The Curve

Preseason

Just before sunrise, the dimly light field seemed all but abandoned. Then, a swish of netting and the clink of metal hog-rings echoed through the vast emptiness, betraying the presence of the ballpark’s sole occupant. As dawn began to break, the young pitcher allowed herself a moment to rest, watching the sun as it came up. Something about the way the light poured in over the top of the outfield wall, casting scattered beams across the silent, cavernous grandstand, made the ballpark seem like an empty cathedral. Indeed, mornings like this one were as close as it came to church for Lexa. The mound of earth beneath her was her center of worship, her confession booth, the place where she came to exercise all of her existential uncertainty. She ran a forearm across her sweaty brow, and reveled in the feeling of the morning breeze as it soothed her hot skin. “Thank g-d it’s still April,” she though, “at least it’s not humid yet.”

______________________________________

That it was cool, and thankfully dry, was about all Clarke could say of her morning. Things had gone form bad to worse from the moment her alarm had gone off, and as her old Civic squealed to a stop in the parking lot of the old ballpark, she closed her eyes, letting the many frustrations of the past few hours wash over her.

It had started with the lack of hot water at her apartment, a problem her landlord had sworn, two days ago, would be fixed. Her bad luck continued with a parking ticket that had been waiting for her on her windshield. Then, on the way to the park, a car in front of her had stopped short. Clarke had slammed on on her breaks in time to avoid a collision, but the sudden stop had also sent hot coffee splashing all over her blouse.

She dabbed at the stains futilely, mulling over whether she should just call and cancel the meeting altogether. She groaned, as she considered the prospect of spending the next few hours talking to someone whose sole accomplishment in life was throwing a baseball well. Granted, the pitcher was supposed to be some kind of phenom, but then again this was only Class A-Advance ball, and the worst team in the league.

A sports-based, human interest piece was the last thing she wanted to cap her remarkably trying morning off with. None-the-less, it was the first real assignment she’d be given at the Savannah Gazette, and Clarke reminded herself that even if the paper was provincial, and poorly circulated, and barely covered stories not pertaining to the mid-sized city it served, it was still a real job, and she was still a real journalist. She sighed, looking at her stained blouse and resigning herself to the knowledge that, unkempt or not, she would still have to conduct the interview.

Resigned to her fate, Clarke climbed out of the old car and shut the squealing, dented door forcefully, not bothering to lock it as she made her way towards the ballpark entrance. The old Civic was almost certainly worth more stolen than not, and anyone willing to steal the rusted-out clunker was surely the least ambitious thief on earth. A bar that low was its own punishment, in Clarke’s opinion. She made her way through the concrete tunnels of the park until she reached a door marked “PLAYERS AND COACHES ONLY.”

Three knocks, and the door was answered by a gentleman who would have seemed very much at home in a gladiatorial arena. Clarke presented her press pass, explaining that she had been sent by the paper to interview the new pitcher, and he silently ushered her through the locker room and and up a flight of stairs into a gym, pointing to the back corner with an enormous hand. “She’s over there with the trainer.”

Clarke made her way through the sea of exercise machines, free weights and sweaty, shirtless athletes, doing her best not to be annoyed by the multiple sets of eyes she felt following her. Finally, she reached the row of power racks, lined up along the mirrored back wall. In the far corner, two men in polo shirts stood over someone who was groaning loudly, attempting to benchpress an impressive looking amount of weight.

The person’s face was obscured by their spotters, but Clarke watched as the muscular set of arms caught in the middle of the press, shook for a moment, and then made a final, powerful thrust upward, locking out and letting the weight drop onto the bar catcher. The two spotters hollered their approval, clapping their hands and exchanged high fives with the person on the bench.

One of the men grabbed a binder off of the floor, eagerly jotting down few notes and he continued issue praise. “G-d damn Woods, that’s 185! You’re a fucking beast, do you know that?” The man smiled, tapping his companion on the shoulder and pointing to something in the binder. “Keep it up kid.” He patted the seated figure on the back, before handing the binder to the man next to him, and pointing to another athlete across the gym. The men walked off in the direction of a young man who was struggling to lift weight plates onto a rack, leaving the figure on the bench finally unobscured.

The figure on the bench finally sat up, and Clarke found herself taken aback by the appearance of the woman in front of her. There was no question that the woman was an extremely well conditioned athlete. Every inch of her was sculpted by muscle and sinew. However, Clarke was surprise to realize that she was short, not by average standards, but certainly much shorter than one would expect a professional baseball pitcher to be, 5‘ 7”, 5’ 8” perhaps.

Moreover, she looked quite young, much younger than the 24 years listed on the pre-interview notes Clarke had been given. What shocked Clarke the most though, was that the woman was startlingly attractive. She didn’t like admitting it to herself, but when Clarke had been informed that she’d be interviewing major league baseball’s first female draftee, she’d imagined a different picture entirely, someone a little more plain perhaps, or even a bit on the gangly side. She certainly hadn’t expected sun kissed skin, high cheekbones, and bright green eyes. Clarke was disarmed by how unlikely it seemed that this person was a professional athlete.

Lexa grabbed a worn towel off the floor and stood, wiping the sweat that poured from her face and neck as she made her way over to the blonde in the grumpy looking blonde, in the coffee stained shirt. The young pitcher did her best to hide her surprise as she summed up the young woman in front of her. When she’d hard that a journalist had been coming to talk to her, she’d expected someone more typical looking for sports writer, someone older perhaps, slightly overweight and well… A man. She hadn’t been expecting a gorgeous blonde to show up in her weight room. What was more, something looked oddly familiar about the woman. Lexa felt sure she had seen her somewhere before.

Lexa extended her arm, and enveloped the woman’s tiny hand in her firm, calloused grip, shaking it vigorously.

“I’m Lexa Woods. You must be the staff writer from the Gazette.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Well… Intern, technically. If this interview goes well though, we’ll see. I’m Clarke, by the way.”

“Well, in that case I’ll try to make myself as interesting as possible for you. Did you wanna do this in here?”

Clarke gazed around the room at the gaggle of sweaty men, staring at them over the tops of leg press machines and free weights. “As charming as this place is,” Clarke deadpanned, looking around the room, and grimacing, “it’s not really the best place to conduct an interview. Is there somewhere more private we could go?”

