mor('s) writing

Chapter 2 - April

I bite my lower lip, worrying it between my teeth. The closer we drove to Seido, the more nervous I became. 

Finally, after what felt like both seconds and an eternity, we pulled up to the Seido Spirit Dorms. 

Rei puts the car in park. She kills the engine, which simultaneously triggers my nerves, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. 

“Rei, I’m not sure I can do this,” I turn to her, anxiety bubbling inside my chest. 

“It’s a little late for second-guessing now,” Rei says, her eyes crinkling with amusement. “You’re going to be fine. Besides, we’ve already cut your hair and bandaged your breasts.” 

I run a hand through my cropped hair and pat at my flattened chest. I didn’t mourn the loss of my hair so much, but the bandages are something I will have to get used to. They were tight, almost too tight—like I was wearing a sports bra two sizes too small. 

“What if they figure it out?”

Rei sighs. “We’ve done everything we can to disguise your true identity, but you’ll still need to be careful. Don’t draw unnecessary attention to yourself, and you’ll be just fine. As far as anyone outside of this car is concerned, you’re just a new player I recruited to play from abroad. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

Rei tucks a loose piece of hair behind my ear. 

“Still, I hope the uniform makes you look a bit more masculine. Even with this awful haircut, you’re still too pretty.” 

I smile at the compliment, and my racing heart slows down to normal. 

“I left your practice uniform in your room. I got you into a single dorm, so no worries about having to share with any of the boys.” 

I sigh with relief. 

“It’s the first door at the top of the stairs. Take your stuff up and get changed and meet me back here as soon as you’re done.” 

Rei hands me the key, and I walk up the stairs to my new dorm room. I rush to deposit my things and change into the simple white uniform waiting for me on my bed. 

I look in the mirror hanging behind the door. 

I run my hands over the front of the jersey and look at my reflection in contemplation. 

It fits perfectly. 

“I guess I do look more like a guy now,” I say to myself, half-skeptically. 

With my short hair and flattened chest, I could almost believe that the person staring back at me in the mirror belonged here, but a part of me still couldn’t help but feel like a little girl playing dress-up. 

I pout at my reflection and shake my head. 

“It's too late to change your mind now.” 

I grab my things and meet Rei in front of the dorms. 

“Ready?” she asks. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” 

“Good,” she says, guiding them towards the practice fields. “The team played in a game for the Spring Tournament yesterday, so the first string has the day off today. Instead of practice, the coach is holding an intramural game between the first years and the upperclassmen.” 

“It seems like an odd time to have an intramural match,” I say, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. “What’s the occasion?” 

“Coach Kataoka is looking to promote some new players to the first string.” 

I perk up at the information and whip my head towards the older woman. 

Rei smirks, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses. 

“It’s the perfect opportunity to make the team, don’t you think? I would almost say it’s fate.” 

I return her grin, my heart buzzing, but this time with anticipation. 

“Oh, and one last thing. Try not to get too close to any of the boys on the team. The last thing we need is for one of them to find out the truth about you. And don’t do something stupid like develop feelings for one of them.” 

“Rei,” I groan. “I’m not a middle school girl.” 

“No, you’re a high school girl, which is arguably worse.” 

I roll my eyes. 

“I’m serious, Karma. No crushing on the other players.” 

Rei’s eyes widen as if she just remembered something cataclysmic. 

“Especially not Miyuki-kun!” she cries, panic laced in her tone. 

I snort. “Who’s that?”

“It doesn’t matter because you’re going to stay away from him. You’re here to play baseball and get an education. So no relationships, and absolutely no boyfriends, got it?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” I mock salute. “No harems or midnight rendezvous with some guy named Miyuki. Got it.” 

Rei lets out a relieved sigh. 

“Alright. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the coach.” 

I nod and follow her onto the practice field. 

Two teams are warming up on opposite sides of the field; the larger of the two, I’m guessing, is the team made up of the upperclassmen. 

Rei leads me to stand in front of an intimidating man wearing a baseball uniform and dark shades. 

“Coach Kataoka,” Rei says. “I’d like to introduce you to our newest recruit, Amari Karma. Amari-kun, this is our coach, Kataoka Tesshin. He was once a player here at Seido.” 

I bow my head in respect. 

“Thank you for the opportunity, sir.” 

The man gives me a hard stare, but it’s hard to read his exact expression from underneath his sunglasses. I fidget under his gaze, unable to shake the feeling that he could see right through me. 

“You’re… Amari Karma?” 

I gulp and nod, my voice vanishing. 

He continues to eye me and Rei before finally speaking. 

“I see,” he says simply. “I’m sure Rei has already informed you about today’s match.” 

It was a statement, not a question, but I nodded anyway. 

“You’ll play with the upperclassmen, but first I’ll have you introduce yourself to the rest of the team.” 

The coach shouts for both teams to gather around home plate. Interested murmuring permeates from the crowd, and my skin crawls from the number of curious eyes on me. 

I bite my lip again, which makes it bleed a little, and once the team settles down, Coach motions for me to begin. 

I clear my throat. 

“Hello,” I begin nervously. “My name is Amari Karma. I played for Yukimaru Senior in junior high, but for the past two years I’ve been playing for a school in America. I play second base and pride myself on my batting average. It’s nice to feet you all,” I bow. 

I raise my head and am met with odd stares from the crowd. 

“Did the new guy just say nice to feet you?” One guy asks. 

“Does he even know how to speak Japanese?” Another asks. 

Someone laughs, and soon the rest of the team is laughing too. 

I put my head down to hide my blush.

“That’s enough,” Coach orders. “Go finish warming up.” 

“Yes, sir!”

I dawdle towards the dugout, dragging my feet.

“Why does Japanese have to be so difficult?” I grumble under my breath. 

A few of my teammates are still laughing at my mix-up, but I ignore them and settle my things on the bench.

