ONETT METEORS 2014 OFFICIAL ROSTER:

Starting Lineup:

1B: Fuel (#11)

LF: Terry (#09)

SS: Ninten (C) (#01)

C: Andrew (#21)

3B: Frank (#63)

2B: Aaron (#45)

RF: José (#13)

DH: Adam (#45)

CF: Brett (#44)

Reserve Lineup:

1B/3B/SS/PR: Ness (#02)

C/DH: Jason-Patrick (#33)

PH/1B/2B/3B: James (#93)

PH/2B/3B/PR: Stuart (#95)

OF/PR: Nick (#18)

OF: Teddy (#98)

Starting Pitchers:

1: Lucas (#03)

2: Robert-Allan (#43)

3: Brandon (#23)

4: Clayton (# 22)

Bullpen/Reserve Pitchers:

Closer: Brian (#99)

Closer: Casey (#33)

Butch (#91)

Azim (#53)

Jeremy (#70)

David (#20)

First practise: April 11th. BE ON TIME OR BE SUBJECT TO TERMINATION FROM TEAM.

First game: April 22nd, vs THREED SPIRITS, HOME GAME, METEOR HILL PARK BALL FIELD. Details available soon.

...

…that's what's posted in front of the gym doors, as a whole bunch of students crowd around the taped piece of paper like a gaggle of squealing fangirls looking at their favourite video game character or whatever it is that they're into. I'm only complaining because it means I have to wait a while before I get my chance to squeeze to the front to read it. I mean, I already know I'm gonna be there, unless Coach is in the habit of lying to hopefuls, but still, it feels good seeing my name printed in shiny Calibri font on an official looking piece of paper. That piece of paper may as well be a Major League player's contract for me.

Even though I'm a reserve… but that's fine, I may still get a shot or two!

There's a few other relevant names on that list. Fuel's the leadoff batter, which is no surprise since we need his speed on base as early as possible. He's also a premiere first baseman when we play D. Ninten's 3rd on the order, since his absurd average gives him a good chance to smack in runs in his position. And he has the reflexes needed for a good shortstop. And as indicated by that shiny (C) by his name, the proud Captain of our team. Those two have been running those positions since forever.

And Lucas is our starting pitcher. The Meteors' secret weapon that even we didn't know about until a day ago. Goes to show you how good the dork really is if the Coach's confident enough to put him in number 1 on the rotation already.

Me? Well, if I ever get into the starters, I'll probably be assigned to somewhere in the bottom of the order, and probably play first base, where I have the most experience. I'd love to have that chance…

You know, I'd love to be discussing all this with my ol' buddies right now, you know, talking about our positions, possible plays, future games, all that stuff. Get into the mood of baseball. But at the moment, none of them seem to want that.

There's considerable din in the hallway, the Meteors players and their guests bantering excitedly as we wait for the Coach to show up. Among them is Fuel, blabbing it up with some other guys who I didn't even know he was friends with. Ninten's in another group, chatting with a few of the less boisterous kids. And Lucas is off to the side alone, politely distant, not attempting to join any conversations. I observe all of this as make meaningless idle talk on the side with Andrew and Butch, who merely happen to be standing near me.

But none of us are with each other… I'm here, Ninten's there, Fuel's over there, and Lucas is way back there. We're basically each occupying a corner of a square, the distance between us maintained by an air of awkwardness that we're afraid to break because of what's been happening recently… and yet, I can catch what they must think in their stupid minds to be subtle glances at each other and me. And every time eyes meet, they'd drop their looks as if to say 'whatever', as if nothing is wrong.

I catch Lucas glimpsing at me the most, but he never moves from where he's standing by himself. I don't know how my past self ever thought this stupid kid was hard to read. I can practically feel his extreme anxiousness of being a new part of this social group, his desire to join in the happy conversations being hampered by crippling reclusiveness and self-doubt, all of it rolling off his body language like a thick wave.

…this is fucking ridiculous.

I excuse myself from Butch and Andrew and push through the crowd. I nudge Ninten, who looks surprised, but blatantly relieved by my presence. I make a 'come on' gesture, and he follows me without argument.

We approach a loudly laughing Fuel, who has the audacity to ask when he sees us, "hey, what do you guys want?" Like we need fucking permission to see him or something.

"Yeah, because every other time we come looking for you is because we want something from your dumb ass. You're coming with us." I tell him flatly.

And the three of us search out the last member of our party. As we approach Lucas I hear Fuel give out a disgusted sigh that clearly meant 'oh not this shit again', but before he can get away both Ninten and I have our hands on his shoulders. I grip it firmly, warning him to not take things out of hand. He jerks our hands off of him, giving us annoyed glares, but he's not walking away, so that's something I guess.

Lucas impassively observes us, eyes flicking and landing on each of us in turn, before settling on Fuel, expression schooled. Fuel in turn seems to be biting the inside of his cheek, as if preventing himself from saying something he'll regret. Ninten watches while looking at me stupidly for some sort of cue on what to do.