Two extremely sweaty outfielders walked based the two women, leaving a powerful musk in their wake. Clarke screwed up her face in disgust. “Perhaps, somewhere that doesn’t smell quite so much like sweaty balls?”

Lexa laughed nervously, surprised by the reporter’s candor. “Sure. There’s a wives lounge just off the locker room. We could head there if you like.”

Clarke nodded, trying not to roll here eyes at the notion of dutiful baseball wives, waiting out home games in separate room. “That sounds fine.”

A few minutes later Lexa and Clarke sat across from each other on the two small couches that took up most of the room. Clarke couldn’t help but notice that the tiny coffee table in front of her was littered with old copies of Good Housekeeping, Woman’s Day, Family Circle and Ladies' Home Journal, while the end tables on either side of the couches were stocked with boxes of tissues. The room looked as though it had been set up by someone who’s only knowledge of women came from 1950’s stereotypes.

Clarke stared up at the woman across from her, struck by the odd juxtaposition created by a groundbreaking, female athlete, sitting in a room full of terrible clichés. The brunette cleared her throat, looking over at her apologetically. Clarke sighed, more then ready to get the interview over with.

“So, up early this morning I hear.”

Lexa bobbed nervously, trying not to feel awkward with the beautiful, blonde reporter staring at her. “Oh yeah. I like to get here around 6:00AM so I can have the field to myself for a bit and clear my head. It’s a morning ritual, like yoga, you know?”

“You mean, do I know what yoga is?”

Lexa giggled shaking her head. “No, I mean, do you have a morning ritual?”

Clarke sighed. “In spite of having graduated cum laude from an Berkeley, and doing post-grad at Columbia, I’ve spent the last six months going on coffee runs and getting people sandwiches… So, typically I like to begin my mornings by crying over my masters degree.” Clarke tried not to betray her lack of interest in the small talk as she gave the sarcastic, off hand answer.

Lexa laughed, taken aback by the young reporter’s acerbic response. She tried not to feel offended, but began to realize that the blonde was than enthusiastic about conduct the interview. “Well,” Lexa rationalized, “she’s definitely witty.” The pitcher glanced over at the reporter, who was now digging through her bag. Lexa tried her best not to notice how revealing the blonde’s blouse became when she bent over. Lexa averted her gaze, unable to ignore the sight before her.

“So, Clarke, what is it you want to know about me exactly?”

Clarke pulled a notepad and a pen from her bag, crossing her legs as she balanced the former on her lap. “How about we start with how you got into baseball in the first place?”

Lexa smiled. “My dad. He grew up playing, and he was really excited about the getting my twin brother, Levi, involved, but he never pressured me to play. I mean, he had absolutely no experience with little girls, so I think he assumed I wouldn’t be interested.”

Lexa noticed that how Clarke’s eyes rolled at the statement, but decided to ignore it. “When we were four, he signed Levi up for Tee-ball. He brought me with them to the first practice, and we sat in the stands, watching Levi bat. When I asked my dad if I could have a turn, and he told me that it was only for Levi, and I started crying. I wouldn’t stop until he agreed to take me down to the field to bat. I ended up hitting the ball farther than any of the boys.”

Clarke finished scribbling a few more lines on her pad, and gazed over at the pitcher unenthusiastically. “So you were a natural form the start?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that. I think, when I was little, playing baseball was mostly about doing whatever my twin did. It wasn’t until later that I realized that I had a passion for it.”

“Mmhm.” She glanced up momentarily. “Can you describe what that moment was.”

Lexa smiled coyly, a hint of a sparkle in her eye. “It was the first time I pitched. A few friends and I were playing a pickup game in the field behind my house, and my dad was catching for us. Everybody was really excited because the little league division we played in was about to switch from coach-pitch to player-pitcher.”

Clarke jotting down a note or two and waiting for Lexa to continue.

“One of our friends, Bobby Lattner, was trying to strike Levi out, but he kept hitting line drives. I told him not to worry because he’d probably get better with a little more practice, and Bobby got really mad. He turned bright red and yelled at me “Why don't you try it then, if you think its so easy!”

She looked back at Clarke, grinning like a cheshire cat. “I remember being really nervous. I’d never even thought about pitching, and I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of my friends. When Bobby gave me the ball my hands were shaking, but I walked over to where he’d been standing, and I lined myself up the way I saw pitchers do on TV.”

Lexa bit her lip running a hand through her hair and closing her eyes for a moment as she inhaled a deep, slow breath. “All of a sudden, I felt this calm come over me. When I wound up to throw, it felt completely natural. I remember the way the ball felt as it left my hand, I remember the way it sounded when it hit the inside of my father’s glove, and I just I knew… I was never going to love anything as much as I loved pitching. After the game, my father pulled me aside and asked me who had taught me to pitch. When I told him that nobody had, he gave me this look, like he was about to go over a drop on a rollercoaster. I think that was the moment he realized that I had real talent.”

Clarke nodded, her eyes trained on the notepad as she continued to jot down bits and pieces of the conversation. “Did he pressure you to stick with baseball instead of switching to softball?”

Lexa shifted anxiously, uncomfortable with the question. “Not really. When I got to high school I tried switching to softball for about a week, but to be honest with you I couldn’t pitch as well throwing underhand.”

Clarke shot a doubtful look at the young ballplayer, cocked an eyebrow skeptically. “You’re telling me the big, bad, trail-blazing female pitcher couldn't get the hang of fast-pitch?”

Something about the blonde’s dry, sarcasm ate at Lexa, and her cheeks flushed a subtle pink as she shrugged. “I’d been throwing overhand my whole life, and I didn’t really feel like spending a season on the bench while I picked up a new skill set. After that first week, my dad and I went to the boy’s baseball coach at my high school. He was an old friend of my uncle’s, so he agreed to give me a late tryout. He had some pretty huge reservations about having a girl on the team, but once he saw me pitch, he decided that taking me on was worth the criticism.”

Clarke glanced up at the pitcher expectantly, her interest peaking for the first time. “Was that a big deal, you playing on a boys team?”

“Yeah, of course. I mean, not really when we were little because there were other girls. By the time I joined a travel team though, I was pretty much the only girl, and when we’d go to other towns, people would definitely make comments.”

“What kind of comments?”