I dig my glove out of my bag, ready to take the field, but before I can, an upperclassman calls out to me. 

“Hey new guy, go see where our managers are. They were supposed to come back with a crate of balls ages ago.” 

I glare at him but give in without protest. 

No need to make waves on my first day. 

I turn the corner at the end of the field, heading toward the equipment shed, and run into a girl with pigtails carrying a large crate of baseballs. The impact causes the other girl to drop the crate, scattering balls everywhere. 

“Ah! I’m so sorry!” I say as I kneel down to pick up the lost balls. “I didn’t see you coming.” 

“No, I’m sorry,” the other girl says, crouching down to help. “I was rushing, and I wasn’t looking where I was going.” 

We scoop up the rest of the balls and arrange them inside the crate. 

“Thanks for your help.”

“It’s not a problem,” I say. “I’m Amari, by the way. I’m new to the team.” 

“Oh! You’re the new guy Rei-san was bringing in; you’re a second year like me. It’s nice to meet you—wait.” The girl frowns, studying my face. “Why are you wearing a baseball uniform?” 

“What do you mean? I just told you I’m new to the team.” 

“Yeah, but you’re a girl,” she says matter-of-factly. 

I freeze. 

Fuck. I’ve been made. 

“No—no, I’m not,” I stutter. 

“Dude, you totally are.” 

“Are not.” 

“Are too.” 

“Are not!” 

“Are too! You are a girl! A G-I-R-L! Girl! Girl! Girl—” 

I cover her mouth with my hands to stop her from screaming any louder. 

“Okay, you’re right. Now, can you please keep your voice down?” I whisper-yell. 

The girl nods, and I remove my hands from her face. 

“So, are you pretending to be a guy so you can play for the team?” She whispers conspiratorially. 

I nod. 

“Does Rei-san know about this?” 

“It was her idea,” I chuckle. “She’s the only other person who knows the truth. No one else can know about this. Do you understand?” 

Then, because the universe hates me, I feel the shadow of another person looming over me. 

We both turn and look up at the second girl carrying another crate of baseballs. Her hair is cropped and styled similarly to mine, but her bangs are longer and cover the left side of her face. 

“Uhh—” she begins to say, her one visible eye wide with shock. 

Without a word, we yank the other girl forward to join us on the ground. 

She squeaks from the sudden movement, jostling the crate in her hands, but keeps her hold on it until she’s able to set it safely on the ground. 

I hastily explain my plan to them, as well as Rei’s involvement, and plead with them both to keep my secret. 

“And I know you have no reason to help me, but please don’t tell anyone about me. I know we just met—fuck. I don’t even know your names.” 

I berate myself for the blunder. I haven’t even been at Seido for a whole day, and now not one, but two people have already discovered my true identity, and I didn’t even have the decency to ask their names before begging them to keep my life-altering secret. 

Sensing my panic, they each grabbed one of my hands and gave it a reassuring squeeze. 

“Yui,” the short-haired girl says. 

“What?” 

“My name. It’s Natsukawa Yui.” 

“Umemoto Sachiko. But you can call me Sacchin, if you want,” the other girl adds. 

I smile at them both. 

“Amari Karma. It’s nice to f—meet you both. So… how did you know I was a girl?” I ask Sachiko. 

“I have eyes, don’t I?” she scoffs. “But don’t worry; it’s not super obvious. And besides, most of the boys here are either too stupid to figure it out, or too baseball-obsessed to care. Speaking of which, we better get these crates to the players before they lose their minds. Can you take a crate?” 

“Of course!” 

Sachiko and Yui take one crate to carry between the two of them while I lug the other, trailing behind them as we walk back towards the practice field. 

“Thank you,” I say to them, the crate of balls heavy in my arms. “For keeping my secret.” 

“Don’t thank us yet. You still have to make the team first,” Sachiko says. 

“Oh, I’ll make it,” I say confidently. 

“Well, if you—” 

“When,” I correct. 

“Okay, when you make the team, you’re going to need our help keeping your secret from the boys.” 

“I thought you said they were all too stupid to figure it out?” 

“Yeah, but it’s probably best you avoid them as much as possible. What if you fall in love with one of them? Or worse, what if you made one of them fall in love with you?” 

Yui gasps with delight. 

“That would be so romantic!” 

“No dummy! That would be bad. Like really, really bad. Any kind of relationship risks our exposure.” 

“Our exposure?” 

“Okay, but what if it's someone nice?” Yui asks, ignoring me. “Like Chris-senpai. Or Miyuki-kun,” Yui says, pink dusting her cheeks. 

Sachiko blushes as well. 

“Okay, first of all, Miyuki is not nice.” 

“But he is really cute,” Yui adds wistfully. 

Sachiko’s cheeks flush even redder, if that is at all possible. 

“It—it doesn’t matter because Karma is going to stay far, far away from Miyuki. Right Karma?” 

“But you do think he’s cute,” Yui teases. 

I roll my eyes at their antics. 

Why does everyone keep warning me away from this Miyuki guy? 

“Come on, this guy can’t possibly be that cu—whaaaa—” I trail off, my mouth hanging open in a breathless gasp. 

Thump. 

Thump-thump. 

Thump-thump-thump-thump. 

My heart flutters against my ribcage. It’s like a swarm of butterflies—wait, scratch that. Fuck butterflies, I had an entire family of frogs making their home inside my chest. My stomach drops to my feet, and it feels like I’m flying and falling all at once as I lay eyes on the cutest boy I have ever seen. 

He’s walking towards me now, every perfect inch of him from his sinfully toned legs to his molten brown eyes and perfectly tousled hair. Even his sports glasses somehow only added to his attractiveness.

Everything seems to move in slow motion, and I just can’t keep my eyes off him. I’m so distracted that I don’t even register the moment when his shoulder bumps into mine until I’m already falling to the ground, flinging the crate of baseballs in the air like a box of confetti. 

