keep 'em. Bring the car back to school tomorrow, and I'll drive you home then." I mumble at him.

"Right… thanks."

I'm about to close the car door and head home, but he calls my name again.

"What now?" I ask exasperatedly.

"Nothing… just… get some rest, okay? The Meteors will need you in top form." He says, giving me a small smile.

I sigh, nodding back at him.

As I trudge into my house and up the stairs, studiously ignoring mom in the living room, I think about what's happened today. I wish I still had the excitement and happiness that came with the moment I realized I would be on the Meteors, but now all that's left of that is a seeping feeling of shame and annoyance. Because I didn't get on out of my own merit, rather because of Lucas and his stupid rampant selflessness. But who knows if my own abilities would've been enough had I been completely healthy and rested… And of course, there's Fuel… and Ninten… it's just a massive shitstorm of conflicting thoughts in my head right now.

I'm going to bed. Maybe if I get tired enough my brain won't have the energy to conjure up hellish repressed memories and crippling nightmares. And maybe if I get refreshed, I'll be able to look at things with a bit less… cynicism…

Because at the end of it all, facts don't change. I'm on the baseball team, and the Inter-City Juniors League is about to kick-off… a pessimistic attitude will only slow me down for the things to come that I'll have to deal with.