“Mostly questions about whether or not I could really play. It usually stopped once I’d struck out a few batters. High school was different. It was… Bad.”

Clarke held up her hand, pausing Lexa before she could continue. “What made it so bad exactly?”

The young pitcher shifted uncomfortably in her seat, scratching the back of her neck awkwardly and shifting her mouth form side to side, clearly hesitant to answer the question. She stared at Clarke for a moment, an intensity look in her green eyes.

“Listen… This article you’re writing, it isn’t going to all about the hardships of being a woman in a mens sport, is it?”

The question took Clarke by surprise. Truthfully, she’d assumed that Lexa would be more than happy to pour her heart out when it came to gender dynamics in sports. She considered the young woman across from her, realizing how uncomfortable she’d become in the last few moments.

“Hey, if you need a minute or two to warm up to this subject, that’s ok. We can talk off the record for a bit.”

“It’s not that.”

Clarke leaned forward intently, waiting for her to continue.

“You didn’t choose to do this interview voluntarily, did you?”

This question startled Clarke even more. She went stiff, her back straightening abruptly, and her pulse racing a bit as she raked her brain for an answer that would allow her to save face. She decided stalling was the best option.

“Why do you say that?”

Lexa rolled here eyes. “Honestly, it’s kind obvious. You don’t exactly seem thrilled to be here, and based on the academic pedigree you mentioned earlier, I’m guessing you didn’t go into journalism to become a sports writer.”

Clarke fixed her gaze on Lexa, trying not to betray how nervous the young woman’s accuracy was making her. “I’ll admit, I don’t really like baseball, but you don’t exactly get to pick your assignments as an intern. Besides, a good journalist can make any story a compelling one.”

Lexa narrowed her eyes seriously. “And, you thought you’d make my story compelling by writing all about a how terribly it’s been for me to be a female baseball player.”

The assertion was spot on. Clarke stared at Lexa for a moment, dumbstruck. When she finally regained her composure, she picked the notepad off her lap and dropped it on the floor next to her. “Ok, fine.” She exhaled forcefully, staring up at Lexa with a look of annoyance and exasperation. “That’s more or less the article I was going to write. Is that so wrong?”

Lexa’s jaw clenched. “I mean, I just think it’s a little reductive. Don’t you?”

Clark’s balked at the comment. “Reductive?” Now, she was angry. Wounded by the insinuation, and feeling provoked , she responded with as much sarcasm as she could muster. “That’s a pretty big word for jock.”

Lexa’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t go to an Ivy League but I did manage read a book or two in college.”

The dig unsettled Clarke, and she pursed her lips irritatedly. “Well, I’d rather write about a woman breaking barriers then some generic, up-and-coming prospect, sports story. I mean it’s just baseball.”

“What’s wrong with baseball?”

“Nothing, it just…” Clarke paused, trying to bite her tongue.

Lexa would have none of it, however. The brunette leaned forward, staring the reporter dead in the eye. “Just what?”

“It’s just a game!,” Clarke finally snapped. “Right now there’s a civil war in Syria, the largest refugee crisis in history, problems with the EU, and a presidential election coming up. Baseball isn’t actually important.” Clarke temper had risen a little, over-emphasizing each word. “It. Is. Just. A. Game. Excuse me if I think there are more important things to write about. Excuse me for trying to take a bad assignment and give it some meaning.”

Clarke groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. She ran a had through her hair and closed her eyes. When she finally looked at Lexa again, she was surprised to find that her expression had softened. Clarke dropped her head, letting out a slow breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

Lexa crossed her arms, allowing herself to fall back against the couch, letting out a breath she’d been holding. “Yes you did, but it’s ok. I know it’s just a game. I know that I’m not inventing a cure for cancer, or helping end world hunger, but I’d like to think that in a small way, what I do matters.”

“How do you suppose?”

Lexa sighed, taking time to think about her next statement. “Over 100 million Americans come to baseball games every year. I’d like to think that, when they do, they’re looking for more then nine innings, and cheap beer and hot dogs.”

“What is it you think they’re looking for.”

Lexa settled back in her chair, her temper returned to baseline. “I think that, for a lot of people, watching baseball is like going to church. They are looking to believe in something bigger than themselves. I think they’re looking to be inspired, to witness the impossible, and baseball players are in a unique position to provide that.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow, looking over at her companion skeptically. “How so?”

Lexa She smiled a little, retreating into herself shyly as she answered. “This game, it’s not like football, or basketball. To play those sports, you have to be a superman. Baseball is a game of supermen, but it’s also a game of everymen. For ever Nolan Ryan or Randy Johnson there’s a Jim Abbott or a Tim Wakefield. For every Barry Bonds there’s a Scott Hatteberg, for every 1998 Yankees, there’s a 2004 Red Sox. Underdogs can make it in this game, and I think people want to see that. I think people need to see that. People need a reason to believe in long shots, and small miracles, especially with the world the way you say it is.”

Lexa fixed her eyes on Clarke, staring at her intensely. “Baseball is just a game, but just occasionally, it’s a game that helps gives people hope about life.”

Clarke crossed her armed and stared contemplatively at the young pitcher. She leaned back in her chair, consider Lexa’s speech. It had been passionate, and surprisingly touching, and she had to admit that the argument was not without merit. She uncrossed her arms and hunched over, resting her elbows on her knees and giving Lexa an earnestly smile. “Look, what do you want meet write?”

“The same thing that any prospect would. I just want you to write about my 2.13 ERA or the fact that I’ve pitched two perfect games since I made my debut in the farm system, but nobody ever writes about that. All anyone ever writes about is how terrible male athlete are to me, and how much I’ve “overcome.” Lexa waived her fingers, making air quotes. “All that does is egg on the teammates who don’t want here, and alienate the ones who do.”

“So you want everyone to just ignore the fact that that you’re the first woman to be drafted by a major league club?”

“No, but I want to be defined by my accomplishments amongst my peers, not by my proximity to them. Besides, I haven’t actually made it to the show yet. It’s not going to matter how much I’ve overcome if the furthest I ever get is High-A. When I make it to the majors, then people can write about me overcoming hardships. Until then, I need reporters to focus on the fact that I really am talented. That way when people read articles about me, including the people who making decisions about advancing me, they’ll be noticing me for the right reasons.”