I let the silence go on a bit longer, before abandoning the notion that any miracles will happen without me doing something about it.

"So you guys all look really uncomfortable right now." I remark offhandedly.

"No shit." Fuel mutters.

"Well that's not gonna fucking help things is it?" I snap back. "Fucking like it or not, we're gonna be stuck with each other for a while. On a sports team. Y'know, one of those things made of people who have to work together to achieve a common goal?"

"Thank you for the definition of the word 'team'." Fuel says dryly, rolling his eyes. "Honestly I can't imagine how you almost failed English class."

"I'm only explaining because you don't seem to know. Otherwise you wouldn't be acting like such a mopey little bitch about it."

"Right, and where do you get off on calling me a mopey little bitch?" He retorts heatedly. "You know exactly what my problem is on this team."

"Yeah. I do. And what are you gonna do about it?"

He opens his mouth, but stops himself from saying anything. Instead he presses his lips tightly together and decidedly looks away from me.

"I know what you're fucking thinking, Fuel." I say angrily. "It's my fault that Lucas is on the team, right? If I wasn't such a shit player and could just be gods of the game like you guys I wouldn't've needed this to happen, right?"

There's no answer, Fuel resolutely refuses to look at me.

"…we never said that, Ness." Ninten's quietly placating voice speaks up.

I take the chance to direct some of my ire to him. "But you're all thinking it. I know you're thinking it. Don't you dare fucking lie to me again and deny that!"

"Ness, it doesn't matter."

Three faces turn our attentions to Lucas.

"You can't judge them based on a rational thought like that." Lucas continues gently. "What matters is what they think of the result of that. You can be angry all you want, but can you honestly claim that Ninten and Fuel don't want you on the team with them? That they aren't happy that you're here?"

…in other words: yeah, they're totally thinking that I suck and I only got on because of someone else's skills and bribemailing efforts. Anybody who knows what happened would think that, because it's the truth. But Lucas is telling me in his own nice Lucas-y way to grow the fuck up and stop holding that over their heads as some sort of backwards justification to be angry with them. And he's right, I realize with a draining sigh. I brought all of us together, forcing Fuel and Lucas to share the same space of air, for the purpose of mediation, to try and smoothen the edges between us in preparation for the team. And I can't do that with a head full of hot air.

Goddamn it why does it always end up with me looking like a whiny baby?

"I…" I sigh again. "Listen guys, this isn't gonna work if we're like this all the time. I'm sorry for being a prude and yelling, but c'mon. Especially you guys, Fuel, Luke." I look at the two of them significantly. "Give me a goddamn inch here, please. What do you think's gonna happen if you start squabbling in the middle of a game? You guys are the ones with talent here, if you can't get your shit together, what're we gonna do? Rely on my extreme individual skill?"

That brings out a round of smiles from the three of them. And it's the first time I've seen Fuel and Lucas smile together, however briefly. It's not enough, but I'll fucking take it.

"C'mon guys, we're all Meteors now. We need to work together, because I don't want to go through another season of getting our asses kicked."

-01210-

Turns out, riveting speeches aren't the all-in-one fix for problems. Because this is the real world. Fuel is still very adamantly ignoring Lucas throughout practise, even though… you know, usually first basemen and pitchers have to be able to speak words to each other to work together. Well, can't blame me for hoping, I guess.

But at least Coach is aware of it, since he's forced those two on like a reverse restraining order, where they're not allowed to be more than 20 feet apart while practising. But that's not stopping Fuel from keeping his mouth stitched shut and expression completely mopey, all while him and Lucas half-heartedly toss balls at each other.

"Oi, Ness, you got the hots for the new pitcher or somethin'? Come on, pay attention!"

"Shut your face, Butch." I mumble as I turn back to what I'm doing, which is practising my swing. Somehow I got stuck with Butch as my batting helper. The fattest, squattest, rudest member of our team, but still a better hitter than me.

"Wow, okay, here I am wasting my precious time helping you get your swing in shape and this is the thanks I get?" He says in his nasty little nasal voice. "Geez, why are you even on the team?"

"You know what?" I step closer to him with my bat slung over my shoulder, which is made even more effective by the fact that I'm a head taller than this obese dwarf in front of me. "I probably don't need any practise to hit you, all I need to do is swing anywhere!"

Butch scurries away from me to hide behind the pitcher that's helping us. "Whoa, whoa! No violence! No violence!" God, what a massive pussy.

"Hey guys, want some help?"

Footsteps crunching the sand beneath them approaches, and we're treated to a sight that's been an absolute fright to opposing pitchers for as long as they've faced it. Decked out in full shining red and white Meteors uniform proudly showing an appropriate number 01, with a signature Red 'Testa Rossa' baseball cap sat gleaming upon his black mop head, and a polished baseball bat sitting on his shoulder, is the Onett Meteors' Captain, Ninten.