I land hard on my butt, but even that’s not enough to rouse me from my daze. He’s standing above me with a dazzling smile on his face. I thought he might offer to help me up, but then a few baseballs slammed into my head, bringing me back to reality. 

“Oh man, did you see that? He totally just fell flat on his ass!” The handsome boy laughs, clutching his stomach. 

The boy beside him cackles obnoxiously. 

“Hyaha! Good thing he’s not trying out to be a manager.” 

The boy laughs, and it sounds like honey. I gape at him, utterly speechless. 

He smirks. 

“Watch yourself, new guy!” he says, walking away with an offhanded wave. 

Did he seriously just… did that actually just happen? 

“Wh—watch yourself!” I whimper back, far too late for either of them to hear me.

I cringe at my response and get on my knees to pick the baseballs up from the ground. 

Again. 

Both Sachiko and Yui crouch down beside me to help.

“Honestly, he’s not even that cute,” Yui says supportively, scooping up another ball.

“Yeah, what a jerk,” Sachiko adds. 

We grab the rest of the balls and stand to leave. I dust off my pants and shake my head to clear my thoughts.

Get yourself together. 

Rei was right. I didn’t have time for boys. I came here to play baseball, not to fall in love with some attractive jerk like the heroine in a cliché shoujo manga.  

“Come on, the game will be starting soon,” Sachiko says. 

By the time we arrive at the practice field, both teams have already finished warming up and are ready to start the game. The upperclassmen have already taken the field, and the pitcher, Tanba, is warming up on the mound. 

“Amari! Where the hell have you been? Get your ass on the field!” 

I recoil at the shouting. 

Everything just keeps going wrong today.

I grab by glove and cap from the dugout and step out onto the field. 

I take a deep breath and adjust the cap on top of my head. 

“Ready to beat them?” Sachiko asks, holding out a fist. 

“Like a bug,” I say, bumping her fist. 

“You mean like a rug?” 

“That too.” 

It’s a quick three-and-out against the first year batters, and soon it’s finally my turn to bat. 

The team makes me go last for showing up late—assholes—but my frustration with my teammates fades the moment I step into the batter’s box. 

I had wanted to hit against the first year with the crazy-strong arm, but the coach pulled him after only one pitch, much to my disappointment. I understood why he had to—only a highly skilled catcher could catch a ball thrown that fast, and none of the current first-years were up to the task.

Still, that first year was my only hope for a real challenge. 

The bases are loaded with only one out. The new first year pitcher was apparently some kind of pitching prodigy in junior high, but he was falling apart under the onslaught by the upperclassmen. 

I’d feel bad for him if my own spot on the roster wasn’t on the line. 

The pitcher winds up, a determined look in his eyes. 

He has grit, I’ll give him that. 

But it’s not enough. 

I hit a home run on the first pitch. 

The ball soars over the right field fence and disappears into the greenery. 

I can’t help but smile. 

Man, that felt good. 

I stroll around the bases until I reach home plate. 

One of my teammates, a third year power hitter with a warm smile, hands me back my bat and offers me a high-five. 

“Nice hit, Amari.” 

I slap his hand and return to the dugout, bat in hand and with the first home run of the game under my belt. 

The rest of the game plays out in a similar manner—we shut the first years out in the top of the inning, and then we score some more runs in the bottom. 

It’s a rather boring game, if I’m being honest. 

The only exciting thing to happen—other than that Furuya guy—was when the loud, spirited first year came in to pitch at the end of the game. 

I still hit off of him with ease, but his moving fastball was interesting, albeit unrefined. 

The game ends quickly after that, and I finish with one home run, two doubles, a triple, and one single. Not bad for my first day. 

 Soon enough, both sides are lining up to bow. 

“As per the outcome of today’s match, Masuko and Tanba will rejoin the first string, and the first year, Furuya Satoru, has been promoted as well. That is all.” 

Everyone bows before proceeding to leave the field. 

Everyone except me. 

My chest falls with disappointment. Only three people were promoted to the first string—two third years and a first year—and I wasn’t one of them. 

I clench my fists at my sides and do nothing to hide the frown forming on my face. 

“Don’t worry,” Rei says. 

I didn’t even notice her standing beside me. 

“There’s still plenty of time for you to make the first string. You did well today, Karma.”

But not well enough. 

“This game is a joke,” I say before I can think better of it. 

Everything goes silent. The jovial atmosphere vanishes, replaced with a tension so thick, it could be cut with a knife. 

“Come again?” Coach Kataoka asks sharply. 

“Karma, don’t—” 

“I said this game is a joke,” I say more confidently, ignoring Rei’s plea to let it go. “How do you expect any of us to make the first string if you won’t let us show you what we can do?” 

“As I recall, Amari, your batting average was perfect today.” 

I roll my eyes. It’s disrespectful, I know, but I can’t help myself. 

“I’m a second year aspiring for a spot on the roster of a nationally ranked team. Batting a thousand against a bunch of first years fresh out of junior high is the bare minimum of what should be expected of me. If I had known that this would be the outcome, I would have played with the first years instead. At least then I would have had a real challenge.” 

“Hey…” some first year grumbles. 

“A real challenge?” Coach Kataoka inquires, strangely calm. “What exactly are you suggesting?” 

“With all due respect, sir, I didn’t come all this way to sit on the second string. I came here to play. I came here to win. Give me a real test. I want to face them,” I say, pointing at Tanba and the rest of the first string. 

Everyone anxiously awaits the coach’s decision. 

“Tanba’s already pitched a full game,” he begins, “But if you’re so determined to make the first string on your first day, then you can face me. If you get a hit off of me, I’ll promote you to the first string, but if I win, you quit the team.” 

He smirks like a man who knows he’s won, but I’ve never been the type of girl to shy away from a challenge. 