Clarke had to admit, Lexa’s point had a good one. She picked the notepad up off the ground and made a line through the last note she had taken. She looked back at Lexa. “Look, how about this? I promise to write an article that focuses on your accomplishments as a ballplayer first. I can’t leave your gender out of it completely because, to be honest, that’s not the story my paper wants me to tell. But, as long as you promise to be honest with me about what you’ve experienced, I promise not to make it my primary focus.”

Lexa stared Clarke down for moment. The young woman’s green eyes burned so intensely, Clarke felt as though they were going to burn a hole right through her. Finally Lexa nodded, folding her arms across her chest and settling back into her seat. “Fine, but on one condition.”

“Which is?”

Lexa smiled triumphantly. “You have to tell me why you don’t like baseball?”

Clarke chuckled, clicking her pen. “First, you tell me about high school.”

“It was hard. I mean, I had friends. My brother was also on the team, and I grew up playing with some of the guys, but a lot of the other players were really upset that they let me join. The parents were worse. My coach ended up having to have this big meeting with all of them. A lot of them said I would be a distraction to their sons. Half of them complained that allowing me to be on the team was unfair because I was taking playing time away from boys who actually had a chance to get scouted. The other half complained that because I need separate facilities whenever we traveled, I would end up taking money away form the rest of the team.”

Clarke screwed up her face at the notion of such small minded thinking. “Was that true?”

“No! I mean when we went other school I would just use the girl’s locker room, and when we did go on overnight trips, like for tournaments or state, I would share a room with my brother.”

“Was that the worst of it?”

“No. I mean, within the team there were definitely some problems, at first. It all peaked when I became a starting pitcher as a sophomore, but I played well, and we stated winning. The noise died down pretty quickly after that.

Clarke smiled Lexa, shooting her a knowing look. “Hard to complain when you’re winning I guess.”

“Exactly. Plus, my coach, and the administration were relatively protective of me, so any problems coming form inside my school were always pretty limited. They didn’t have any control over players and students form other schools though. That was where the real problems came from.”

Lexa puffed out her cheeks, stretching out in her chair as her mind turned to unpleasant memories. Clarke watched as the pitcher grew nostalgic, noting the shift in her mood.

Lexa swallowed and ran a hand through her hair. “It wasn’t every game, and it wasn’t always terrible, but most of the time there were hecklers, or someone on the other team would make a point of saying something nasty to try and get in my head.”

Clarke nodded, but didn’t press Lexa to finish. She waited patiently, as the brunette grew contemplative, working through what to talk about. Finally, Lexa continued her story. “My Sophomore year we made the state playoffs, and ended up getting as far as regionals. The year after that we were got knocked out in the semi-finals. The more we won, the more people would show up to heckle me, and the nastier the other teams would be. The only really big incident happened my Senior year, right before the state championship.”

Lexa leaned over and rested her elbows on her knees, scratching the back of her neck the on hand. “We were set to play North Salem in the finals. At the time, the number one prospect in the country, Andrew Sellers, was a Senior on their team. Most people though I wouldn’t be able to pitch against him.”

“And you proved them wrong?”

Lexa’s face fell. She shook her head, looking at the ground. “No. A few days before the game some players from North Salem broke into the locker room at our ballpark and… Well they trashed the place, and spray painted some pretty explicit messages about me.”

A look of horror crossed Clarke’s face as she realized what Lexa was saying. “That’s horrible Lexa.”

The pitcher nodded. “Yeah, it was. The worst part though was that when they caught the players that did it, one of them turned out to be Sellers. All thee of them were banned from playing for the rest of the season. We ended up winning the state championship, but the fact that Sellers hadn’t play put a pretty dark cloud over the victory. People felt that if Sellers had been there, we would have lost. I ended up feeling like I hadn’t gotten to prove myself; hadn’t earned the win.”

“What happened to those three guys other than not being able to play? Were they disciplined at all?”

“Not really. Two of them were suspended for a week for, but Sellers just missed the one game. He ended up being drafted out of high school by the Philadelphia Phillies, but he differed and ended up playing baseball as Texas Tech.”

“So did you get a chance to pitch agains him in college?”

Lexa laughed heartily at the comment, taking Clarke completely by surprise. The blonde looked back up at her, confused. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just… Didn’t your paper vet you for this at all?

Clarke shrugged. “They gave me a few notes.”

Lexa shook her head, rolling her eyes as she resettled herself. “No I didn’t get a chance to pitch against him again. The thing is, event hough I was one of the top ranked pitchers in my state, up to that championship game I hadn’t received a single scholarship offer, much less one from a big, Division I program like Texas Tech. I honestly though high school was going to be the end of the road for me. Then, in the post season, a recruiter from Millerville approached me and made me a late offer. I knew it was the only one I scholarship opportunity I was going to get, and they were a good Division II program, so I took it. I ended up winning back to back national titles with that team.”

Clarke smiled at the girl across form her. “Were you surprised when you were drafted after that last title?”

“Yes, absolutely. In high school, I had a scout tell me that he though I might have had a shot at being included low in the draft, if I had been a boy. But, I’m not, and I played for a small school, so it was easy for people to ignore me. Back then I didn’t really think being drafted was possible, so I never gave it much thought.”

Lexa scratched the back of her neck again, and closing one eye as she continued. “In college though, I went through a bit of a growth spurt, and I put on quite a bit of muscle. Suddenly I was throwing in the low 80’s, and then the mid-80’s, and then we were winning national titles. Plus, I'm a left handed pitcher, and one of the things that’s always made me competitive is that I can throw an extremely accurate knuckleball, which is a pretty rare pitch to master. It’s hard for batters to hit, even though it’s a slow pitch. Tim Wakefield threw his at about 68 mph.”

“How fast is yours?”

Lexa winked at her confidently. “It tops out around 80, and my fastball is about 5 mph faster than Wakefield’s. Anyway, after that first national title, Junior year, I really though I was going to get drafted. When I didn’t…” Lexa paused and exhaled a hard breath, “and it was pretty clear why I didn’t, I got really angry for a while. By then, I knew I was talented enough that I should have been drawing interest, and it really bothered me that I had been passed up because I was a woman. I was almost ready to quit after that.”

“But you didn’t stay angry?” Clarke searched the athletes face for signs of emotion, but found only clam resolve.