While the Meteors as a team hasn't been much competition among the Inter-City league for a long time, Ninten is a large, salient threat to any pitcher looking to get an easy shutout on us. One of his deadliest weapons is his calmness. When he gets to the plate, he has this unwavering, steady, 'come at me bro' gaze and almost statuesque posture that has the ability to completely cut apart the nerves of the pitcher. He doesn't get angry at strikeouts, he doesn't showboat when he hits a home run, he doesn't bitch from getting hit by a pitch, he just goes up there, takes the pitcher's composure apart with his crushing presence and steely glare, and at that point they'd best hope their arm doesn't fail under pressure, because all he needs is one mistake to be rounding the bases with a steady jog as the baseball becomes Apollo 18. And none of that description is exaggeration because he's my friend or me being a suck up or anything, it's all 100% fact.

What I'm trying to get at here is having Ninten help coach your batting is always a good thing. Which is why I'm going to suck up my attitude and put aside what's been between us for now and just let him help me. Besides, that whole pep talk thing I gave pre-practise would kind of lose its point if I don't set the example.

"Some real help would be nice now, thanks dude." I smile obligingly.

"It's no problem." He claps a hand on my shoulder.

"You sure you wanna help him, Cap?" Butch pipes up. "'Cause I've been tryin' for the past hour now and it's been a waste of time."

"And I think your parents put the wrong vowel in your name." I snarl back. "Now get lost and do whatever else the coach told you to do."

As soon as the grumbling idiot wanders off, Ninten starts directing the remaining stragglers into different positions to initiate a batting session. He's the only one who wears his uniform during practises, as a way to let everyone know the captain is present and in business. And honestly I can't think of a better captain, because he's pretty much the only one on the Meteors that's cool enough to handle the strain of leading. I can't imagine myself in that position without fucking up, that's for sure.

As the session goes on, I'm constantly reminding myself to stay focused and listen to every piece of advice given to me, no matter how mundane or stupid it may seem. Reminiscing past times, I was always focused for the first 3 seconds, before I would start to lose interest or motivation by the lack of results, and I wonder if my lack of improvement can be traced back to that. Or maybe I didn't have strong enough of a drive to really improve like I do now…

I don't know, the more I think about it, the more I feel like a fucking idiot. Because advice like squaring your shoulders, or focus on the ball, all seemed so… plain and obvious… that I guess I'd been petulantly ignoring them… based on some stupid pride thing that basic pointers like those are beneath an All Star player like me, right? As if I was even an All Star in the first place. But really, I'm only hearing those pieces of advice over and over again because I must be doing something wrong, so this time around, I'm meticulous about trying my darnedest to take in every piece of input from Ninten and the others.

…and… well… I'm not going to say that it worked, but... there's tangible improvement somewhere, I can feel it.

It's a pretty great feeling.

As the shadows continue stretching, Coach eventually corrals us for an end-of-practise talk. A good lot of us have the dirt glued to our skins by sweat to show for an afternoon of honest hard work, including me (no thanks to a head full of sunlight sponging black hair). But there are some who don't seem like they've moved much. Like Butch, who probably found a nice tree to sleep under.

But Fuel's forehead is surprisingly dry too… and he usually works the hardest out of all of us in ball practises…

And Lucas doesn't look like he's been too active either…

In fact, those two are still wearing morose expressions. Have they just been moodily tossing that ball back and forth the whole session? For fucks sake, what's the point of me making a stirring, all inspiring speech and then working my ass off the whole practise if those two aren't gonna listen or even try and just be dickwad downers the whole time?

But I don't need to say anything. Coach is all over them. "Hey, you two! I really hope you have an excuse for lookin' like you've been sittin' on your asses the whole time!"

"Jeez, chill out, sir. We know what we're doing." Fuel says, supremely nonchalant.

Honestly, Fuel needs to learn to pick his fucking battles. Coach's face turns puce as he dismisses the rest of us from practise and drags the two of them off to the side away from hearing range and start lambasting them. Of course, Fuel takes it all without so much as a dent in his 'what-the-fuck-ever' look, but I can see Lucas holding his right arm with his left hand in a very uncomfortable manner, slouched slightly and looking down at the grass to avoid eye contact with Coach as he's being yelled at.

I suddenly wonder what Lucas' father looks like.

"I hope it's not always going to be like this."

I sigh at Ninten's comment. "Yeah, I know. I'm just hoping Stockholm syndrome or something will set in and they'll start getting used to each other. Otherwise it's not just gonna be Coach coming down hard on them, I'm getting really sick of their whining."

We watch as Coach goes on a bit longer, gesturing and pointing avidly with his fingers at both of them, before stomping away to harass some of the other players. As soon as he leaves, Fuel starts throwing his stuff into his duffel bag in preparation for another hasty, moody exit.

"Oi! Fuel, hold on!" I holler, running up to them with Ninten right behind me.