“Seems fair to me,” I shrug, expression determined. 

“Good. Yuki, I want you and the rest of the starters to take the field. Miyuki, you’ll catch.” 

I return to the dugout to grab my helmet and bat, but before I can return to the field, Rei grabs me by the arm. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Antagonizing the coach like that… I can’t believe this is happening again.” 

I scowl.

Again? There’s a story behind that remark, but I push it to the back of my mind to revisit later. 

“Don’t worry, Rei, I know what I’m doing,” I say, slipping my batting gloves on. 

“And that’s what, exactly? Getting kicked off the team the same day you joined?” 

“I’m doing exactly what we planned—I’m getting on the first string.” 

I leave her in the dugout and walk up to the plate, lost in my own world. Which is probably why I didn’t notice the crazy-hot catcher until he is literally on his knees in front of me. 

“So, the new guy has some balls, huh?” the catcher says with a smirk. “And I don’t just mean the ones you dropped on me earlier.” 

My heart sinks, and a pit forms inside my stomach. 

No way. 

No fucking way. 

It’s him. 

This guy, the jerk who knocked me over earlier, is Miyuki Kazuya? 

I blush, both angry and flustered. 

“You—you’re the reason I dropped them!” 

Miyuki laughs. 

“Well, try not to drop the ball this time, okay? I’d hate to see someone so interesting leave so soon.” 

I tilt my head to the side, confused.

“Why would I drop the ball? You’re the one catching.” 

His expression changes from amused to baffled. 

“It’s a figure of—never mind,” he says, slipping his catcher’s mask over his face. 

I take a deep breath and step into the batter’s box. I refuse to let Miyuki get inside my head—no matter how cute he is. 

Coach is waiting for me on the mound, gripping the ball in his hand. 

I take my stance and clutch the bat tightly between my fingers. 

Miyuki gives a sign to the coach, who nods and takes his set position. 

He winds up, and I can feel all my nerves bundling inside my stomach. 

He releases the ball with a loud grunt. 

The ball comes shooting at me like a missile, and I decide to watch it.

There’s no irregular spin on the seams, just a generic backspin. 

A fastball. Low and away. 

I let it go without swinging. 

Whap! 

“Now, I believe that was a strike,” Miyuki says, standing to throw the ball back. 

“I’m aware,” I shoot back. 

Coach winds up again and throws. 

Another fastball. Inside. 

I swing—

Click! 

—but it’s a foul ball, just outside the fair line in right field. 

Damn, I was just a little above it that time. 

“One more Coach!” 

“You’ve got him cornered!” 

“Take him down!”

I drown out the cheers until the only thing I can hear is my heart beating inside my chest. 

Nothing else matters except this moment, this next pitch. 

I retake my stance and wait for the third, decisive pitch. 

Coach swings his arm down, and the call comes flying at me.

Only this ball was different. 

This was no fastball. 

The ball looks like it’s floating and has a characteristic topspin. 

Curveball. 

I hold my swing, waiting for the ball to drop, twist my hips, and swing. 

Click! 

“No fucking way,” Miyuki says in disbelief. 

The ball soars over the left-field fence, and it’s gone.

I drop my bat and run around the bases, unable to hide the grin spreading across my face. 

Coach Kataoka meets me back at home plate. 

He grins and hands me my bat.

“Welcome to the first string.” 

Later that night, after taking the shortest and most fear-inducing shower of my life, I return to my room and find a note taped to my door written in large black letters. 

COME TO MIYUKI’S ROOM TONIGHT AT NINE O’CLOCK OR ELSE!!!

Below that in parentheses, in a neater, less-threatening hand, is the room number. 

I click on my phone to check the time. 

8:56. 

I sigh.

I could just ignore them, but then again, they knew where I lived, so I decide it’s probably best to just go and get it over with. 

After dropping my things off in my room, I make my way down to Miyuki’s room. 

The door is closed and suspiciously quiet. 

Maybe they all went to bed and forgot about me. 

I knock on the door anyway. 

A few seconds later, the door creaks open to reveal several bloody faces illuminated with flashlights. 

“What the f—” 

But before I can finish, someone drags me inside and throws me onto the floor, pulling me into a headlock. 

“Hyaha!” 

The lights flicker on, and I’m surrounded by several of the first string players, including Miyuki, grinning menacingly at me.

I try to pull myself out of the headlock, but to no avail. 

“Keep him still, Kuramochi,” says one player looming over me. 

He’s the only player at Seido I’ve seen with a beard. 

He crouches down in front of me and pulls a marker from his pocket. He draws a curly mustache on my face, and then another player with pink hair smashes a paper plate of shaving cream in my face. 

“Hyaha! Initiation complete,” says the boy holding me in a headlock—Kuramochi, the older boy called him. 

He releases his hold, causing me to fall back onto the floor. 

I sit up and wipe the shaving cream from my eyes, shaking it off my hands onto the surrounding carpet. I sputter and spit the foam from my mouth and glare up at my soon-to-be teammates. 

“What was that for?” I pout. 

They all laugh. A few of them even take pictures. 

“Hyaha! It’s just a little hazing, that’s all.” 

I frown and puff out my chest indignantly.

“Did Furuya get the same welcome treatment? Or am I just special?” 

Kuramochi points to Furuya, who currently lies passed out in the middle of the floor with shaving cream smashed all over his face. 

“Oh.” 

I rise to feet where Miyuki waits for me with a towel, and I’m suddenly grateful for the shaving cream to hide my blush. 

“Welcome to the team,” Miyuki says. 

He wraps an arm around my neck like we were old friends and smirks. 

“Oh, and no hard feelings about you checking me out earlier. I have a great photo of you with shaving cream all over your face, so I guess we’re even now.” 

“I wasn’t checking you out,” I say a little too loudly. 

Everyone goes quiet. 