“No. Eventually, I realized how much playing had given me. I’d made lifelong friends, picked up good values, learned excellent work ethic, and gotten to go to college, all while playing a game that I loved. Plus, I’d proven that I could compete and excel amongst my peers, and opened a few doors for other girls. I decided to play my Senior season, and not worry about whether or that would be the last stop for me. By the time we won the second national title, I had made my peace with it, and I was excited to be going out on a high note. Then, somebody told me that I had been included in the draft, and I was stunned. I mean, honestly I assumed that even with that, I still wouldn’t be picked.”

The reporter smiled. “But you were.”

Lexa grinned, preparing to recite what amounted to her favorite statistic in history. “38th round, 1,139th overall.”

Clarke laughed a little at how fast Lexa had been able to rattle of her draft numbers. “Know those by heart, huh?”

Lexa smiled back at her. “Lady, if I make the majors, I’m going to have those numbers inscribed on my tombstone. I’m proud to be a long shot.”

Lexa glanced down at her watch, surprised to realize that the time had gotten away form them. “Shit.”

Clarke stopped writing. “Something wrong?”

Lexa stood, offering the woman an apologetic smile. “Hey, I’m really sorry but I have to head back upstairs to go over game tapes with the coaches.”

Clarke searched her notes nervously, fully aware that she hadn’t gotten half the questions she’d been assigned to ask answered yet. “But, we haven’t even talked about your time in the farm system yet. Can’t you stay for a few more minutes.”

Lexa gave Clarke a sympathetic look, grabbing her water bottle off the table. “I’m sorry but I really can’t. If a player is late the whole team does wind sprints, and I don’t want to make enemies on this team before we even start the season.”

“Do you have more time later in the day?”

Lexa shrugged as she headed for the door. “Honestly today is a busy day. When is your deadline?”

Clarke grimaced. “Tomorrow afternoon.”

Lexa shrugged, her body already halfway through he door. “I guess you could give your number to one of the managers. We can try to finish this over the phone if I have a free moment this afternoon.”

Clarke nodded, disappointedly. “Yeah, ok.”

With the, Lexa disappeared through the doorway, reappearing a moment later with a smug look on her face. “Have dinner with me.”

“What?”

Lexa gave her a cocky but sheepish grin, biting her lower lip. “What if you had dinner with me? Tonight, so we can finish the interview.”

Clarke hesitated to speak, allowing the notion to marinate in her head. “You mean, like a date?”

Lexa winked at her smugly. “Sure, if you insist on calling it that.”

Clarke balked. “I didn’t…”

Before she could finish Lexa raised a hand to cut her off. “Look, it’s the only time I’m not doing anything, and you need to get all your questions answered. Plus, you still owe me an answer as to why you don’t like baseball.”

Clarke sighed, shooting the pitcher an exhausted look. “Fine, but it’s…”

“A date, I know. But, only since you insist on calling it that.”

Clarke screwed up her face in annoyance, as Lexa disappeared again, reappearing a second time to finalize the details. “Bella Napoli at eight, ok?” She disappeared a second later, not waiting for an answer.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, dashing into the hallway as the pitcher headed for the stairs to the clubhouse. “It’s not…”

Lexa turned back quickly, a mischievous smile on her face. “Casual, I get it! You want it to be a date!”

Clarke covered her eyes with her hand, groaning in frustration as the Lexa disappeared from view.

______________________________________

Lexa stared at the checkered table cloth and shuffle her feet, fiddling with her blouse compulsively. She gazed down at her outfit, considering for the hundredth time that evening if she should have worn something different. Lexa had chosen a silky, v-neck blouse, black jeggings, a black leather jacket and matching ankle boots. Her hair was down, tamed and straightened for once, and her face betrayed the subtlest hint of makeup. She’d gone over the look at least ten times before leaving her apartment, decided it was exactly the right combination of dressy and nonchalant. Now though, she worried that the ensemble made her look like she was trying too hard, and she wondered if she wouldn’t have been better off not dressing up at all. After all, what if Clarke showed up in a t-shirt and jeans? The thought the embarrassment that scenario would cause only worsened Lexa’s nerves.

To make matters worse, she was early. In fact, she was remarkably early, even for someone who made it a point to arrive fifteen minutes ahead of time to everything. When the hostess had made note of it, Lexa had dismiss her premature arrival as the byproduct of poor timing. The truth however, was that Lexa had forced herself out the door of her tiny, rented room a full forty five minutes early, afraid that the longer she waited, the more likely she would be to back out of the dinner all together.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. Though she could hardly be described as shy when it came to women, moments of cocky abandon were rather rare for the young pitcher. In the aftermath of her impromptu suggestion of dinner, the full weight of what Lexa had done finally began sinking in for her, and soon she was confronted with the reality that she had asked out a woman who was, for all she knew, completely uninterested in her. Sitting alone at the tiny restaurant table, Lexa found herself wondering if Clarke would bother showing up at all. When she really though about it, the reporter hadn’t actually said yes to the invitation, though in all fairness, she hadn’t said no either… at least not specifically. Resigned to the knowledge that she might well be eating alone, Lexa sighed, checking her watch. The long hand on the dial pointed ominously at a tick mark just to the left of 12. “7:58,” Lexa thought, “home stretch.”

“I think the reservation is under Woods.”

Lexa, pulse quickened when she overheard the sound of Clarke’s voice.

“Right this way ma’am.”

She readjusted her top one more time, and stood, watching as the hostess appeared around the corner, the reporter in tow. Lexa’s breath caught in her through when she saw Clarke. She was wearing a light green dress. It wasn’t fancy, or showy, or even particularly sexy, but it was a dress, and and Clarke looked beautiful in it. Her hair was up, pulled back with a few loose strands framing her face and earrings, and between the subtle makeup and the mood lighting, Clarke’s skin appeared to be glowing. She was radiant, there was no other word for it. Lexa waited until the hostess had seated Clarke and placed two menu’s on the table before she settled back into her chair. She could barely contain her smile as she gazed at the woman across from her.

“You wore a dress.”

“I did.”

Lexa smiled, winking. “And you said it wasn’t a date.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Well,” Clarke shifted in her seat, smiling smugly as she peered over at Lexa. “To be honest this is the first times anyone’s asked me out since I moved here.” She shrugged. “Date or not, its nice to have a reason to dress up.”