He doesn't even acknowledge me as he jerks his bag's zipper closed and slings it over his shoulder, turning away to leave.

"Fuel! I fucking said wait!" I roar, because at this point I'm completely done with this attitude of his. Practically nothing's been going my way for the past 2 months now, and if I'm not being a complete bitch about it, then he has no reason not to learn to get over something as simple as being with another person he doesn't like.

He finally finds the decency to stop and look around at us. "What is it now?"

"What is it now? How about explaining what the fuck you two were doing the whole practise? I thought you agreed to not be a fucking prude all the time! You don't look like you've done shit today!"

"And why are you pointing all your fingers at me? Your new best friend is right here, why don't you start screaming your head off at him for a change?"

We all turn to look at Lucas, who's honestly looking as if he's wholly regretting signing up for the Meteors now.

"I'm asking both of you." I said in a calmer voice, remembering that as much as I'd like to quell their stupidity by just losing it, it probably won't help matters at all. "C'mon, you guys agreed to not let your bitch fights get in the way of this. Can you please not ruin baseball over some dumb argument from the past?"

I expect an immediate snide retort from Fuel, but instead he sighs tiredly, almost as if he's as exhausted of this shit as I am. He grabs a fistful of brown hair and looks down, hiding his face from us.

"Ness, listen," he starts again after a bout of uneasy silence, still not looking up. "I promise you that as long as we're in this stupid team together, we'll do what we need to do to win in the games that matter, and not get into any 'bitch fights' or whatever the fuck you call it, alright? But you can't also just waltz into what's been going on without a clue and expect us to be all lovey-dovey and shit. I'll act like as much as a prude as I want with him, because he doesn't deserve better, but as long as I'm still working to make this team win, that's good enough. Fair?"

"What do you mean I have no clue what's going on between you two?" I bring up, suddenly reminded that practically know why they're at odds. "You told me everything that night when you were drunk off your ass, remember? You two are fighting because of that… that thing… with Lucas' brother Claus… and… stuff…" I trail off as I fail to find an adequate way of going into detail without sounding insensitive in present company.

Said present company is looking at me with raised eyebrows, but soon switches to a surprisingly irritated frown and turns it onto Fuel. I immediately get the distinct feeling that even though Lucas didn't seem to mind me knowing the truth, he's still annoyed that I have found out about it...

"Honestly Ness," Fuel says, eyeing Lucas back, "you don't really know shit. You weren't there when things happened, and you definitely have no idea how I really feel about it because you've never even seen Claus before, while we've known each other since we were born. So I'm gonna say this now, stop with your trying to understand us bullshit and just let things be like they are now. I already promised I won't fuck up the team, isn't that enough for you? Now I'm already pissed off enough as it is today, and I won't hesitate to punch your nose if you stick it any further into this, got it?"

And with that final word, he slings his bag over his shoulder and promptly leaves. None of us are inclined to stop him this time.

...waaaaay to go, Ness. Way to stick your foot in your mouth there. I really need to learn to shut up sometimes.

"I suppose that could've gone better, huh?" Ninten says.

"Yeah no shit." I mutter, running a hand through my damp hair. I look over at Lucas, who has his hands in his pockets, watching Fuel's retreating form. "Though I guess today could've gone worse."

Lucas notices me staring. "...yes?"

"Oh, nothing, just doing what you always say and looking on the bright side of things. The bright side being you two haven't tried to flay each other yet."

"And the not so bright side?" He asks.

"That you two could've at least done something."

He lets out a long breath, saying "Let's get out of here. I need a cigarette," and completely disregarding the disapproving frowns Ninten and I send him.

But before we can go anywhere to do anything, something gets in our way.

A big something, with a wide, rather overeager grin that makes all three of us take a cautious step back in unison.

"And heeeeeeere we have some of the newest members of our brand new, revamped Meteors right now!" Pokey says loudly into a black handheld tape recorder used by reporters in the Jurassic period. "Hello there, this is Porchinius Minch, reporter extraordinaire for the Onett Owl. If I may spare a few minutes of your time to get some insider insights from the fine players of our up and coming baseball team that the Coach has reported to have worked hard to be a true contender in the League this year?"

"Not now, Pokey, we're in the middle of something." I tell him, trying to lead Ninten and Lucas past him and ignore the impending sense of doom that follows whenever Pokey's around.

"B-but the Coach said to come to you for some interviews! He said that it would be nice to put on the paper to get the school excited for the upcoming games!" He whines.

I barely hide an exasperated groan. No escaping doom this time. An interview with Pokey, I guess there's only a finite number of things that can go wrong. I hold up a hand to stop the other two, and we turn back to our gracious interviewer.

"Alright. Shoot." I tell him with a small kind of nervous smile.

"Okay! Okay, okay. We have our first segment with star player, number zero two, Ness. First. Question." He puts on a dramatically serious face that really makes me want to roll my eyes and just leave. "How well do you think the team is doing to fulfill the raised expectations this year?"

