Hey, guy's I'm really sorry for the long wait. I know you'd rather read the chapter first. Warning, it's not as good as it usually is, but I'll explain at the bottom. Other warning: Sam's kinda mean here.

I don't own Sandlot. Or Shawshank Redemption. But it's a good movie. Watch it.

NO. WAY.

I stared at the splintery wooden deathtrap that was waiting to swallow me.

Okay, EW. The top was covered with bird crap and mud.

DOUBLE EW. Dead bugs were littering the floor along with faint traces of dried saliva and pre-chewed sunflower seeds.

TRIPLE EW. "God forbid they spit on the bench," I muttered. If I lay down on the sick boy's DNA, someone will die. I didn't even want to touch the bench, let alone sleep on it. I probably wouldn't wake up in the morning. And if that happened, I wouldn't be able to kick Benny's ass tomorrow.

Damn. I really wanted to do that. I know it's mean, but I get P-OED so easily. Back home, half the guys I know were scared into liking me. I think that's what happened to Dad- I mean Smalls- or- WHATEVER.

I took the biggest breath I could and stepped into the dugout. Okay, I am no girly-girl. But that doesn't mean that I don't care about personal hygiene. I still think this place is gross. The place smelled like a shit-tank. Then I remembered how lucky I should feel. It was no walk in the park when Andy was tunneling through the sewer. Then again, he was escaping prison.

I'm not in prison.

Yet.

Cause I'm gonna KICK ASS TOMORROW!

"Yeah," I said to myself. "I'm gonna kick ass. Whiplash, assault, whatever the hell that is, I'm gonna do it."

I stretched out my back and laid down on the bench, a shudder running through my spine. Feeling that tomorrow was actually something to look forward to, I closed my eyes and let sleep overtake me.

Not.



That's what we call a long, sleepless night outside. On a bench. I swear, if a bug crawled in my ear or up my nose, someone will die. I MEAN IT.

I pulled myself up, squinting because of the bright sunlight. Suddenly, something else appeared. A face. Yes, it had a nose. If there's one thing I learned in my thirteen years of living, never trust a face without a nose.

So when I looked closer I saw that it was the face of none other than Benjamin Franklin Rodriguez. Oh, joy.

"Any specific reason as to why you're sleeping in our dugout?"

"Why should you care?" I spat. "I can sleep wherever the hell I want." I sat up. Oh LORD! My shoulder was killing me. Rodriguez seemed to notice my pain, and he smirked. THAT burned me.

"The thing is, I've been waiting here since five in the morning for you bozo's to show up." I said, standing up and walking out of the dugout. I could swear that I felt a breeze of cool air blow into my face and a ray from heaven seemed to shine down on with a Hallelujah chorus. If only I lived in a fantasy land.

"Why five?" said a short boy with brownish blonde hair. "Yeah, why five?" said his clone. I raised my eyebrows at him. "Because, Alfalfuh. I am all about work and discipline. But even strict upbringing can't stop sleep hormones. As long as-"

"Who ARE you?" the fat kid with the curly red hair asked. RUDLEY may I add. I automatically didn't like him.

"Her name's-"

"I can introduce MYSELF, Rodriguez. My name is Sam. And yourself?"

Rodriguez stretched out his arms and nodded to each player as he said each name. "That's Kenny DeNunez." The only African American boy spat on the ground as his name was spoken. I recoiled, sticking out my tongue in disgust. "Ugh…"

"This," Rodriguez ignored me. "Is Timmy and Tommy Timmons,"

"Ah, Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber." I said, nodding.

"Who's Tweedle Dumber?" said the bigger one.

"Yeah, who?" said the smaller one.

"Forget it. And who's this?"I said, looking at the kid with glasses bigger than his head. Okay, not bigger, but you get my drift, right?



"Name's Squints." The kid said oh-so-smoothly. I raised an eyebrow (I've been doing that a lot, I know.) "Listen, Little Elf, If you're going to flirt with me, make sure you're tall enough to ride the bumper cars, okay?"

By now, half the team was either glaring at me, looking at me like I was nuts, or exchanging shocked glances as to how someone could be so mean.

ME. DUH.

"Hey, what's your problem, girl?" said the tallest kid there.

"Hey, Stringbean. It's called tough love, kay?"

"Ah, did you say love, sweet thang?" said Squints slyly.

"Didn't I just talk to you?" I snapped.

"Yeah yeah, Squints. Since your hearts set out for Wendy Peffercorn, how bout you leave the other chicks for-"

"This is Yeah-Yeah." Rodriguez said disgruntedly.

"Yeah-Yeah? What kind of name is that? You know what-" I said before they could reply "I don't care. And I'm assuming you're Ham?"

"How do you know?"

Shit. How did I know? Oh, and did I mention that every single one of these pigs spat after I said their names? And Ham didn't? Does that make him a gentleman or something?

"Doesn't matter." Yeah, I can really think on my feet. "Now that we got this whole intro thing down, let's play some friggin' ball."

Damn. Ham just spit. He is NOT a gentleman in my book.

"Okay, I know this is really sexist to me, but you are the biggest bunch of sissies ever!" I yelled. "I hit twenty-seven home runs, caught every ball you threw at me, and you even chased me around the field and I'm not even tired!" Okay, that was a lie, I still had yet top catch my breath. But these guys- who called themselves MEN- were laying around like they were dead.

"You know, there's a lot of players out there-your heroes and idols- that have been waiting for you to play for them. All I can say is that I'm disappointed. You've let down, and disappointed them. See ya around!"

And with that last statement said, I turned and left them to sweat beneath the sun.



First of all, I can't find the journal that had the better version of this chapter. I promise I'll fix it when I find time. I've got a bunch of other stories I wanted to put up so badly. I'm really sorry for the long wait. I've been confirmed since then, and I had to study for my public exam. So I'm an official Christian now. Yay me.

Sorry about Sam being so mean. It'll help her fit later, and you'll find out why she's so hard on guys later.

Any ideas you have to offer, send 'em in! I have in fact his a writer's block, but I got advice from Shelly Pearsall, the author of Trouble Don't Last (READ THE BOOK it's really good.) She came to our school and I asked her what she does when she get's writer's block. REVIEW IF YOU WANT TO FIND OUT WHAT TO DO. Haha.

--V