A Long Pitch Home by Natalie Dias Lorenzi Page A

breath. “Girls don’t try out for boys’ travel baseball teams.”
    Apparently they do. I do not say this to Akash.
    â€œOkay, folks!” Coach Matt claps his hand on the shoulder of a man who can’t be much taller than I am. “Some of you worked with Coach Pablo last year on the travel team.” A few kids murmur and nod.
    Coach Pablo’s dark blue shorts and white camp T-shirt look like the clean, crisp “after” from a laundry soap commercial, with Coach Matt’s rumpled clothes as the “before.” Coach Pablo raises his cap. “Gentlemen.”
    Jordan crosses her arms. Coach Pablo must notice, because he clears his throat and tries again. “Er, ladies and gentlemen.”
    Coach Matt continues: “Our high school helpers, Kyle and Jalaal, will distribute your pinnies. Reds and greens, you’ll be with Jalaal and me on the lower field. Yellows and blues go with Coach Pablo and Kyle on the upper diamond.”
    In a flurry of arms and colorful mesh, everyone slips on their pinnies and moves into groups. I poke my head through a yellow pinnie, but no one I know is wearing yellow. At least Akash and Jordan have blue pinnies, so they’ll be in Coach Pablo’s group with me.
    When we get to the dugout, Coach Pablo squints at us from underneath the shade of his cap, like he is sizing us up. I swallow.
    â€œOkay, players. Here is how it is going to work.”
    His English is a little different from the way Coach Matt talks; slower and easier to understand.
    â€œThis morning everyone will have several chances up at bat. Kyle will play catcher, and I will pitch through the first cycle until everyone has batted.”
    Cycle?
    â€œThen we take a water break, and I will rotate some of you in as pitchers.”
    Rotate?
    â€œOnce everyone has batted a second time, we will let you know who makes the cut.”
    We have to cut something?
    Coach Pablo is not so easy to understand after all. “Yellow team, you’re up at bat.” Coach Pablo checks something off on his clipboard, and my heart sinks to my ankles. We’re batting first? Why couldn’t we start out on the field? I go to the very end of the line, behind a boy with the number ten on the back of his T-shirt. I recognize his face from camp, but I don’t remember his name. Number Ten turns and says, “Wait ’til you see this guy swing.”
    A tall boy strides over to home plate like he can’t wait to get started. He grips the bat with one hand, flexes his fingers on the other, then switches hands and repeats. He taps home plate with the toe of each cleat, then plants his feet in the dirt. After taking a few practice swings, he thumps home base with his bat three times, releasing a cloud of red dust. Pulling the bat over his shoulder, he nods at Coach Pablo.
    Number Ten whispers, “Nate’s good-luck ritual works every time. Watch this.”
    Coach Pablo lets the ball fly, and sure enough, Nate sends it back, clear over second base. The players in the outfield scramble for the ball while Nate sails around one base after the other until he rounds third on his way back home.
    Kyle springs up from his catcher position, lifts his face mask, and whistles. “That kid sure can run.”
    Nate performs a spectacular slide into home plate even though the ball isn’t anywhere near him.
    Kyle pats him on the shoulder. “That was epic, Nate.”
    â€œThanks, man.” Nate grins at Kyle, then shrugs like making a home run is no big deal. Nate reminds me of myself during cricket tryouts—confident I would make the top team. Nate brushes past the next kid, Aiden, who mutters to himself and takes so many deep breaths that I start to worry he’ll pass out. There were kids like Aiden on my cricket team, but I never thought to encourage them during tryouts. Now I wish I had.
    â€œYou got this, Aiden,” Kyle says before squatting into catcher