That's... a surprisingly thoughtful question. "Uhh, you'll be better off asking our Captain for that." I tell him, nodding over to Ninten, who's standing his his hands in his pockets and a facial expression equivalent of 'can we leave please?'

Pokey looks between the two of us, seeming befuddled. "But... I though you're the Captain." He says to me.

"Me? Captain?" Ha, yeah right. "Do I look like the one wearing the Captain's Jersey right now?"

Pokey switches looks between Ninten and I. "...why aren't you Captain then?" He asks as if trying to figure out the reasoning behind the greatest injustice known to mankind.

"Because Ninten's clearly a better suit for Captain." I say, frowning at him.

"O... kay then. Next question! Ness! How do you think you will do in the first game against the notoriously difficult pitching of the Threed Spirits in the upcoming season opener?" Pokey eagerly shoves the recorder up to my face, almost touching my lips.

I jerk back with an annoyed grimace. "Dude, what about your first question? Aren't you going to ask our Captain about our team?"

"Oh, uhh, fine." Pokey turns over to Ninten. "Captain, what do you think of the team and following expectations and stuff?"

"Well, there's a definite improvement in individual skill all around from what I've seen so far," Ninten answers, "likely from all the extra training exercises and -"

"Yeah yeah that's cool, so Ness!" He spins back to me with his blinding grin. "How many home runs do you expect to produce over the course of the regular season?"

...you know, when I'm not having seizure inducing nightmares, I'd often dream about being a billion dollar name baseball player with an army of adoring obsessive fans. Though the fans I envisioned are less chubby. And more feminine. And less passive aggressive.

The next few minutes are spent dodging and deflecting through a shitstorm of questions mostly aimed specifically at me and how great I'm expected to do. I wonder how Pokey manages to have so much confidence in me, while I don't even have that much confidence in me. I mean, it's not like I'm always bragging about how awesome of a wait I totally used to do that. Goddamn it, now it's just embarrassing. Either way, I'm also forcing him to ask some legitimate questions to Ninten as well regarding our team as a whole, because if we're gonna end up on that shitty excuse of a school paper, it'd better not be another cringey feature story about me again. Besides, maybe it would be good for the rest of Onett High to look forward to our team's performance for once, as opposed to the collective 'who-gives-a-shit' attitude they've been oozing for the past two years.

And unfortunately, just when we think the interview is over, and that the third member of our group will be forgotten and left alone, Pokey turns on him with an eerily conniving smirk.

"And here we have the... ah, newest addition to the team. What was your name again? Lucy or something?"

'Lucy' turns around to look at Pokey, blinks lazily, then turns away again with supreme disinterest, effectively stating it's not even worth the effort of any sort of reaction. Pokey's smirk vanishes.

"It's Lucas." I say instead, put on edge slightly. From what I vaguely remember, Pokey and Lucas have not been the most friendly when together.

"Ah, right. Lucas." The name is said so nastily that I'm surprised Pokey is capable of so much malice. "Well then, Lucas, according to the official roster sheet on the gym doors, you are the newest starting pitcher for the Meteors, trumping Robert-Allan and Clayton, who have been on the team since the beginning of this year and previous years."

"Kid, if you're trying to make a point then spit it out already and stop putting emphasis on so many words." Ninten says, clearly annoyed and wanting to move on.

"Yes, yes, I'm getting there." Pokey waves him away. "Now then, tell me Lucas," He takes a step forward, which would probably achieve the intimidating effect he's going for better if Lucas isn't a head taller than him, "how did you manage to get yourself on this team so late into the year, while normally no new members are accepted past the initial selection in September?"

Lucas shrugs.

"Heh, what's the matter? Afraid to answer?" Pokey presses. "Afraid to let the scandalous truth out? Because I'm sure you know that according to Clause 4, Article 10 of the Official Inter-City League Rulebook states that no new members can be added legally to the team -"

"-after the official team roster lists are finalized and sent to the opposing teams, the date of which is 3 days before the first official game of the League, which is next Monday." Ninten finishes. "We didn't break any rules in letting Lucas on the team before that."

Our intrepid reporter's lips curl up in a half sneer, half grimace. "It doesn't matter, it can be viewed as highly unethical to exploit a technicality, when there are so many other hopefuls in our school who could've benefited from this and joined the team as well. If the school knew about this they would not be very happy with Lucy here would they?"

"Yeah, too bad the decision of letting who on the team when goes to the manager of the Meteors, and that's Coach." I say, trying to keep my building annoyance from my voice. "So if you have any problems with Lucas here, take it up with him."

Pokey doesn't seem to have any more arguments after that (I wonder how much of that is because I'm the one rebuking him), so he settles for a final scathing look to our pitcher. "I'm responsible for tracking the Meteors for the Owl, so I'll be watching you. I don't know what you did to get on the team, but you better hope I don't find out, and you better not try anything funny to screw up Ness' team." Then he pockets his voice recorder, gives me an all too happy wave, and stomps off.

