Author's Note: I couldn't help myself. I had to write a Sandlot fic. Anyway guys, here y'all go! :D

Title: Ripping Fastballs

Summary: I used to think I was only good at playing hockey. I never realized I was good at pitching baseballs, either – until now. Get ready, because this girl and her fastballs are gonna blow you away. A modern take on The Sandlot.

Pairing: Benny/OC. I was in the mood to toss my character in, and see what would happen between the two of 'em. This should be good.

Rating: It's T-rated. I can't do an M-rated story to save my life.

Disclaimer: I own…a piece of the Berlin Wall. Really. I don't own the Sandlot, or any of the original characters. Ah, Benny...XP

All right! Let's get this show on the road, and let the fun begin! ENJOY! :)

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7:00 AM, San Fernando Valley, California

I woke up feeling warm little puffs of breath on my face, followed by the sliminess of a tongue lapping away at it. As soon as my brain registered what my face was feeling, my eyes flew open, and I bolted upright in my bed. My palms wiped away the drool covering most of my face with disgusted quickness.

Once the drool had been wiped away, I looked around my close-to-empty room to see if I could find whatever it was that had woken me up. I groaned when my eyes landed on a gray and white mass of fur with pointed ears and a lolled-out pink tongue.

"Ugh, son-of-a-bitch Crosby," I grumbled irritably as I swung my legs over one side of the bed, and pushed myself off. "I love you to pieces, but I honestly don't need you tongueing me at seven in the frickin' morning."

Crosby merely cocked his head to one side, and stared at me as I yanked a tank top on over my sports bra and girl boxers. He couldn't give a crap if I liked being dog-kissed awake. After all, he was a husky; all Crosby cared about was his hockey puck squeaky toy and getting a milkbone for sitting or heeling.

He whined when I started walking out of my room. I sighed, and waved him over. "I wasn't gonna leave you there, you bonehead." I scratched the space between his ears gently. "You're such a dumb, goofy dog sometimes."

I trudged into the kitchen, and was greeted by my mom. She had tied her dirty-blonde hair back into a neat ponytail, swiped on some concealer and mascara, and put on her green hospital scrubs. My mouth pulled to one side in confusion as I took in the polished, professional look my mom was sporting at the moment.

"Took you long enough to get your butt outta bed," she said without looking away from the crossword puzzle on the dinged-up kitchen table. "I was about to go in there and flip your mattress."

"Sorry to say, but Crosby beat ya to the wake-up call." I scuffed my bare feet against the kitchen's shiny wood floor. "So what's with the scrubs?"

"Well, they're the clothes I wear for my job."

"And your job is, what, exactly?"

Mom took a sip of her coffee. "I'm a doctor over at the local paediatrics center," she replied simply.

Jesus, we've been here for only two days, and already the woman's found a job.

"Well, that was quick. How the hell did you get a job so fast?"

"I took care of my application and interview before you and I left Boston," mom shrugged. "They told me my job started today. So there you have it." Her blunt gray eyes flicked down to the silver watch that she'd fastened around her thin left wrist. She cussed all of a sudden, dumped her coffee in the sink, and snatched her purse off the kitchen counter. "I'm gonna be late, so I've gotta go, Shane."

I watched and listened as mom dashed out the front door and told me to feed Crosby at twelve, get outside and explore my new neighborhood, and to call if I needed anything. Then, she sat in her little black Element, backed out of the driveway, and zipped off towards town.

I just stood in the middle of the house, looking at the front door for a few minutes. (Yeah, I'm a bit of a space cadet sometimes, but who isn't?) When I got my crap back together again, I sat down at the kitchen table with a bowl of Cocoa Puffs, and thought about what I was gonna do today.

The first thing I figured I'd do was practice my stickhandling and shooting on my hockey net. It had been a couple of days since I'd set up the net, put on my rollerblades, and taken my O stick out for a bit of an ass-kicking, so that was immediately at the top of Saturday's agenda.

The next thing I decided to do was make my ma happy and check out my neighborhood. She'd been stuck in some pretty frustrating b.s. before we'd moved out to the Valley. Not only had she divorced my dad, but she'd been uprooted from everything that she'd loved for the past fifteen years. So, I figured that poking around the place would perk her up a bit.

Once I'd taken care of my to-do list, I got busy. I changed out of my pajamas and into basketball shorts and my very most favorite Vans striped t-shirt, cleaned myself up, then went to the garage (which was about the size of a frickin' postage stamp) to grab my stuff. I was a bit peeved to find that the net, my stick, my rollerblades, and the rest of my hockey gear had been carelessly shoved in a corner.

Grr, damn moving guys.

With a grumble, I strapped on my rollerblades, put my stick and street hockey ball on top of the net, and rolled it out into the empty street.

All right Shane, let's take things nice n' slow.

I started out with a skating check (like I said before, it had been a couple of days sinces I'd been in skates), which included skating forwards, backwards, left, right, front, and back crossovers, and hockey stops on both sides. I was fine on the blades after a minute or two of reaquainting myself with my skating style.