“Seriously, I wasn’t.” 

Everyone laughs, and I whip my head around to glare at Miyuki, who was once again delighting in my humiliation. 

“Great, now everyone thinks I’m a total weirdo thanks to you.” 

“I’m pretty sure they all thought that anyway,” Miyuki says. “They haven’t forgotten about you saying it was nice to feet them.” 

After proper introductions, everyone goes off to do their own thing. Kuramochi sits at the TV playing video games with Shirasu; Yuki-senpai plays Shogi with Ryosuke-senpai; Jun-senpai sits on the bed reading shoujo manga; Masuko-senpai sits in the corner eating pudding; and Miyuki is at the desk reviewing a score book with Kawakami. Poor Furuya is still out cold on the floor, but someone was kind enough to finally remove the shaving cream from his face. 

I play a few games with Kuramochi before excusing myself for the night. 

The night air is cool, still clinging to the chill of winter, but refreshing, so I decide to take a walk past the practice fields before returning to bed. 

I take a seat on the hill overlooking Practice Field A and think back on this evening. 

I smile to myself. 

I had a lot of fun tonight. 

But my smile drops into a defeated sigh, and I remember Rei’s warning about getting too close with the guys. 

If even one of them finds out the truth, it’s game over.

I’ll just have to be more careful and keep my distance—

Miyuki plops down beside me, making me jump out of my skin. I didn’t even hear him coming up behind me.

I shoot him a dirty look for scaring me, but it does nothing to curb the smug look on his face.

“So, did you like your little welcome party? I helped plan it, you know.”

I scoff. 

“Oh yeah,” I say sarcastically. “I just love having shaving cream smashed in my face. But no hard feelings though. I hit a home run off of you and Coach earlier, so I guess we’re even now,” I say, throwing his own words back in his face. 

Miyuki laughs, and I hate how it makes me feel like I’m floating. 

“Yeah? Well, don’t get used to beating me, Karma. You just caught me off guard, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting the new guy to look so much like a girl.”

A jolt of panic hits me like a fastball to the sternum. I school my expression, hoping to mask my fear. 

“Well, that’s a mean thing to say to someone you just met,” I say, playing it off. 

I cross my arms across my chest, feigning anger. 

“And I don’t remember giving you permission to use my first name.” 

He shrugs, and the conversation lapses into silence. 

Just when I think I should get up to leave, he speaks again. 

“How did you know?” Miyuki asks. 

“Know what?” 

“That last pitch. How did you know it was a curveball? You hit it perfectly; you had to have known it was coming.” 

I pause to articulate my thoughts, unsure of how to answer him without sounding insane. 

“This is going to sound weird, but I didn’t know it was going to be a curveball until Coach threw it. You see, curveballs have this subtle forward spin, and they kind of look like they’re floating in the air right before the drop and—I’m not making any sense, am I?” 

“No, you’re not,” he says. “But I think I get it.” 

He smiles more genuinely this time. 

“I think this season is going to get a lot more interesting.” 

I return his smile with one of my own. 

“Is that a compliment?” I tease, blinking up at him from underneath my eyelashes. 

He leans in, and for one crazy second, I think he might kiss me. 

“Sorry, Karma,” he says playfully. “You’re not my type.” 

“Ex-excuse me?!” I exclaim. 

Miyuki laughs, and I want nothing more than to punch that stupid smirk off his face. 

“You… have a terrible personality,” I say instead. 

“Why, thank you!” 

“That wasn’t a—ugh! Are you always so infuriating?” 

“Just to the people I like,” he replies. 

Miyuki stands to leave. Blades of grass stick to his sweatpants, and I do my best not to stare at his ass.

I’m largely unsuccessful. 

“See you tomorrow, shorty,” he says, raising a hand to bid me goodnight. 

“Oh, fuck off.” 

He laughs again, and I can’t help the smile that creeps onto my face or the butterflies dancing in my stomach. 

I pull out my phone and take a look at the time.

12:04. 

I’ve only been here a day, and I’ve already broken one of my promises to Rei. 

No harems or midnight rendezvous with some guy named Miyuki.

I flop back into the grass and groan. 

Rei is going to kill me. 

The next day, I get to school early to receive my class assignment and find my homeroom. 

After asking another student for directions, I climb the stairs to the second floor and search for classroom 2-B. 

I walk straight down the narrow hallway until I spot the correct sign above the door. 

Class 2-B… 

The door to the classroom is already open, but the room is devoid of students, not surprising given how early it is. 

Fortunately, my homeroom teacher is present, and after I introduce myself, he directs me to sit at the third desk up by the windows. 

I settle into my seat, organizing my school supplies on the desk, before I rest my chin in my palm and stare out the window, drifting off into a daydream. 

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” A familiar, pestering voice asks. 

My blood freezes. 

Oh no. 

No, no, no, no, no. 

I crane my head to meet the gaze of none other than the infuriating (hot as hell) catcher from yesterday. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re in this class.”

“Okay, I won’t,” Miyuki says, taking the seat behind me like he owns it. 

He smirks, and his brown eyes gleam with mischief.

“This is going to be so much fun,” he says.

I throw my head back with a dramatic groan. 

“Aw, don’t be like that. I thought we were friends now.”

He reaches over me to snatch my pencil from my desk—the one with the baseball eraser on top—and I try not to react to how close he is to me. 

Miyuki leans back in seat and fiddles with the pencil, testing it out between his fingers. 

“Can I have this?” 

“No,” I say, snatching it back. 

I turn my back so that I’m leaning against the window and spot a group of girls at the back of the classroom giggling and staring at Miyuki with poorly disguised longing. 

I eye their school uniforms enviously and sigh wistfully, tugging at my scratchy uniform pants underneath my desk.

“Argh! I wish I could wear a skirt instead of these stupid pants. It’s so cute, and I bet I’d look amazing in it.” 