Honestly, that was more laughable than ominous, because it looked like something straight out of some villain in C- low budget movie dialogue, but still, damn. I never knew Pokey had it in him, he's always been such an immature and whiny type around me, but that was definitely not his usual MO. But then again, what's he gonna do beyond pitching a fit? Though Ninten seems completely unimpressed by Pokey's performance, Lucas' eyebrows are slightly creased, so I guess Pokey's words did have some effect after all. Hmm... it's strange, of all the people in Onett, including a hefty list of people who've badmouthed and bullied Pokey, for some reason Lucas has stood out as the one who he's been really holding heat on. Why?

"Does your friend have something against me?" Lucas echoes my thoughts.

"...nah, don't worry about it. He's like that sometimes." I reassure myself. Then I give him a wry grin. "Hey, I guess it's one more reason to start actually working hard during practises, right?"

"...yeah," he mutters, reaching into his back pocket to fish out his usual lighter and cigarette stick. He lights it and takes a long inhale. "I guess so..."

-01210-

The Season Opener. A phenomenon of an event that seems to attract everybody in Onett, young and old, to squeeze in side by side on the rotting wooden bleachers of Meteor Hill Ballpark. Onett's too small for even a semi-pro baseball team, so the high school Inter-City League is the closest to a live sporting event the townspeople will get to witness without driving out of the place.

Ahh, it always gives me such chills, you know? Seeing all the people turn up for a ball game you're gonna be a part of. All comin' to cheer for you and your team, it's just so great! Always loved the Onett home crowd, even if our team hasn't been that good, they never had the expectation for wins either, and always just cheered for the heck of it.

Couldn't have picked better conditions, either. Nice warm afternoon, no wind to stir up the field, and enough cloud cover so the sun doesn't impair batter or fielder vision.

And a helluva team to go against to boot.

The Threed Spirits. Probably the second strongest team in our division after the Fourside Fireworks. There's even rumour that a couple of their senior players are signing Major League contracts with teams as soon as the graduate.

Suffice to say we do not have the most shining of records against them. Aside from the usual bright spots in Ninten and Fuel, our team is usually on the scraping-ourselves-off-their-shoes-after-a-stomping side of things. And from the sounds of things, it didn't seem like our home crowd had high hopes for this game either. I'm picking up a lot of piecemeal conversations about how many runs they'd get against us this time, or whether or not we'd actually score a run this game, or if a squirrel will run out into the field again and delay the game like last year... in general not a lot of hype or hope in their own Meteors...

But I guess that's the beauty of it, ain't it? Makes the surprise all the more satisfying.

Because I can tell you, we have worked our asses off the week leading up to this game. Like, straight up surgery was required to reattach buttocks because of how much Coach worked us during extensive practise sessions. It's been tiring, frustrating, draining, and hella rewarding. Because for the first time since arriving in High School I've had genuine hope and pride for our team. Not just the possibility that we might start winning games, but the fact that we've worked so hard together, done so much to coordinate ourselves, that the plain effort put into our new and improved Meteors is enough to inspire some real confidence, in both my team and myself.

Who knows, even though I'm a reserve, I might get a chance to go up and give the fans a reason to cheer for me, something they've never done before because... well, you know... I used to suck.

I begin to pick nervously at my red and white horizontally striped uniform, displaying a proud 'METEORS' along with 'NESS' and a big '02' on the back. I take a slow breath. Chill, Ness. There's no reason to be getting cold feet, it's not even likely that you'll get to play...

But still, I don't know why this year I feel a lot more of a need to go out there and impress.

"Hey honey."

I nearly jump at the voice from behind me. As soon as my brain processes who's talking, I neutralize any expression from my face and turn around.

"Mom." I say flatly.

She's not smiling like she usually would in a situation like this. But of course she came. It's just so... mom. What did I expect, for her to miss out on the big game just because we're not talking at home? She even dragged Tracy along, who's managing to look bored and annoyed at the same time. Honestly mom shouldn't even bother next time. Just leave the mope home to do whatever it is she does locked in her room all day.

Mom reaches into her purse, and pulls out something to hand to me. "You forgot this at home today."

It's my autographed Red Rox baseball cap. I wear it to all games I play. I wonder how I forgot it.

I grab it and place it gently on my head, the cap sliding neatly on my bowl of black hair.

"Thanks." I mumble, looking down.

I hear mom open her mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a tired sounding sigh. Then I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Good luck out there, sweetie."

"Yeah... good luck you loser." Tracy follows up, sounding half-sincere.

When I look up again, they're turned away and heading up to their seats in the bleachers.

"Ness."

I nearly jump for a second time. This time the culprit's our fabled new starting pitcher, looking quite nice in team uniform sporting a shiny '03'. Though the image would be better if his face isn't looking so down at the moment.

"You alright, dude?" I ask.

He sighs. "Walk with me?"