“But it’s not a date?”

“I’m a journalist. I don’t date people I’m profiling.”

Lexa smirked. “Well, date or not, you look beautiful.”

“Don’t push your luck” Clarke tried her hardest to look and sound stern, though Lexa couldn’t help but noticed the way her cheeks flushed, or how the reporter couldn’t quite look her in the eye as she spoke.

Forty minutes later Lexa was laughing over red wine and bites of puttanesca as Clarke animatedly related a story the first article she worked on for her college paper.

“I was so humiliated, it was terrible! The Senior editor literally took a red pen and crossed out ever other page. My whole article ended up getting reduced to a paragraph and a half.”

Clarke took a sip of her wine, and smiled softly. “You know we really should get to the rest of my interview questions.”

“Damn, and we were just beginning to talk so nicely.” Lexa grinned, setting down her fork. “Shoot.”

“I promise I’ll make it as painless as possible.” Clarke smiled apologetically, pulling a pen and a small note pad from her pulse, and leaning into the table as she reviewed a bullet list of questions. “We’ll go slow. I never actually got you to state your full name, so why don’t we stat with that.

“Like, middle name and everything?”

“Sure”

“Lexa Jane Woods.”

“Lexa isn’t short for something?”

“Nope. My parents kids of had this theme for all their kids, short first names and a middle name that started with J.

“And how many of you are there exactly… Kids in your family I mean?”

“Three. Besides me there’s my twin broth Levi Joe, who’s older by six minutes, and my younger brother, Aden Jay, who’s fourteen.”

Clarke nodded. “So you're the only girl?”
Lexa nearly spit her wine out as she attempted to hold in belly laugh that Clarke’s question elicited. She covering her mouth with her hand and forced herself to swallow, her eyes watering as she forced back her giggles. “That’s a major understatement! I’m actually the only daughter in my entire family, like… with cousins and everything. My mom was an only child, but my dad, Joe, has four brothers Frank, Jim, Tom and Eddie. Frank has four sons, Tom has five, and Jim and Eddie both have three. Plus Levi and Aden that’s seventeen boys in all, and I was the only girl.

“Goodness… That seems like way too much testosterone for one family!” Clarke’s eyes were wide as she pictured what the Woods family gatherings must look like. “You parent’s must have been excited when they found out you were going to be a girl.”

“Actually my mother had no idea she was pregnant with twins.”

Lexa held out her glass as a waiter appears to refill their wine. “Apparently, every time they gave her an ultrasound I was hiding behind my brother, and our heartbeats were in sync. The day we were born, all of my uncles and aunts showed up at the hospital to meet the new baby. When got to my mother’s room she was sitting in bed holding Levi, but my father had his back to them. Then he turned around and everyone saw that he was hold me. Our family was completely stunned. After we were born it kind of became this running joke. Uncle Frank always says that the Woods women wanted another girl around so badly that they conspired to sneak me in under the radar.”

“Was it hard growing up with so many boys and no other girls?”

Lexa cocked a half smile, shaking her head. “Honestly, not really. It was fun. I was always a big tomboy, so it kind of fit right in. Besides when I did want female companionship or to do something girlie, I had my mom and every single one of my aunts vying to spend time with me.”

Lexa couldn’t help but smile as memories of her aunts doting floated through her mind. “They were always there any time I needed advice about girl stuff, and if I was feeling out of sorts about being the “odd man out” so to speak, they would all show up at my parents place, and we’d end up having a girls night and watching movies. They were the best.”

As she listened to Lexa describe her family, Clarke couldn’t help but feel envious. Her own childhood was certainly a stark contrast to the one Lexa was describing.

“What about you?”

Clarke looked up, finally pulled form her thoughts. “What?”

“What about your family? Do you have siblings?”

“Oh, no. It’s pretty much always just been me and my mom.”

The reporter smiled, shrugging off the awkwardness of the conversation. She peered down at her notes again, finding where she’d left off. “So, this will be your first season in Savannah. Before making it here, how many other teams did you play with.”

Lexa puffed out her cheeks and rolled her eyes to the top of her head contemplatively. “Let’s see. Technically, this is my fourth promotion in the minors, but I also played in a Mexican winter league, so five I suppose.”

“Has that meant a lot of moving around?”

Clarke’s question was met with a dramatic eye roll form the pitcher. “You have no idea!” Lexa began rattling off the list of places she’d been. My first year was split between Tampa, Florida and Pulaski, Virginia. From there, I did half a season in Staten Island and moved to Charleston, South Carolina. After that it was Mexico City, and now here. I've actually moved more then most college draftees because I debuted so far down in the farm system.”

Clarke tilted her head to the side quizzically as she wrote down all of Lexa's moves. “Why is that?”

“Old fashioned coaches getting in the way of progressive management.” Lexa wiped sauce for the corner of her mouth, and pretend to look over the desert menu. Her slow progression through the farm system was one of her least favorite subjects, and one of the few that could elicit an extreme response from her. She could barely talk about it without loosing her temper.

“I was signed by the Yankees. Travis Vaughn, the General Manager, was really enthusiastic about pursuing me, but their Field Manager, Bert Tisi… He’s kind of a dinosaur.”

Lexa could feel the heat in her cheeks as she spoke and felt her temper rising. She flipped over the desert menu, eying the mixed drinks and allowing herself a moment to cool down.

“I’ve met with Vaughn when I was playing in Tampa, and he told me on the sly that Tisi’s not a fan of the idea of having a female player. From what I understand, he made sure I started as far down in the farm system as possible. Quality of life in the minors is pretty bad, and it gets worse the further down the pipeline you go. I think he assumed I’d get frustrated and quit.”

Clarke could tell that she’d touched on a sore spot for the pitcher. She watched as the brunette fiddled with the menu, realizing the subtext of everything Lexa had just said. Here was a young athlete who was talented and deserving, and there were really obstacles standing in her way, obstacles that had been put there intentionally.

“Could he prevent you from advancing to the next level?”

Lexa looked up from the menu, and smirked. “Not if I have anything to say about it. The next level up is Double-A. In terms of player potential, High-A to Double-A is the most significant jump you can make in the minor leagues. You don’t get there unless you have a real shot at the making it to the show. When I get there,” she paused, “and I will get there…”

Lexa leaned over, staring at Clarke with all the intensity of a freight train. “Then people are really going to see what I can do.”