Now for the fun part.

I grabbed the stick and ball off the net, and dropped the ball on the asphalt. Then, I skated around for a bit, just stickhandling the ball and finding a comfortable rhythm I could work with. When I found that rhythm, I busted out every ounce of energy I had in me. I tore up and down the street with the ball literally clinging to the blade of the O stick, and sent it screaming into the net with either a slapshot, a wristshot, or a backhand shot. I smiled to myself; it felt really good to be on my blades and to be hacking away at my hockey stick.

"Hey! You're really good!" somebody shouted out to me all of a sudden.

I'd been pretty close when I'd picked that up. I'd also been skating backwards when I heard, so I had no idea that the guy was right behind me - until I turned around, and slammed into him. HARD.

We both flew backwards, and landed ass-first on the pavement. I was back up on my feet as quickly as I'd fallen; the other kid...well, he was still kinda' sprawled out in the middle of the street.

Holy shit, did I knock him out?

I wiped the sweat off my face, and skated over to the kid, hoping to god that I hadn't knocked him unconsious. Thankfully, he sat up with a dazed look on his face, then, like a dog trying to get rid of water on it's back, shook his head.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I didn't know you were standing behind me!"

"Nah, it's okay. I shouldn't have been standing right there in the first place." The kid slowly stood up, and dusted himself off. Then, he smiled and stuck his hand out. "I'm Scott Smalls."

I shook his hand. "Shane Feldbar."

His eyes (actually, the one eye that didn't have a shiner blooming around it...how the hell did he get that?) perked up. "You're the new girl that just moved here from Boston, right?"

"Yup, sure am. I'm the east-coast yankee," I beamed.

"Sweet! We're glad you're here!"

I frowned. "Who's we?"

"The guys in the neighborhood! We all heard about you, so we were waiting for you to actually get here," Scott explained with a puppy-dog expression on his freckle-covered face.

Wow, I feel special.

"So, you live in the yellow house?"

I looked over my back at my house, and groaned. "Yeah, I live in the piss-yellow house," I mumbled. "I swear to Christ, I'm seriously taking a paintbrush to it tomorrow." Out of slight boredom, I started skating circles around Scott. "How 'bout you, Scott? Where do you live?"

"Oh, I live in the house over there," he said as he pointed to a house the color of Pepto-Bismol that wasn't that far from mine. I was suddenly grateful that my new house wasn't bright pink. "I actually moved here a couple weeks ago."

"Nice." I changed direction with the skating. "So, what are you doing out at seven-thirty in the morning?"

"Waiting for Benny."

"Benny?" I repeated in a puzzled voice.

"Yeah, Benny. He lives right next to you," Scott said like it was common knowledge. "Speaking of, here he comes right now."

I stopped skating, turned around, and started scoping for Benny. For a moment, I didn't see anybody. Then, I looked to the left of my house, and everything changed.

I couldn't stop opening and closing my mouth like I was a fish as Benny walked over to where Scott and I were standing, baseball bat in one hand and two mitts in the other. This guy was freakin' CUTE; he had short, super dark brown hair that was currently hidden under a royal blue baseball hat, a tall, thin, yet muscular and athletic body, and dark amber eyes that me feel all dizzy inside. I started feeling weak in the knees as I took in all five feet and eight inches of him, from his once-white baseball jersey to his dusty black vintage PF's.

Oh, holy HELL, he's hot!

"Hey Smalls," Benny greeted Scott.

Scott's (aw, screw this, I'm calling him Smalls now) face lit up the moment Benny started talking. "Hey Benny! You ready to play some baseball?"

"Always am." His light brown eyes locked on me. I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up as he said, "Who's your friend?"

I suddenly couldn't speak, I was so nervous. I really hadn't expected this insanely gorgeous guy to zero his attention in on me; now that he had, I had no idea what the hell I was gonna say or do. I'd become a statue against my own will.

God, I must look like a retard. This is just wonderful.

Lucky for me though, Smalls saw that I was on the verge of a total shut-down, so he gave me a serious help boost. "This is the new girl from Boston. She's your new neighbor," he grinned as he gestured to me.

Smalls, you are a LIFESAVER.

By now, I'd gotten my shit together and calmed down enough to act like a normal human being. I flashed a grin at Benny, and said, "Hi. I'm Shane Feldbar."

Benny frowned. "Ain't Shane a boy's name?"

I shrugged. "My parents were convinced I was a boy, so they named me Shane before I was born and they found out I was a girl," I smirked. "I honestly don't give a rip if I have a boy's name, though. Actually, I really like it."

"I can tell." Benny moved the wood bat to his left hand, and stuck the other out. "Benny Rodriguez."

