Page 180 of Left on Base

Coach Drew claps. “Alright, let’s move, ladies! Bus leaves in ten. Hydrate, check your gear, be accountable.”

Someone groans. Bags clatter. I down my protein shake and try to steady my hands. My body is buzzing—part nerves, part adrenaline, part relief from actually sleeping for once.

Brynn glances over, tentative. “You good?”

I nod. “Yeah. I’m good.” And for once, I mean it.

We’re halfway out the door when the lobby doors slide open and in walks Jaxon, flanked by King, Fork Guy trailing behind—wearing swim trunks, a Hawaiian shirt, and a neck pillow stillcovered in tiny plastic forks to match his eye patch. Jaxon’s got a duffel over his shoulder, King’s eating a donut he probably stole from the buffet, and Fork Guy is juggling three bananas, humming the Rocky theme.

Coach Drew’s eyes narrow. “Friends of yours, Cam?”

I try not to smile. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Jaxon spots me, gives a head nod, that familiar half-grin lighting up his face. King salutes me with his donut. Fork Guy yells, “GO FIGHT WIN!” and launches a banana that lands with a splat near the check-in desk. The woman behind the counter looks like she’s rethinking her life choices.

Before anyone can react, there’s a flash of orange swim trunks—Brody, the vending machine kid from last night, barrels in, pool noodle in hand.

“FORK GUY!” he shouts, like he’s seeing a celebrity.

Fork Guy beams, arms outstretched. “Brody! My dude! Ready to dominate the croissant-stacking contest?”

Brody nods, serious as a heart attack. “But first, can you tie my shoes? My mom says I’m not allowed to use the elevator alone again.”

Coach Drew pinches the bridge of his nose. “Does that kid have parents here?”

I start to answer, but Fork Guy’s already kneeling, tying Brody’s shoes with bomb-defusing precision.

“Somewhere.” Jaxon shrugs, grinning. The team watches, half in disbelief, tension loosening as Brody proudly shows off his bunny-ear laces.

Fork Guy stands, surveying the lobby like he owns it. “Alright, Camdyn’s Crew, let’s do this! Who’s ready to crush dreams and eat carbs?”

Coach Drew claps, voice slicing through the chaos. “Everyone not on the roster, out of the way. Athletes, on the bus.”

Jaxon steps forward and squeezes my hand. Quick, but it settles me. His eyes say it all: I’m here. I’m all in.

King mock-salutes as we file out. Fork Guy tries to follow us onto the bus but gets intercepted by the assistant coach, who steers him toward the buffet. Brody waves from the lobby, already halfway through a cinnamon roll.

As the doors close, Brynn nudges me, nodding toward Jaxon, Fork Guy, and King looking stunned by their own group. “That’s your circus.”

“Yeah.” I laugh, nerves morphing into excitement. “But they’re my people.”

We file out into the morning and for once, I can breathe.

The bus engine rumbles as we pull away, the city waking up beyond the windows. The team is a mix of chatter, yawns, nervous energy—someone blasts a hype playlist, Brynn braids someone’s hair two seats up. Coach Drew sits at the front, quietly scrolling scouting notes, probably plotting how to psych out the opposing pitcher with a single glare.

I press my forehead to the glass, watching Oklahoma’s flat sprawl roll by. Devon Park is somewhere out there, tucked between strip malls and chain restaurants, but today it might as well be the center of the universe.

My brain is a mess—half game plan, half daydream, half “what if I forget how to throw a curveball?” I run through my pitches: fastball, rise, drop, screw, change. I could throw them in my sleep, but suddenly I’m convinced I’ll plant my foot and launch the ball into orbit.

I picture the field—how the dirt smells after they water it, how stadium noise bounces off the dugout roof. Last year, I could barely breathe on this bus. I felt like a fraud, like everyone would realize I didn’t belong. But the truth is, I do. I always did.

Brynn leans over my seat, chewing a Twizzler. “You good?”

I nod, mouth dry. “Think so. You?”

She grins. “Only had to pee twice this morning, so yeah, crushing it.”

We both laugh, and I sink back, letting myself feel it all—the nerves, hope, and that weird, giddy joy that I get to do this one more time.

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