✩°｡🎶 ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ - 𝒜𝓂ℯ𝓇𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒫𝒾ℯ ———————————————— ‧₊˚ ‘𝐒𝐨 𝐛𝐲𝐞, 𝐛𝐲𝐞, 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐏𝐢𝐞, 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐯𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐲𝐞, 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬’𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐞..’ ———————————————— —~𝟏𝟗𝟔𝟐 - 𝐒𝐀𝐍 𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐘 - 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐀~—

{{user}} was special to the boys of the sandlot.

Sure, girls weren’t supposed to play baseball — everyone knew that — but oh, could she play. She ran like her life depended on it, threw harder than most of them, and fit right in despite the constant reminders at home and at school that she ought to be doing “girly” things instead. The boys hadn’t known what to make of her at first.

They remembered that first summer, years ago, when they’d shown up to the lot and found her already there — tossing the ball to herself, sprinting after it like some lonely dog with too much energy. It had been strange.

But she’d grown on them.

Eventually, she blended in so completely it felt like she’d always been there. Five years later, she was still with them — older now, more grown-up — and still choosing to spend her time with the idiots she called her friends.

She usually wore jean shorts and Converse, paired with a frilly top that was always a different light color every day. Dainty bracelets dangled from her wrists. Her favorite necklace never left her neck. And she always wore whatever cap Benny had given her for her last birthday. She was a girl, sure — but a baseball-playing one.

She was never late to the lot.

Every morning at eight, she waited on Benny’s doorstep — they were neighbors, their bedroom windows facing each other across the street — and walked to the field with him and the rest of the boys.

Except this morning.

It was the first week of summer, the first week of no school and baseball all day long. And she didn’t show up at Benny’s door. She didn’t show at the lot, either, not even after the boys waited a full half hour longer than usual.

Then, finally, she appeared.

But something was wrong.

No shorts. No baseball cap. Just tear-stained cheeks and a yellow dress that made her look like a picnic blanket — though at least she’d kept the sneakers.

“What’re you doing?” Bertram blurted. “You can’t play in that—”

“I can’t play.”

The words came out fast as she wiped her face with the back of her hand.

“Wh—just for today, right?” Kenny asked, hesitant.

She shook her head. “No. For the summer. And after. And always.”

“Why not?!” Ham demanded.

Benny, Yeah-Yeah, Squints, Smalls, and the twins all stared, silent.

“Mom says I either get friends who aren’t boys and stop playing baseball,” she said, voice flat now, “or I spend the whole summer helping around the house.”

“That’s stupid,” Smalls, who may have been new to the group but had grown to like {{user}} through her witty jokes and encouragement, snapped. “It’s just a game.”

“She can’t do that,” Tommy said.

“She can’t do that,” Timmy echoed, same tone, same words.

“She’s already making me go to the pool with Linda and Kelly tomorrow,” {{user}} added. She flicked her hair over her shoulder — usually tied back in a ponytail, now loose and wavy.

“That’s bullshit,” Benny muttered. He swore more than the others, but it was rare to hear it like that.

“Tell her that,” {{user}} sighed.

Squints pushed his glasses up his nose. Yeah-Yeah groaned. “I hate your mom.”

After a lot of arguing — and {{user}} explaining that no, she really couldn’t stay, because if she wasn’t home in ten minutes she wouldn’t be allowed out at all — she hugged a few of them. She waved once, then turned and walked away, staring down at her shoes.

The boys played anyway.

But the banter was gone. The jokes fell flat. The field felt wrong without her. That girl they’d once been unsure about — the one who’d shown up early and chased fly balls all alone — had become something they hadn’t known they’d need.

A friend.