Miyuki gives me a bizarre look, blinks, and then bursts out laughing. It’s only then that I realize I just said all of that out loud. 

Heat crawls up my neck, and my eyes widen to the size of baseballs. 

“I-I mean, I’m just curious, that’s all,” I say, waving my hands in front of me in exaggerated denial. “I don’t actually want to wear stuff like that. That would be weird. Because I am a guy. Yep, totally a guy.” 

But the more I try to explain myself, the harder Miyuki laughs.

“You should talk to the school about getting your uniform changed,” he teases, removing his glasses to wipe tears from his eyes. 

“Sh-shut up!” 

“Should I start calling you Karma-chan now? Ooh! How about Kacchan?” 

“What? No! Don’t call me that! Just… just leave me alone!”

I drop my head to the desk and try to ignore Miyuki’s continued assault. 

“Amari, you’re in this class?”

I lift my head enough to see Kuramochi standing over me holding his school bag. 

“Yeah, I am.” 

“Sweet,” Kuramochi says, taking the seat beside me. “I’m sick of dealing with Miyuki all day.” 

“Tell me about it,” I grumble. 

“Your face is still red, Kacchan,” Miyuki taunts. 

I kick Miyuki’s chair and shoot him a glare. 

“I thought I told you to drip it.” 

“I think you mean zip it.” 

“Did I miss something?” Kuramochi asks, left brow raised. 

“No!” I shout far too quickly. “Miyuki is just being an ass—”  

“Amari wants to wear the girl’s uniform skirt,” Miyuki says, the traitor. “He said he’d look amazing in it.”

Kuramochi and Miyuki share a look before they both start convulsing with laughter. 

“You guys are the worst!” I cry, my face burning impossibly hotter.

“Us? I think the school’s the worst for making you wear pants,” Kuramochi chuckles. 

“It should be a crime to cover up those legs,” Miyuki snickers, a wicked grin on his face. 

“Maybe Coach will let him wear a skirt to practice instead.”

“You hear that, Kacchan? Your legs will finally be free!”

“Hyaha!

I groan and bury my head in the desk, hoping to disappear into the wood and rid myself of this colossal embarrassment. 

What did I do in my past life to deserve these two demons as my classmates? 

It’s only when our homeroom teacher calls attendance that I finally raise my head again. 

I open my notebook and click the top of my pencil, ready to begin my first class, when the chair behind me screeches as it slides back against the floor. 

Miyuki leans forward, his chin almost resting on my shoulder. The breath from his lips ghosts against my ear, making me shiver, and I can feel my body flush from my ears to the tips of my toes when he finally whispers in my ear. 

“I’m looking forward to seeing you in a skirt, Kacchan.” 

Chapter 1 - March

Whoever said that sunshine is happiness has clearly never played baseball in the rain.

That’s what I’m thinking about anyway as I sit in the first base dugout, gazing across the empty baseball field as I watch the rain fall in heavy droves from the dove grey sky, clutching my cellphone in my hands.

I check the time.

5:53.

Today is the day.

I close my eyes and allow the gentle sound of rain pelting against the top of the metal dugout roof to drown out my thoughts. I take a deep breath through my nose, inhaling the sweet scent of wet grass and sand, and exhale out through my mouth.

The earthy aroma and constant drumming in my ears overwhelm my senses, helping me relax and force myself to stop fixating on the seven remaining minutes until I receive the results to the exam that could change my life forever.

5:54.

Just six more minutes.

Six more minutes until I find out whether I got accepted into Seido High School.

I sigh and drum my nails against the metal bench. The time still had not changed. On the contrary, it seemed to crawl slower and slower the closer it got to the top of the hour.

I rub at my eyes with my free hand, trying to erase the exhaustion from the previous night. I’ve never slept well the night before a big game, and last night was no different.

 It’s the waiting that always got to me.

Will we win? Or will we lose?

Will I get a hit? Or will I strike out?

Will I get accepted into Seido? Or will I get rejected?

And if I make it to Seido, will I make the team? Or will I never play baseball again?

Baseball is everything to me.

Like most, it starts when you’re little and your father takes you to your first baseball game. At the game, he buys you a Dodger Dog and an overpriced soda in an even more overpriced souvenir cup, and soon enough you’re sold.

Soon after, he’s at the local sporting goods store buying you your very first glove. It’s far too big, but that doesn’t stop you from playing catch in the backyard. You’re not very good at it. Your arm is too weak, and your aim is way off, and catching was much harder than it looks. You were not very good. At least not yet.

Flash forward a few years to Little League. It’s the last game of the season. The bases are loaded with two outs in the bottom of the final inning. You’re up to bat and your team is down by one run. The count is 3-2. The pitcher winds up. He throws—and the pitch is gone, sailing into the gap between right and center field.

Baseball was everything. Until it wasn’t.

5:57.

I heave a sigh and contemplate my life choices.

Literally.

How much simpler would my life have been if I had chosen basketball instead of baseball?

I’d be a lot happier, that’s for sure, and I never would have even considered Rei-san’s proposal.

In Japan, girls can only compete with boys until high school. After that, you either had to join a girl’s baseball team, which were too few and far between, or become a manager, forced to watch everything from the sidelines.

Girls can’t play baseball.

Girls can’t play with boys.

Girls can’t go to Nationals.

I’ve heard these words my entire life. I ignored them for the longest time, choosing to focus on the game as opposed to fixating on the inevitable truth, but there soon came a day when I could no longer avoid it. I could either quit or I could leave, and I chose to leave.

After my second year of junior high, I moved to America and enrolled in a boarding school in Los Angeles. Americans had different rules regarding girls in organized sports, but that didn’t make them any less sexist. American high schools did not ban girls from competing on baseball teams, though social taboo usually maintained separation between the genders in sports.

Still, even the hint of an opportunity was better than no opportunity at all.