“And after that, the All-Star game and the Cy Young award, right?”

Lexa rolled her eyes. “Please… I’ll just be happy to keep doing what I love.”

Clarke placed her pen down, crossing her arms over the table top. “How do you manage to be so sure of yourself without being arrogant?”

Lexa pursed her lips, considering the statement seriously for a moment. “I know I have the talent. I wasn’t always sure, but I’ve been in the minors for a little over two years and I’ve struck out guys that are playing in the major now. I’ve gone over my numbers again and again. I know I have what its takes, I just need people to notice me so I can make the next jump, and prove myself. So, I work hard. I come earlier, I train harder, and I stay later. I train on weekend. I spend holidays at training clinics. I don’t have an off season. All I do is train.”

“That sounds like it doesn’t leave much time for a personal life.” Clarke sipped her wine and shot the ballplayer a knowing look.

“I’ll admit, this is the first time I’ve been out in a while.”

“What’s a while?”

Lexa considered the question, mulling over the last time she’d shared dinner and drinks with a woman that wasn’t related to her. She wracked her brain, dredging up a few vague memories of a red-headed bartender in Tampa, and a thickly-accented sorority girl from Staten Island, who wore too much makeup, and had fake fingernails.

“About a year ago.”

Clarke didn’t respond immediately. She stared at Lexa pensively, before downing the last sip of her wine and leaning towards the brunette.

“Do you wanna get out of here?”

“What?”

“Come on. I’m taking you out.”

“On a date?” Lexa held up her hand for the check, and handed the waitress a card as she walked by.

“It’s not a date.” Clarke rolled her eyes and offered a few bills to Lexa who waived them away. “But, I am forcing you to go out with me.”

“”Clarke, I have to be up early for training.”

“On a Saturday?”

Clarke knocked Lexa’s and out of the way as the check was returned, slipping a few bills in for a tip, and placing the billfold not the table.

“Lexa, it’s Friday night, and I am already in this dress. It would be a shame to waste it. Besides, I need to blow off steam from my terrible job, and you need a night out, so we’re going dancing.”

“Wait… What?”

Before Lexa knew what was happening Clarke had grabbed her hand and leading her out the door of the restaurant and hailing a cab.

______________________________________

It wasn’t the Lexa didn’t like dancing. Lexa loved dancing, and when she was alone, in the tiny apartment she shared with three of her teammates, she wasn't half bad at it. This was a club however, it was loud, and crowded, and held million sets of eyes that all felt fixed on her, waiting to judge. Her heart pounded in her chest as Clarke dragged her further into the sea of people, all swaying to the rhythm of some terrible electronic dance beat.

“Come on, there’s more space over there!”

Clarke flashed a smile as she looked back, pulling Lexa in a new direction. Clarke’s smile was hypnotizing, and though every thought in Lexa’s head protested what was about to happen, she allowed herself to be lead towards the small break in the crowd. The beat of the music changed as a new song started, and the blonde dropped Lexa’s wrist, grinning excitedly. She bounced up an down on her toes, the flush in her cheeks a tell-tale sign that the two rounds of shots they’d had upon arriving had done their job.

“I love this song!”

Clarke moved to the rhythm of the music, her arms raised slightly above her head, her hips rocking back and forth to the beat. When the chorus hit, she smiled from ear to ear, closing her eyes, and loosing herself completely in the music. Lexa watched the girl, mesmerized by the sway of her hips and the way her lips mouthed the lyrics, pressing together and pouting as they formed the words without making a sound. In that moment, in the dim lights of the club, Lexa swore she’d never seen anything more beautiful.

When Lexa felt Clarke’s grab her hand, her heart nearly stopped beating. Clarke pulled Lexa towards her, a mischievously look on her face as she yelling over the roar of the crowd.

“Dance with me!”

Lexa swallowed hard, making each step forward as slow as possible to buy time.

“Right here? In front of everyone?”

This elicited an eye roll. Impatient, Clarke tugged the reluctant girl forward, until only a few inches were left between them. She wrapped her hands around the back of Lexa’s neck, smirking triumphantly.

“Yes. Right here. In front of everyone.”

Lexa could feel the heat radiating off of Clarke’s skin as she took half step forward, placing a hand gently on the small of the reporter’s back. Clarke leaned in, pressing their body’s together ever so slightly, and Lexa heart began to race a million miles a minute. The warmth of Clarke’s breath against her neck sent electrical currents down her spine and made her skin tingle. The subtle smell of perfume and skin lotion drifted off the tiny blonde was intoxicating, and it overwhelmed Lexa’s senses. She was nervous, and dizzy, and entirely too aware that her palms were sweating, but somehow, Lexa managed to find Clarke’s rhythm and match it.

She fought back her nerves as she pulled Clarke’s closer, and wrapped her remaining hand around the girl’s waist, moving their body’s in time to the beat of the music. Their bodies were flush now, and Lexa was surprised by how natural it felt, and how well they seemed to fit together. One song began to blend into another until Lexa had lost track of time completely. She didn’t realize how long they’d been dancing like that until the lights in the club began to blink, announcing last call.

Clarke looked up at the brunette with a soft, contentedly smiled. We should probably get out of here now if we want to bet the rush.” She pushed a few strands of slightly sweaty hair away from her face, fanned face; flushed form the heat of the dance floor. “Do you want to grab a cup of coffee before we call it a night? My place is right around the corner, and there’s a food truck that usually parks nearby.”

Lexa just nodded, happy to do whatever Clarke suggested as long as it didn’t involve the night ending.

______________________________________

Twenty minutes later, coffees in hand, they made their way down quiet, tree lines streets that Clarke seemed to know by heart. Lexa stole glances at he blonde as she walked beside her in the cool darkness of the early morning. There was something much more relaxed and natural about this version of Clarke, hair disheveled, face flushed from drinks and dancing. She seemed so much more contented and carefree.

“You know Clarke, for someone who just moved here you seem to know your way around the city pretty well.”

“Mmh-hmm,” Clarke nodded and took a delicate ip of her coffee. “That’s because I used to spend my summers here. My father lived here in the off se… When he wasn’t working.”

Lexa’s eyebrow raised as she considers the statement. “He didn’t work year round?”

