Santana watched out the window on the train from Columbus to Chicago. She'd loved traveling by train since her first trip to New York. She had been so small that Papi had to lift her onto his lap so she could see everything as it raced past them out the window. She'd never been nervous on a train before, but she'd never traveled alone to a new place where she knew no one. What she was most afraid of was being turned away without being given a chance to prove herself. She'd experienced that more than once. Being Latina in the Midwest hadn't afforded her any luxuries. Even though the trip wasn't long and she didn't mind the travel, she did mind the heat. The only ticket she could afford reserved her a spot in an un-air-conditioned car, and for that she regretted wearing her best skirt and jacket. She had regretted wearing her new heels long before climbing out of the cab at the train station. As she watched out the window, she fanned herself with the small map of Chicago that she had brought along. She tried not to focus on hair sticking to the back of her neck where a hairpin had come loose, or the clamminess of her hands from wringing them against the leather handle of the small suitcase she clutched in her lap.

Playing baseball, especially professional baseball, wasn't something Santana thought she'd want. One thing was certain though, she wasn't going back home. She wasn't going back to a family that was constantly disappointed in her, to friends that cared more about getting married and having a million screaming babies than about making anything of themselves. She wouldn't stay in a town that felt deserted after half the boys she grew up with, including two of her brothers, were sent off to fight the Germans.

She'd always been good at baseball. She'd had to be good at it if she wanted to hang out with her older brothers. They made it clear early on that they weren't making any concessions for the princessa of the household. The fact that all three boys were older than her meant that she had to run faster and hit harder. By the time she was twelve, she could outrun any of the boys her age, and hit farther than most of her brother's friends.

But being athletic didn't win her many friends, nor did it please her family. Her parents had relentlessly encouraged her to be interested in things more appropriate for young ladies. While most of the other girls her age were learning to use typewriters and perfecting their sewing, Santana could usually be found at the makeshift baseball diamond across the street from her house. The empty lot where she learned to play baseball didn't have a regulation size diamond or real bases. But it had most of the boys from the neighborhood playing as hard as they could, any moment they could; kids of working class immigrants who didn't have money, but had enough pride and passion to make an empty lot feel like Yankee Stadium.

Stepping off the train onto the crowded platform made Santana feel dizzy and overwhelmed. She grasped her suitcase tighter and wove her way through the throngs of busy passengers. She took a folded piece of paper out of her purse and, for the hundredth time, read the address scribbled across it. When she left, Santana insisted that none of her brothers travel with her, and had one foot out the door before she told her parents she was leaving. "But Santana" her mother pleaded, "no man will want to date a girl who plays baseball. It's not respectable." Santana's father had tried to forbid her from going. She'd felt like she was in grade school trying to win an argument about what she could wear to school. She glared, and huffed, and was close to stomping her feet before her father sighed in defeat, kissed her on the forehead and handed her a few bills from his wallet. With a quick goodbye and a promise to send a telegram as soon as she arrived, she'd walked out the door.

Getting to the he hotel was easy enough, with the exception of one leering attendant. The hotel was definitely not the Ritz and Santana couldn't help but wonder what that meant about the league itself. She had heard a rumor that the place was well known a few years ago for hosting an underground speakeasy, but it was nothing impressive now. The lobby was swarming with young women who could only be there to try out. She knew right away that there were too many girls for everyone to have their own room. After getting her key from the front desk and finding the room, she opened the door and was assaulted by a too loud, too short girl. Without any introduction the girl started rambling incessantly about what she thought try-outs would be like. "First", she had said, "I would like to assure you that even though we are here with the hopes of claiming one of a limited number of spots, that I will not try to sabotage you in any way. That being said, I feel compelled to share that I have a substantial amount of experience playing baseball, and do not doubt my ability to be one of the star players in the league. I hope that doesn't put you off". Santana pushed past her and made her way towards the empty bed. She hoped her lack of response would serve as an obvious indicator that she wasn't interested in small talk. After a minute of looking for nothing particular in her suitcase, she couldn't help but look up. The girl was standing at the foot of the bed, and looked like she was about to burst into tears. Holy Hell, she did not need the extra stress of sharing her weekend with someone insane. Santana grabbed a book from her suitcase and rushed past the deranged girl and out the door towards anywhere quiet.

Santana's stomach churned with anxiety as she sat in a lumpy red velour chair that faced out the front window of the hotel. She had opened and closed the book sitting in front of her five times, but hadn't read a page. Groups of young women talked and laughed around her. Some were engrossed in discussions about the try-outs, while others just chatted. Two of the girls caught her attention. Her roommate spoke passionately with a girl who looked like she hadn't ever been off the family farm, let alone seen a city like Chicago. The girl looked unimpressed.

Santana glanced at the clock on the wall behind the front desk. The coaches and team managers were hosting a meet and greet, and Santana was determined to do whatever she had to do to look appealing. When she decided to pursue this, she had shown the add in the newspaper to her brother. "Looking for refined, level-headed, all-American girls to join a national baseball league." He'd smirked at her and replied, "sounds exactly like you!" with mock enthusiasm, and because her parents weren't around, she had no problem telling him exactly where he could stick his opinion. Later she'd let herself admit that he was right. She could be poised and even amiable if the situation demanded it, but chatting with people she didn't know with the hopes of making a quick, positive impression was not her forte.

Just as she suspected, the small conference room was packed with girls making their way around the room, mingling with men that she assumed were the coaches. She did her best to make sure she met each of them, smiling and giving her name. She must have said "Santana Lopez, catcher," at least a hundred times before the league owner appeared on the small stage at the front of the room and instructed them to sit in the rows of chairs facing him. Santana hesitated. Sitting at the very front would make her seem overly eager, but sitting at back seemed bad too. She argued with herself for a few seconds before picking an empty section about three quarters of the way back.

There were still plenty of chairs around her, so she was a little startled when someone sat in the seat directly to her right. Santana turned and was met with a smile so bright that any snide remark was forgotten. The girl to her right immediately held out her hand and introduced herself.

"I'm Brittany" the girl chirped, and just as Santana was about to return the introduction, she heard the crackling static of the microphone at the front of the stage. Her eyes locked with Brittany's for a beat before she turned towards the front.

The announcements made by coaches and managers were filled with schedules and encouragement. Although Santana tried to listen, her mind started to wander to the girl sitting beside her. When she had seen her roommate talking to her earlier she hadn't given Brittany much thought. Now should could think of nothing else. Santana wondered why Brittany picked the spot next to her when there were plenty of other choices. She peered to the side that Brittany was sitting on. Brittany was nearly falling out of her seat she was leaning so far forward, and appeared to be enraptured by what was happening on stage. After a couple more men had given their advice about the weekend the microphone clicked off and the room started to fill with chatter from the girls. Santana was still quiet, as she wondered why a girl that she'd never met intrigued her so much.

"Your name," Brittany spoke up, pulling Santana from her thoughts, "you didn't tell me".

"Oh! Sorry. Santana Lopez, catcher." As soon as she said it, Santana was mortified. She'd spent all afternoon telling coaches her playing position, and then managed to mess up the only real introduction.

She was sure Brittany could tell that she was flustered. Why was she nervous? She didn't know this girl at all. She looked up slowly and met Brittany's eyes. Brittany gave her an amused smile and then stood up to leave. As she started to walk away, she looked back over her shoulder and grinned "Nice to meet you, Santana Lopez Catcher".