"Sure."

We head off the field and toward a cluster of trees in the near distance. As soon as we round a tree trunk and disappear from sight from the ballpark, Lucas takes out a cigarette. I crease my eyebrows as his visibly shaking hand brings the stick up to his mouth and he lights it with his disposable lighter. He takes one of the longest drags I've ever seen, as if he's trying to swallow the whole thing in one go or something.

"Dude, you alright?" I repeat.

He takes time to exhale all the smoke before saying, "I see your mom and sister showed up to watch you play."

"Well, yeah. It's like, familial obligation. What about it?"

"I saw them give you your favourite hat." He looks at me. "Why didn't you bring it today?"

"I... what do you mean why didn't I bring it?" I say, trying not to sound defensive. "I forgot it."

"You wouldn't forget to wear your prized hat to a baseball game." Lucas says.

...goddamn you Lucas. I don't trust myself to reply to that.

"So did she pass your test?" He asks me.

"Can we stop talking about me?" I sound on edge. "What about your dad? Did he show up?"

He turns away from me, taking another drag.

"...right. Dumb question." I mutter. "But seriously, are you gonna be alright for the game?"

"I'm fine, it's just..." He makes a vague gesture with his hands. "I'm not sure if I can do this..."

I deepen my frown. "What do you mean? Of course you can! I've seen you during our practises, you've worked harder than anyone I've ever seen! You've systematically whooped all our collective asses, and you definitely can whoop Threed's collective asses!"

And that's no exaggeration. After that first day of getting called out by Coach and I, Lucas really picked up the slack. Especially considering that he's physically probably the least in shape out of the whole team, and that he's juggling school, full time work, and baseball practise, it's really a wonder that he somehow still found the energy to work as hard as he did over the last week. I wonder if this was the first time he'd exercised so much. But we needed him to stay in shape, because he's gonna be the mainstay for the games he plays. But in true Lucas fashion, he just carried out the regimes Coach dished out, and never uttered a word of complaint.

Yet at times, I'd see him bent over with his hands on his knees, panting and sweating up a storm, and I'd feel really awful for being so eager to let him join the team. In the moment, the decision had seemed blatantly easy, but now looking at it, maybe letting Lucas join isn't the best for him. Arm strain from pitching is a very real thing, and Lucas definitely doesn't look like he's really been working out, if you know what I mean. Plus, this is just going to add more weight into his already hefty day to day schedule, and just because he doesn't complain about it doesn't mean he need more stress...

And now, seeing him like this, clutching his cigarette like a lifeline and looking distracted... maybe this'll end up being too much for him to handle... oh man, what do I do?

But then I think back to the fruit of all that gruelling practise. And remember that nobody on our team, aside from Fuel, has managed to hit above a .075 against him. You non-baseball nerds know what that means? It means that out of all the times each one of us went to the plate against him (not counting Fuel), we only managed to get a hit, as in put the ball in play and get to base, less than 7.5% of the time.

"Lucas, look at me." I say firmly.

His unfocused eyes land on me, looking like they're asking for answers.

"There isn't anything you can't do out there that you've already done during practise. You've worked too long and committed too much to doubt yourself now. Aren't you the one who keeps telling me to move forward, no matter what? C'mon, of all the things you've been through, this game should be cakewalk in comparison. Just go out there, and do to Threed what you've been doing to our poor asses all week long. There's nothing to be stressed about."

"But... what if I mess up?" He asks, the question sounding almost childish.

"So what? Everyone screws up once in a while. Own up to it. Besides, you don't look like the type to screw up too often anyway."

"No, but..." He sighs in frustration, running a hand through his hair kind of like how I would. "Ness, I'm the pitcher, I'm the front line defense. If I make a mistake it could cost you guys the game."

I snort. "Jeez, way to have faith in your teammates. So what if you let in a run or two? The offense'll be there to pick up the slack and get those runs back. Trust us, you're not the only one out there, you know that right? We're all going out there to do battle, not just you."

Things fall quiet for a moment. I hear the ceremonial booing that must be the response of the Threed Spirits taking the field. The game's about to start, and I'm getting a little antsy, but I keep myself collected in front of the guy who looks like the cigarette in his mouth is the only thing keeping him from running away.

"...there's a lot of people watching us... watching me... I don't want to let them down..." Lucas whispers.

I can envision a lot of reasons behind Lucas' anxiety. The past week of practise, it had been a slow process to try to get him to talk more with teammates other than Ninten and I. He's so reluctant to take even the smallest step out into the open, so used to being a part of the backdrop. But now he has no choice, he needs to go out there to pitch in front of all those people for our team. If I can just convince him it's not as big a deal as he's making it out to be.

"You're not letting anyone down, Luke." I step beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Nobody will think anything of you no matter how you do. C'mon buddy, I promise, everything will be okay. You gotta take that first step, alright? Be brave. For the team. For me. You can do it."