They strode to a stop in front of the stairs to an old, brick apartment building. Lexa took in the surroundings, forgetting her question as she realized that they had reached their destination.

“Clarke… Is this where you live?”

The Blonde nodded, sipping her coffee shyly, clearly a bit embarrassed.

Lexa smiled, a tiny bit jealous, but more impressed than anything. “That internship must be working out pretty well.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, blushing a bit, and biting her lip. “Actually, they overwork me and pay me next to nothing. I’m staying in my father’s old apartment.”

“He’s not using it?”

“Well, I mean it would be hard for him to. He died,” Clarke looked at her feet as she continued, “when I was twelve.”

Lexa was immediately sorry she asked the question, and floundered for an appropriate response. “Clarke, I’m so so…”

The reporter waved her hand, bringing her gaze back up to Lexa. “Stop. Please. You don’t have to do the whole ‘I’m sorry thing.’ It was a long time ago and I’m totally fine with it. Honestly, he and I weren’t that close. I really didn’t even see him that much the last few years before he died.”

For a few moments, a deafening silence lingered between the two girls. Clarke sat on the steps and continued to drink her coffee silently. Lexa finally took a seat next to the girl, and waited for her to continue, whenever she was ready.

“Anyway, he left the apartment to me. I was going to sell it when I graduated Columbia, maybe use the money to help me with my first few years working in NYC, but then the only job I got offered was down here. It ended up working out pretty well I suppose.”

Lexa nodded solemnly. “Is it ok if I ask why you weren’t close with your dad?”

Clarke shrugged, finishing her coffee and setting the cup down on the steps. “We were thick as thieves when I was younger, but you know… His work was his life and it took him all over. He traveled a lot; changed cities. I don’t think parenting was really his strong suit, but that’s ok. I had a great mom so… It is what it is.”

Clarke narrowed her eyebrows. “Hey Woods, I’m suppose to be interviewing you, not the other way around.”

Lexa put her arms up defensively. “Ok. Ok. A few more more questions and then we should probably call it a night.”

The blonde rested her head in her hands and considered the young pitcher sitting next to her thoughtfully. “What about your parents?”

Lexa smiled nostalgically, happy to talk about two of the people she missed most in the world. “Is this off the record or on?”
Clarke yawned, brushing at the loose strands of hair that kept falling in her face. “Off.”

“Dad’s a master plumber who own’s his own company. Actually, he was almost a ballplayer himself. He was scouted in high school but he blew out his knee in training camp. That’s how he met my mother, she’s a nurse.”

“And your brothers, are they both hot shot athletes too?”

“Levi was great in high school. He probably could have gotten a scholarship if his grades had been just a little better, but he was never really interested in doing the college thing. He’s finishing up a journeyman program right now. He wants to take over the family business when our dad retires.”

“And what about Aden?”

“Oh man, he’s a total genius. He’s definitely the smart one out of all of us. He’s only a Sophomore, but he’s already taking AP classes. He’s also a big geek. He loves comic books and sci-fi and he’s an amazing musician. He’s a really great kid.”

Clarke laughed. “Didn’t get the athlete gene though?”

Lexa shrugged. “Well… Honestly, it would be hard to know. He’s been in a wheelchair since he was born.”

Clarke covered her mouth with her hand, afraid she’d deeply offended Lexa. “Oh my g… Lexa, I’m so sorr…”

Lexa held up her hand and shook her head, smiling at Clarke understandingly. “Hey, hey… Clarke, it’s ok. You had no idea.”

“How did…”

“Spina Bifida.”

Clarke nodded, unsure of what to say. “That must be really hard.”

“Actually, I think my family handles it really well. We’re sort of a glass is half full kind of family. The only big obstacle are the medical bills. My parents have pretty good insurance, but it adds up, even so. I try to send money home when I can, to help.”

“Is that one of the reasons you want to make it to the majors, so you can help take care of him?”

Lexa smiled, pushing a loose strand of hair behind Clarke’s ear without thinking. Realizing how intimate the gesture was she pulled her hand away a moment later, laughing nervously. “Not the biggest reason but it’s definitely a reason. Honestly though, with that big brain of his, I think one day Aden is probably going to be making more than any of us. I just want him to have whatever he needs until then.”

Clarke gazed at Lexa affectionately, her temple still tingling where the pitcher had just brushed her hair away. “You’re kind of a good guy-athlete cliche. You know that right?”

“Wait until I tell you where I grew up.”

Clarke leaned in, folding her forearms over her knees and waiting expectantly. “Do tell.”

“Cooperstown.”

Clarke bit her lips together, barely containing her laughter. “You’re telling me that the next big pitching phenom grew up in the birthplace of baseball?”

Lexa nodded smuggle.

“You know Lexa, you’re kind of too good to be true.”

Clarke rose from the steps, stretching her arms above her head. “I think it’s that time of night.”

Lexa pushed herself up, making her way down the steps and turning back at the bottom, staring at Clarke a just little to long. “I guess I should get going.”

Clarke descended to the last stair, hovering just above the pitcher, their bodied inches apart. “I had fun tonight. Thank you for coming dancing with me.”

Lexa grinned wickedly. “What’s a date for?”

Clarke leaned forward, closing the gap between them until her lips were lingering just in front of Lexa’s. The brunette’s heart began racing as she felt Clarke’s hand cup her cheek, and the scent of her perfume filled her nostrils. Lexa closed her eyes, waiting for the kiss, though it never came. Instead Clarke leaned in a little further, putting her lips to Lexa’s ear as she whispered, “It’s not a date.”

Finally Clarke pulled back, leaving the stunned girl at the bottom of the steps dumbstruck. “My article should come out in the Sunday edition. Will you read it?”

“I’ll be on the road. We have our season opener Sunday, in Myrtle Beach.”

“That’s ok. You can read it online.”

Lexa gave Clarke a loopy smile, still intoxicated from the perfume in her nostrils and the feeling of Clark’s hand on her cheek. “Yeah… Yeah, ok.”

Clarke leaned in, giving Lexa a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek. “Thanks again for a great night. Good luck on the road!” With that, the reporter was up the steps and through the apartment door, leaving the young pitcher in stunned silence, her hand pressed to the spot where Clarke’s lips had just ghosted over his skin.