“Y’all leave her alone.” You tried to quiet the commentary about little miss “vanilla mocha latte” or whatever the hell Leti called her. They acting like it’s their first time seeing a white girl before. Still, you smirked because the jokes were landing a little.

You stood in uniform, running tryouts alongside your co-captain, Camille, Leti, and Kirresha. You had roughly fifty attendees to burn through for cuts, only planning to keep twelve, maybe fifteen if they’re really good basemen.

You eyed little latte, she was every bit of Barbie as Barbie could get. Blue eyes, blonde hair, petite with a sprinkle of hip but not too much because they get all up in arms about a pound or two. And to top it all off, she had on that pink velour tracksuit. Yep, Barbie.

The two of you made brief eye contact, as one who’s deeply in their head would do. Camille began to teach the routine, purposefully fast to knock the weakest off their rocker. You, Kirresha, and Leti combed through candidates, tapping the ones you were dismissing, eyeing those that seemed promising. You two locked eyes again, this time, hers seemed to follow you, but she didn’t lose her step. Even further, she remixed the routine, as if she had a point to prove to Camille when the latter got in her face to assert herself.

“That’s enough.” You interjected. Both parties looked at you but you could care less. “We’re gonna start running tumbles. If you can’t, too bad, get off the mat and wait by the bleachers.” Camille scoffed a little, backing off, Britney shot you a quick thank you glare before joining the others that can tumble.