If I had stayed in Japan, I would have had nothing.

No team.

No Nationals.

No future.

No more baseball in the rain.

5:59.

One minute.

Just one measly minute stood between me and everything I’ve ever wanted.

I close my eyes and just breathe.

“It’s a home run!” The announcer exclaimed.

The crowd erupts into cheers.

I drop my bat, the metal base clinking against the hard sand, and jog around the bases.

My teammates are waiting for me at home plate. They swarm me the moment my foot touches the plate, pulling me into the center of their celebration.

I couldn’t help but smile.

We’d won.

The cheers continue even after I leave the dugout, my equipment bag slung over my shoulder.

I turn to look back at the field. The sun is beginning to set just behind the outfield.

I sigh with pleasure—what a perfect way to end the season.

“That was quite a hit you had there,” someone says in Japanese.

I swivel my head and meet the stare of a beautiful woman wearing glasses and a well-fitting pencil skirt.

“Congratulations on the win,” the woman says, pushing her glasses up with the tips of her manicured nails.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I ask back.

It’s been a long time since I last spoke Japanese with another person. I rarely speak with my family back in Tokyo, and I haven’t been back home in over a year.

“My apologies, Amari-chan. My name is Takashima Rei. I’m a recruiter for Seido High School in Tokyo.”

“Seido High School?” I ask, my eyes widening. “The Seido High School?”

Rei smiles and nods, her expression amused.

Well, fuck me.

Seido was a ranked team across the nation. They haven’t been to Koshien in a few years now, but before that they were serious national contenders. I would have given an arm and a leg to play somewhere like Seido.

But—

“Wait,” I say. “I didn’t think Seido had a baseball team for girls.”

“We don’t.”

I tsk.

Well, that’s not cryptic at all.

“Look, I appreciate you coming to see me and all, but I have no interest in becoming a manager or anything like that. It was nice meeting you.”

I tighten my grip on the strap of my bag and turn to walk away.

“How about I treat you to dinner?” Rei calls out. “To celebrate your win. And in exchange, perhaps you could hear me out before dismissing my offer entirely?”

I freeze mid-step, considering it.

“I suppose that’s only fair,” I say, caving in to the promise of free food.

Rei leads me towards her rental car and then drives us to a nearby ramen restaurant.

We order and take a seat at the small table next to the window.

I bow my head, thanking her for the food, before diving into my meal.

It’s only after I’ve consumed half the bowl that I finally speak.

“So, I take it you didn’t fly all the way from Tokyo just to recruit me to be a manager.”

“Very astute,” Rei says, taking a sip of her tea.

“Then why are you here?”

“My job at Seido is to recruit talent from across the nation, and when I was recruiting for this year’s class, I heard a rumor about a junior high player with a batting average of over seven hundred.”

I take a sip of my drink to hide my smirk.

“I think someone was pulling your peg.”

“You mean leg?” Rei chuckles, shaking her head.

I blush.

“My Japanese is musty.”

“You mean—never mind. Anyway, last year I tried to track down this mysterious player, but I couldn’t find the name Amari Karma on any junior high roster in the country. I finally managed to get ahold of one of your old coaches who told me you had moved to America.”

“And you came all this way here to… what?”

“Recruit you.”

I nearly choke on my drink.

“I’m sorry. What?”

“I want you to play for Seido, Amari-chan.”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. “Isn’t it a little late to be recruiting me? The summer tournament starts next month. And that’s beside the point. I can’t compete on the team because I’m a girl.”

“Which is why you’re going to join the team as a boy.”

I blink in confusion.

Once.

Twice.

“You’ll have to take the entrance exam,” Rei continues. “So you won’t actually be able to join the team until your second-year. We’ll have to cut your hair too and bind your chest. There’s not much we can do about your face though—you’re far too pretty. But we’ll just have to make do—”

“Stop,” I interrupt, holding up my hands. “Sorry, this is just… a lot.”

I sigh and drag my hands over my face, exasperated.

“This is crazy!”

“Crazier than moving across the ocean to play for a team that doesn’t appreciate you?”

“I—yes, it is!”

Rei has a point, though.

I moved to America because I wanted to continue playing baseball in high school, but it hasn’t quite worked out the way I had hoped. I may be on the team, but I wasn’t part of it. Not really.

My teammates treat me like a pariah, and I don’t get to play as much as I would like. Most days I’m lucky enough to pinch hit, let alone field, and my coach was always pushing me to play for the softball team instead. It’s likely why he didn’t play me much—if he sat me out long enough, I might finally cave and switch to the girl’s team.

Rei’s offer is too good to be true. I want to say yes. I want to say yes so badly it hurts. I want to play—really play—baseball again, and this woman is dangling the opportunity in front of me like a carrot on a stick.

“Rei-san, why are you doing this? Why are you going to all this effort to help me?”

An unreadable expression appears on Rei’s face just as quickly as it disappears.

“I told you—my job is to recruit talent. You are an exceptional player, Amari-chan, and you deserve the opportunity to play, regardless of your gender. We have a strong team this year, but our batting lineup lacks consistency. With you on the team, I’m confident we can make a run for a national championship.”

Nationals.

Koshien.

How long has it been since I last dreamed of that place?

“I… I’m not sure… I don’t…”

“Think about it,” Rei says, pulling a business card from her jacket pocket. “I don’t need an answer right away, but I hope you consider joining the team.”

We finish our dinner, and then Rei drops me off at my dorm building before leaving for the airport. She doesn’t try to convince me to join the team anymore. Instead, we talk about school and music and all the things I miss about home.

I shut the door to my room and I drop my equipment bag to the floor with a resounding thunk. I collapse onto my bed, the events from today finally catching up with me.

I lift my hips to grab Rei’s card from my back pocket. I flip the card between my fingers, inspecting both sides.