I feel his shoulder rise and fall as he continues to stare at the ground.

Then he puts the cigarette back in his mouth, and burns the rest of it in one big inhale. He closes his eyes, and exhales the smoke in a sharp, determined huff. When his eyes open back up, they're back to their usual sharp and shrewd blue. He crushes the stubby remains of his still burning cigarette in his fist.

"Let's go."

We head back to the field together, just in time to hear the Coach rally the team for one last pep talk in our dugout. Fuel, who had been snickering at some joke Ninten made, immediately made his face go flat as soon as he spots Lucas. I almost roll my eyes, it's like he needs it to be known to everyone every second that he hates our newest member.

I'm about to call him out for it, but Coach beats me to the punch. "You two, I don't care what spat you're sharin' right now, but on the field, we're a team. Leave it off the field, or you'll both regret it." He growls, before turning to the rest of us. "Now, get ready to play some ball. Let's show 'em no mercy! You ready?"

Our team answers with a rallying cry. Across the field I narrow my eyes at the tombstone grey and black uniforms of our opponents. They look way too cheery and relaxed for my liking. Do they really think we'll be as free as the previous years? Oh man, it would be too sweet to knock those smug assholes into the grave they're digging themselves in.

"You ready Lucas?" Captain Ninten steps in with a grin, tossing a baseball at our pitcher. "Let's crush these fools."

Lucas nods.

-01210-

History is written by the victors, but the tale is constructed around the hero. Like how in every video game, the main protagonist, the one making big plays and awesome cutscenes happen, is the one celebrated and revered as the fundamental reason for victory. But in reality, there are many little stories that made their own differences in the overall outcome. One super soldier can't win a war, there are thousands of other grunts out there doing their thing to help as well.

Let's get one thing out of the way first. We won. It wasn't even close. Threed went home with permanent shock carved into their faces.

And of course, there's the main story, the story that had our spectators' jaws dropped and our team shaking heads in disbelief. The story of the conquering hero that inspired the most avid and fanatical cheering Onett High's baseball team has ever received.

But because the main story is so amazing, it's easy to overlook the other little things that happened during our game that also contributed to the result. When people come back to retell this amazing game, they'll be so focused on the big story that made this game so memorable, that you won't hear about these little things that also happened.

You won't hear about Fuel's astounding play in the first inning, where he pulled out an unexpected bunt and outstripped the defense to reach first base, then proceeded to abuse the hell out of his speed to steal second, then third, and then, in a move that made us ask how he manages to run so fast while carrying the weight of his gigantic balls, swiped home base while the pitcher was winding up for a throw to score the Meteors' first point in the game. An incredibly rare sight, to have had a point on the board while nobody else on the scoring team had an RBI, and the opposing team had no Walks or Errors. Had it not worked, it would've been dismissed as the stupidest and most reckless of moves, but then again, there's a reason Fuel's on this team, and it's not just because he's a good hitter and runner.

You won't hear about Ninten's doing what he does best in the fourth inning, where he stepped smoothly up to the plate with the bases loaded, and was almost hit by an intentional pitch toward his stomach in the opposing pitcher's attempt to rattle him during such a crucial play. But soon the Threed pitcher found out that it would take much more than that to unnerve our Captain, as Ninten crushed the next pitch out of the continent, and proceeded to jog around the bases as if nothing had happened, and that hitting grand slams in clutch situations was nothing but a walk in the park to him. No showboating, no gloating, no overreactions. Just our proud Captain doing what he does best, earning points 4 at a time.

You definitely won't hear about my own little piece on the scoreboard. In the eighth inning, when we were up by 7 and runs practically no longer mattered, Coach pushed me forward and told me to pinch hit with a man on second. It was the first time I was out on the field for the game. I can tell you all about how my heart was pounding and how much I was sweating and how my hands were shaking all in my eagerness to seize the chance and prove myself. And in the end, my duel with the opposing relief pitcher ended with the ball flying off my bat into the outfield, and me sliding into second base to replace my teammate that casually jogged home to log another point for us. It was, especially in comparison to everything else that had happened in the game, a mediocre and definitely unimpressive play. But to me, there was no describing the elation. I had just batted in my first run of my career. And at that moment, my average was a perfect 1.000. I had to make a conscious effort to not make a big deal out of it, because that would be totally uncool, but man oh man.

But you won't hear about any of that.

Because the main story trumps it all. The story that made the crowd go bananas like they've never gone before.

The story of how some random, completely unknown shrimpy kid with blond hair slicked up in the front came out of nowhere, stepped onto the mound, and threw balls with his twiggy right arm like nobody had ever thrown in the Junior level before.

The final score was 9 – 0.

After nine innings, Threed managed zero runs. They managed zero hits. They managed zero walks. Nobody on their team ever reached first base.

Meteors Number 03, Lucas, pitched the first recorded perfect game of the Inter-City League's 107 year history.

Ah... I knew letting him on the team would be a good idea.