A weird start

You felt considerable nausea as you stretched out along the first base line, where most other girls had congregated. Quite a few were chatting with each other, a group you assumed were players returning from last year, so it made sense that they had familiarity. They ranged in shape and size, where you assumed some of these lithe girls are quick baserunners, while some of the taller, stockier women were powerful pitchers or batters. These were girls that belonged on the field. Another little group nearby were the freshmen ball players who came from high school, hungry for a spot on the lineup.

Then, there was the walk-ons. Three of you, in your own little orbit, a bit further out from home plate than everyone else. Like the other two, you didn't exactly look field-ready. Nothing about your body really suggested athleticism at the moment, apparently you still just looked the same regardless of talent level. You were healthy, your body well-built, but nobody expected you to be chasing records on the ground. You made eye contact and nodded at the other two girls, but the three of you were longshots to join the lineup. Looking over further, the eyes of the other women seemed to just regard you as a threat--if only a minor one.

"Alright ladies," an older woman strolled over to the groups, you assumed she was the coach. "We've got a lot of stuff to do today and not a ton of time, so let's get going. I want a complete snapshot of your abilities today, but we're going to move like a well-oiled machine to get through all of it. We lost a big senior class, so we've got a lot of positions open, and everyone who isn't already slated for the starting lineup will demonstrate a little bit of everything that they've got. But let's not get comfortable, every position is up for grabs, if you can't compete then you are done. We'll do bats, sprints, infield, outfield, pitching today. So let's line up for some batting, I want Ortega, McCall, Hoskins, Starr..." The coach pointed to the bats as she rattled off all the names, and girls started shuffling over to line up for batting in turn. "...Hendricks, Martinez, Archer. Sheffield, you're in the circle."

You felt bad about stealing Felicia's name, but it wasn't like she was going to find--uh oh. You glance over and see a particular blonde wearing the stupidest grin on her face, waving at you from the benches behind where everyone's lining up. You stroll over to her with your bag in tow, and you hand it over to her. "I didn't think you'd be awake yet."

"I wasn't gonna miss your big day, or John's big day, and yet here we are. Had a change of heart?" Felicia found this totally amusing, though she was at least kind enough to watch over your backpack for you.

"Tryouts were yesterday. I'm... testing an alternative." Your voice was a little shaky, it was pretty clear that your nerves were getting the best of you with so much weirdness already happening today. "I don't know if this will work. Baseball and softball have similar mechanics, but I don't know if the magic will translate so easily from one to the other."

Felicia shrugged. "I guess just stay on your toes, wherever things are the same between the two you'll probably be fine, and where things differ... you'll figure it out. Besides, it's not like bombing a tryout is the worst thing you could do. Hey, one other thing, why did I hear them call my name?"

Your face reddened, turning back to watch the first batter knock some balls into the outfield. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, but only enrolled girls can play and I'm not enrolled like this so I had to think fast and--"

Archer snorts. "It's fine, I'd have done the same probably. You're really going all out in making a tangled web for yourself, you know. When the scandal breaks in this, I am disavowing all knowledge and will burn the school newspapers. Ahh, but maybe we could get married and then you'd be an Archer for real... we're definitely using my last name, it's much cooler."

You sighed, and trudged back to the lineup. Most of the batters were able to make contact with the ball a good percentage of the time. What scared you a little, though, is the softball's trajectory wasn't exactly like a baseball. The underhand delivery meant some of the pitches had a little arc on them. The pitches that didn't, your magically-talented eyes could easily track, like a baseball was headed your way. The moment you saw an arc, time seemed to speed up again, and that was what scared you the most.

In what seemed like an instant where you blanked out, you were standing at the plate. You looked down, just to remember where you were. You had a bat in your hand and a helmet wrapped around your head, your chest partially obstructed your view downward which momentarily threw you off, but you took your stance. Your body just naturally fell into place at the plate, you just knew how to best stand for your best batting potential.

The first pitch had an arc on it. Your baseball instincts didn't kick in, and you swung awkwardly late after the ball arrived. A baseball thrown at 90 miles per hour from a pitching mound reaches home plate slower than a softball thrown at 70 miles per hour from the pitching circle, by just milliseconds, but that speed and distance difference coupled with the upward arc and the delivery method from Sheffield threw you entirely off. You could hear some snickering from the other girls.

You took a deep breath, and re-focused. You just needed... something a little more familiar. Sheffield delivered another pitch, this one dead center in your strike zone. No arc. That familiar slowdown sensation enveloped you, like you could count the seams on the ball as it traveled toward you. This one, you took a beautiful, polished swing at, and crushed the ball deep into center field, and past the wall.

That shut them up.

Sheffield felt a little frustrated that a walk-on nobody could whiff so badly on the first pitch and then connect again. However, the pitcher's arsenal of faster or trickier balls didn't seem to faze you so long as the arc followed a baseball-like trajectory. You just didn't swing at the others when you didn't feel the slowdown, which was... questionable, you could hear a bit of confusion from the bench. Some of those arcs were easy reads to a softball player, the fact that you didn't even move was bizarre to them. Ten pitches later, you'd hit seven balls. Three were home runs, the other four felt like they still had some good distance on them. At least two of those pitches, none of the other girls would have connected with. The three you didn't swing at, though, would have been a cakewalk to them.

"Archer, that was... interesting," the coach said. "Good power, great form, but you need to work on your decision making at the plate. Almost like you're running before you can walk out there. Alright ladies, that's it for batting. Sprints! Go go go! Far wall and back to home plate, hustle!"

You tossed your bat and helmet aside, and started to run. You felt pretty good at your batting, but that was going to be a problem. And your running... well, that was even stranger. Heading out toward the far wall, you ran at what one might call "embarrassingly average" speed. You were far behind everyone by the time you touched the back wall.

The way back, however, you were aimed at a base. Your eyes were focused on home plate. And you suddenly understood something about your talents--they kicked in within the context of the game! Aimed at home plate, with the goal of reaching it as fast as possible, had you suddenly sprinting at an incredible pace! You weren't the first to arrive back at home plate, that would be the girls who were able to push hard both ways, but you definitely weren't last when you absolutely should have been.

"Alright, alright, weird day, let's take a ten minute break," the coach said. "Fielding is next, then we'll see how you pitch." She wandered over to the athletic director, while you jogged over to grab a bottle of water and sit down by Felicia, who had not dropped her idiot grin the whole time.

"Having fun out there, Mrs. Jane Archer?" she asked.

"I dunno, sometimes I see it and sometimes... it's not there." You leaned forward, feeling exhausted, and again sweaty in unusual places, to even more unusual degrees. You tugged at the front of your shirt and your sports bra, trying to cool your chest down.

"Well, maybe you'll be better fielding. That should be all like baseball, right? You catch a ball in all the same ways." Archer unzips your backpack, pulling out your glove and handing it to you.

You nodded and took it. "Maybe you're right, it'll go... uhh." You reached your hand in your glove, realizing a few things. First, baseball gloves are not softball gloves, the webbing wasn't as deep and the glove not as long to accommodate for the larger ball. And to top it all off... your hand had a lot of wiggle room inside that glove. You couldn't seem to tighten it for a good fit, causing you to panic a bit more.

Everyone was using their own glove, there weren't any spares available. Maybe someone could let you use their glove, but those seasoned players were glaring at you for your circus act of play out there. Was it time to make some friends, or go out and make a subpar performance with ill-fitting gear?