There’s a message written on the back of the card in neat handwriting.

Let’s go to Koshien together, Amari-chan.

I scoff and throw the card inside my bedside drawer, slamming it shut.

There is absolutely no way I’m calling her.

Her entire plan is absolutely ridiculous.

Totally ridiculous.

Definitely.

Sure.

So why can’t I stop thinking about it?

It’s a late summer night in Los Angeles—and the perfect night to break curfew.

I had played in a summer league tournament earlier that day and was exhausted, but I was dying for some food that didn’t come from the dining hall, hence the late night bus trip into the city.

Sneaking out was easy, probably more than it should be. Not many students lived in the dorms over the summer holidays, so the faculty were far more lax with the rules, trusting that we can take care of ourselves.

I didn’t plan to stay out for long anyway. I just want to hit up my favorite convenience store in Little Tokyo for some much needed snacks and then retire for the night.

I jump off at the familiar stop, thanking the driver before exiting.

I stretch my arms over my head and let out a contented sigh.

After playing all day, it was a relief to finally change out of my baseball uniform into a skirt and sandals. The cool breeze blowing against my bare legs feels downright sinful in comparison to my old scratchy baseball pants.

Plus, it’s nice to be able dress like a normal girl every now and then. Even if it is just me.

The bell rings when I open the door to the store.

I walk down the aisles with practiced familiarity, snagging my usual snacks and drinks from the hastily organized shelves.

I set my items on the counter, but the owner, a kindly old man in his sixties, doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy watching a baseball game on the little television he always keeps behind the counter.

“What game are you watching?” I ask, grabbing his attention.

“What game is this?” He asks in disbelief. “It’s the Koshien final! Now shush! I’ll be with you in a moment.”

With nothing else to do, I watch the television and quickly become enraptured in the game.

It’s the top of the ninth and the away team is up by two runs. If the pitcher strikes out this next batter, they’ll win the national championship.

The batter is fighting with everything he has to get on base, fouling off four pitches and letting two balls drop into the dirt.

The count is 2-2 with no runners on base.

The pitcher winds up for the seventh pitch.

The batter swings.

And it’s over.

The batter misses the ball, a well-placed splitter below the batter’s knees, and strikes out.

The fielders rush the mound, crushing their pitcher in an all-consuming embrace.

I watch the celebration with a mixed sense of wonder and desire.

What would it be like to play for a national championship?

What is it like to stand on that stage?

And suddenly, it hits me.

I have to go there.

I have to.

Every dream I ever had about that place comes flooding back to me.

It isn’t just enough to play anymore; I want to win.

I want to play for a national championship.

And I’m willing to do anything to make that dream into a reality.

Even agree to a certain recruiter’s crazy plan.

“Will that be all, miss?” The old man asks, startling me from my newfound revelation.

“I—yes. Thank you.”

I quickly pay and exit the shop.

There is no time to waste.

I have a phone call to make.

“Please lift up your sleeves.”

I do as I’m told, pulling the sleeves of my shirt up to my elbows so the examiner can inspect my arms for any hidden writing.

Finding nothing, the examiner nods her approval and returns my admission ticket.

“Thank you for your patience, Amari-san. Please take your seat, I’ll be passing out the exam booklets shortly.”

I bow and take my seat at the front of the room. 

I lay out my pencils and eraser in a neat line at the top of my desk.

By the time that’s done, there’s still five minutes until the start of the exam.

I bounce my leg up and down, knocking my knee into the desk. The vibrations cause the desk to shake and knock all my pencils to the ground.

I curse under my breath and bend down to pick them up.

“Relax, girl. It’s only your whole life ahead of you,” I mutter to myself.

Preparing for Seido’s entrance exam has been absolute hell.

Rei wasted no time after I agreed to her plan. She sent me half a dozen study books and quickly worked out a plan with my current school to accelerate my education to prepare me for my upcoming transfer.

Between that and all my practices, I’ve hardly had a moment of free time, and my sleep schedule was seriously suffering for it.

I sigh and rub at the dark circles under my eyes.

Once this exam is over, I’m going to sleep for a week.

The jet lag wasn’t helping either.

I flew into Tokyo only the day before yesterday, which has given me exactly enough time to sleep, eat, sleep, say hello to my family, sleep, and sleep some more.

My mom was ecstatic that I wanted to come home, and even my grandfather was begrudgingly happy to see me. The old man even had the audacity to look smug about my decision, but I haven’t told either of them the real reason why I decided to come home.

Both Rei and I agreed it would be better to wait for my exam results before informing my family about our plan. So, for now, all they knew was that I wanted to transfer to Seido so I could be closer to home.

We had to come up with a quick lie about who she was when Rei came to pick me up yesterday—I told my mom she was a representative from Seido (not a lie) who volunteered to give me a tour of the school (also not a lie). Only, this tour that I had alluded to was of the baseball fields and not the school itself.

I couldn’t meet the coach or any of the players (for obvious reasons), but Rei was able to show me the practice fields, dorms, and all the indoor practice facilities.

It was everything I ever dreamed of and more.

It was exactly the kind of playing environment I craved.

The examiner sets my first test booklet in front of me, stirring me from my thoughts, but bids me not to open it until told to do so.

I grab my pencil and tap the back of the baseball-shaped eraser against the desk, mentally preparing to start.

I think about those practice fields and the sounds of players practicing in the cold and how much I want that to be me.

The time for the exam starts, so I open my test booklet and begin.

My phone dings, alerting me to a new notification.

I look at the time.

6:00.

My heart speeds up and my fingers tremble as I tap them across the screen to unlock my phone.

I refresh my inbox—and there it is. An email from Seido High School.

I take a deep breath.

The rain has stopped, but the air is still sweet with moisture. It smells like hope and happiness.

I steel myself before clicking on the email.

It is now or never.

I open the email and gasp.

I got in.