I took his hand, and slowly shook it as I held his gaze. His eyes seemed to be assessing me, from my rollerblades, all the way up to my super-short, black-streaked, rust-red hair sitting on my skull. It was a strangely intense look; it sent shivers down my spine. Benny's hand suddenly felt extremely warm, like he'd stuck it in an oven before he came outside, and I pulled my hand out of his like it had just been electrocuted. We stared at each other for a long time.

Smalls coughed awkwardly after what felt like five minutes of staring at Benny. "We should get going, Benny. The other guys at the sandlot are gonna be wondering where we are."

"You can go, Smalls. I'll catch up later," Benny told him.

"But, what do I tell everyone when I get there?"

Benny tossed Smalls the bat. "Just tell 'em that I had to grab something from my house. They'll buy it, trust me."

Smalls shrugged, then ran off to where ever he and Benny were originally going. The both of us watched silently as he bolted down the street like his ass was on fire, one hand holding down his baseball hat, and the other gripping the bat Benny had given him.

When Smalls turned around a corner and disappeared from our sights, I started absent-mindedly skating in circles around Benny. "Soo..." I began. "Any particular reason a guy like yourself is up at almost eight in the morning, waltzing around the neighborhood with baseball gear?"

"I could ask you the same thing about the hockey gear."

"I'm a hockey player," I replied as I shot Benny a DUH look. "This game's been my entire life ever since I was four years old. I'd play hockey rain, shine, blizzard, hell, even hurricane." I braked to a complete standstill, and looked Benny directly in the eye. "Now tell me, Benny Rodriguez - what's your reason?"

I noticed Benny tense up a little. "I'm a baseball player. This has been my life since I was able to hold a frickin' bat in my hands." He then proceeded to send me his version of a DUH look. "I'd play baseball in the crappiest weather possible if I damn well felt like it."

Touché.

"Does that answer your question?"

I shrugged. "One of 'em, yeah."

"One of 'em? How many questions do you plan on asking me?"

"Relax Benny. I just have two more questions, that's all."

He held his empty right hand, palm facing up, out. "Ask away," he sighed.

"'Kay then. How old are you?"

"How old am I?" he repeated incredulously. "You're seriously asking me how old I am?"

I held up my sweaty hands in protest. "Hey, cut me some slack, dude. I only wanna know if you're at least in my age group."

"FINE," Benny huffed. "I'm fifteen."

A mental version of myself did a happy little backflip at having discovered Benny and I were the same age. The real me grinned, and said, "Sweet, I'm fifteen, too."

He flashed me a small, quick smile. "So there's your second question answered."

"All right. My third question is...would you mind if I tagged along and watched you play for a bit?"

Right around here, Benny bit his bottom lip, and rubbed the back of his neck. "I dunno, Shane. That might not be such a good idea..."

"Oh, what?" I folded my arms across my chest. "You get nervous and play badly if a girl watches you? I'm really not THAT intimidating, am I?"

"No, it's not that. It's just that the other guys at the sandlot...well..." he trailed off.

"Get sorta' pissed when a girl comes along," I finished for him. "PUH-LEASE, I'm not gonna ask a zillion questions about what's going on. My dad taught me how to play WAY before I moved out here, so I'll be able to know what you guys are doing."

"All right, all right. You can come with me."

My face lit up. "Really?"

Benny nodded slowly. "Yeah, really." He jutted his thumb at my house. "Grab a pair of sneakers and something to cover your head, 'kay?"

"Yeah, just gimme a sec to bring my stuff back inside." I strode over to the net, tossed my O stick and ball on top, and started skating backwards with the posts grasped in my hands. I only moved a foot though, before Benny stopped me, came over, and balanced the top bar of the net on his broad shoulders.

"You go grab your stuff, Shane. I've got this."

I sent Benny a thank-you grin as I pulled my rollerblades off my feet. Then, I ran inside; stepped into my old pair of black Converse low-tops; grabbed my bright blue bandanna from the bathroom; and dumped some dog food in Crosby's bowl on my way back outside.

"Let's go, Feldbar. The other guys are gonna get pissed if I don't show up in about ten minutes."

"Yeah yeah yeah, I'm going." I finished knotting my bandanna around my head. "Let's book."

We jogged out of the garage, and were about head down the street, when Benny stopped. He stopped moving just as I was starting to run faster, and I almost crashed into him.

"A little warning would be much appreciated next time, Benny," I said somewhat irritably.

"Sorry, I just almost forgot to ask you this. What hand do you write with?"

"My left hand, why?"

Benny immediately tossed me one of the mitts he was holding. I easily caught it, and stared at it for a moment. "Why the hell do I need a mitt if all I'm gonna be doing is watching you and your buddies play baseball at the sandlot?" I asked in a confused tone.

He only gave me a smirk that nearly made my legs go boneless on me. "You never know what'll happen, really." Benny started jogging again. "C'mon, just follow me."

I shoved my right hand in the mitt, then ran off with Benny to go watch him play some baseball at the sandlot.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

YAY! DONE WITH THE FIRST CHAPPIE! ENJOY GUYS! STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT ONE! :D