The umpire stepped behind the catcher and signaled with a sharp downward chop of his hand. "Play ball!"
I did not wait for the silence of the field to settle into my bones or allow the nerves of our first official match to tighten my shoulders. Instead I took a deep breath and as I let it out my body went taut. The fabric of my worn practice jersey strained against my chest as I went through my wind up.
It started from the ground. My left leg was lean but corded with muscle and it drove into the red Nagano dirt as I pushed off the rubber with a force that sent a small spray of dust behind me. The energy traveled up my calf and through my quadriceps and into my core. As I twisted my abdominal muscles knotted like a bundle of ropes beneath my shirt.
Then came the arm. My shoulder blades rotated with the fluid precision of a machine and I pulled my throwing arm back into a position of extreme rotation. For a split second I felt like a drawn bow where every tendon in my neck stood out in sharp relief.
The pitch was a four seam fastball that was straight and screaming. It did not just fly because it seemed to explode toward the plate while riding higher than the batter expected. The blue uniformed hitter from the other school barely had time to blink before the ball hit the back of the catchers mitt with a sound like a gunshot. Thwack!
"Strike one!" the umpire bellowed.
The batter stepped out of the box and his face was pale as he looked at the catcher and then back at me. The jeering from the other team's dugout had vanished completely. Even Eiko sensei was standing near the fence with her first aid kit clutched to her chest and she looked stunned.
I did not give them a moment to recover. I caught the ball from the catcher and wiped a smudge of dirt onto my pants before I went right back to work. My movements were a symphony of power including the hip and shoulder separation and the violent rotation of my arm. The final flick of my wrist put a massive amount of backspin on the ball.
On the other side of the infield Wakana was a mirror of my focus. Her eyes were locked on the hitters hands. As the next ball was put in play which was a sharp grounder that skipped off the hard dirt she did not hesitate. She stayed low to the ground while her quads were burning as she glided to her left. She fielded the ball cleanly in the pocket of her glove and in one continuous motion she pivoted on her lead foot and fired a bullet to first base.
"Out!"
The opposing players watched in a daze as the girl they called cute and the noisy pitcher dismantled their top of the order with a level of athletic grace they were not prepared for. I felt the sweat beginning to bead on my forehead but I was not tired. I was just getting started. I looked at the next batter and allowed myself a small grin.
By the time the fourth inning arrived the atmosphere on the field had shifted. We were holding our own and the scoreboard showed a narrow lead for us. I could see the opposing team was not just surprised anymore because they were becoming desperate. Their pitcher a tall boy with a polished blue uniform was starting to unravel. He had come into this game smirking at our makeshift field but now his jersey was soaked in sweat and his face was a dark shade of red.
I stood at the plate for my turn to bat. I watched him closely and I could see the way his fingers twitched as he gripped the ball. He was staring at the scoreboard then back at me with a look of pure frustration. He had expected to walk all over a neighborhood club but instead he was struggling to find the strike zone against us.
He went into his wind up but his form was shaky. His lead leg landed too hard and the impact sent a small cloud of dust into the air. He tried to force a fastball but he lost his focus at the last second. Instead of the ball flying toward the catcher it slipped from his hand in a wild arc.
The ball sailed high and inside and it nearly clipped my helmet. I had to drop to the dirt to avoid it and I felt the wind of the pitch as it hissed past me. The catcher missed it completely and the ball slammed into the backstop with a violent crack.
"Ball!" the umpire shouted.
I stood up and brushed the dirt from my uniform without saying a word. I did not glare and I did not complain because I knew that showing emotion would only give him more confidence. I just looked at him with a calm and steady gaze.
The pitcher looked even more rattled now. He was muttering to himself and his teammates were shouting from the dugout but their voices sounded more worried than encouraging. He stepped back onto the rubber and tried to reset his breathing but his shoulders were hunched and tense. He threw the next pitch and it was even worse because it was a dirt ball that bounced three feet in front of the plate.
"Ball two!"
The crowd of parents and a few curious neighbors were starting to whisper. They could see it too because the pitcher of the school team was falling apart. He looked over at our dugout where Wakana was watching him with a sharp and analytical expression. He seemed to be losing his mind over the fact that he was being outplayed by a team with a girl at shortstop.
He gripped the ball again and his knuckles were white. He was trying too hard to prove a point. He went through his motion too fast and his arm lagged behind his body. It was a classic mechanical error caused by a lack of mental focus. The ball left his hand with zero rotation and it hung in the air like a giant target.
I felt my muscles coil as I watched it come toward me. I did not think about the scouts or the future or the original story. I just focused on the seams of the ball. I swung the bat with a smooth and powerful extension and the contact was perfect.
The sound of the wood hitting the ball echoed against the hills. It was a clean line drive that soared over the head of the leaping second baseman. I did not celebrate or shout as I ran toward first base. I just kept my head down and focused on my footwork while the opposing pitcher stood on his mound with his head in his hands.
He had made a massive error in judgment by letting his emotions take over. As I reached the bag I looked back at him and saw that he was completely broken. His focus was gone and the game was firmly in our hands.