Chapter 3

No sane person could describe the Rejects as a 'team'. Susan, the fridge with a head, was a pretty good player, except she kept growling and thumping everyone on the field. Even players on her own team.

Someone would bump her accidentally and she'd raise her fist. "Do want me to beat the stuffing out of you? Do you? I'll beat the stuffing out of you!" she'd roar. And you had no trouble believing her.

Rosie received quite a few threats from Susan. Something about her particularly riled Susan up. Rosie would just dance off and laugh. She went to my school, so I already knew she wasn't on the same planet as other people. For a start, she was always muttering or singing to herself. In the middle of a baseball game, she'd lose interest, wander off or balance her bat on her forehead back and forth. Rosie made me laugh and she was never nasty...but I can see why she drove a lot of coaches and teammates crazy.

Melissa was so small and scrawny, you'd pick her for a twelve-year-old. It was hard to believe she was nearly eighteen. You had to watch where you were going so you didn't tread on tiny Melissa. That little girl was certainly fast though, with decent batting skills. When I first saw her sprint on the home run, I thought - yes, one good player. But two seconds later, she tripped and fell to the ground in a plume of dust.

Tonya had been a hopeless player when she was five years old. But now she was eighteen, she was even worse. Tonya's specialty was the 'air-hit' where she'd swing the bat but only connect with the air and end up landing on her bum. But the thing about Tonya was that she didn't care. She kept on staggering to her feet, still grinning. She was having a fantastic time, no matter how lousy she played. Tonya loved baseball more than anyone on the team.

And then Olive...well, I hate to say it about my best friend, but she was equally hopeless. Olive kept trying these tricky throws. She tried to throw the ball that curve, that spin, dip, duck, fly, do crazy things. But she'd always fail and sometimes hit herself in the eye. Olive got into baseball because she'd done a deal with her mom to give one sport a go. She'd stuck with it ever since.

Harper hardly ever showed up. She always came running in late to training. Her reason was she had to redo her eyeliners or her entire makeup. Her hair needed to be braided in Elsa's style or must be in nice loose waves but she couldn't find her curling iron or the right foundation. Too flustered and panicky about how she looked to concentrate on the game. Harper had wanted to be in the coed team where she could play with boys, but she was too late to register in time. That was why she'd ended up in a Reject.

Okay, so we did have a few good players. Apart from Stefanie, we had Nora. She had speed, brilliant batting skills, and fierce determination. Nora's old club never gave girls a decent chance to make the First Class. She got so mad she switched clubs. Now Nora was out to prove something. Trouble was, she got stuck with the Rejects.

Margaret was busting a gut trying to find the Rejects a coach. One guy volunteered but after an hour of trying to coach us-after an hour of Susan being scary, Stefanie being a snob, Harper being late, Rosie being weird, Nora being overenthusiastic, me being underenthusiastic, everyone arguing or playing so badly it was a pain to watch-he quit and walked off the field.

Charlotte Grace saw all this stuff happening. She came to the training every week, videotaping the star players on my Dad's team. She occasionally looked over at my team, secretly laughing at the bunch of weirdos I was in, I guessed.

Margaret found us another coach but that one lasted even short than the first.

"Margaret, I tried," said the Attempted Coach Number Two. "I cannot train that bunch of..."

Then he shook his head. He couldn't think of any adjectives appalling enough to describe us.

Attempted Coach Number Three ended up in tears after twenty minutes and Margaret had to run to the cafeteria to get a box of tissues.

Attempted Coach Number Four didn't even get out of his car after he saw our team through the windshield.

Words got around and Margaret couldn't talk anyone into taking on the Rejects. So when we faced our first pre-season game the following Saturday, the Rejects had no outfielder, no catcher, no coach, and not a hope in hell.

~*~

Pock!

A bat hitting a ball and a cheering home run echoed around the field. Pock! again. The home run kept coming. The runs by an opposition team, the Strikers, that is. Not us, the Rejects. By ten minutes into the ninth innings, the run scores were already five to none.

It was a grey drizzling day, so along the sidelines, there was a multi-colored wall of umbrellas with parents huddled underneath.

Tonya had volunteered to be the catcher since no one else would. Over and over, she missed the ball. Melissa ducked out of the way when a Striker player ran towards her. Olive kept falling over. Rosie was dancing salsa in the rain.

"What are you? A pack of dimwits or what?" squawked Stefanie as she threw her glove on the grass in disgust.

Nora and I passed the ball to each other whenever we had the chance and managed a few reasonable catches. But every time -Pock - the Strikers ran another home runs, I felt a bit more of my energy leak away.

Early in the first half, Rosie wandered off the field entirely.

"You can't walk off in the middle of the game!" said Rosie's father.

"Why not? They won't miss me," she whined.

Her dad gave her a hefty shove back onto the field.

Surprise surprise - Harper hadn't even turned up for the game. That meant we had only eight players.

I could hear the Striker players laughing like hyenas and blabbing about how pathetic we were.

"What am I doing in this team of fruit loops and cactuses?" said Stefanie.

"Actually, 'cacti' is the more common plural, " said Melissa.

"Oh, shut your face!" snapped Stefanie.

The whistle went out. Game over.

"Thank you!" she growled. "Someone get me out of here-shoot me, anything!"

We dragged ourselves off the field to the deck, rub our injuries, and feel seriously sorry for ourselves.

"How can we go back out there?" Olive said with a sigh.

"Well, I'm having fun," Tonya chirped happily.

"Yeah, for a klutz," sneered Stefanie.

I flashed her a withering look. Stefanie sneered at me but she shut up.

"Maybe we should forfeit now," Melissa suggested.

"Definitely," said Rosie.

"What do you think, Darci?" Olive asked.

"Do you agree we should give up?" added Tonya, looking sad. I looked up to see all their faces turned towards me.

"Why is everyone looking at me?" I said with a shrug. "I don't know..."

Everyone was waiting to see what my decision would be, wanting me to take charge. No way was I going to be the leader. I never wanted to be on this team. I wasn't sure I wanted to play baseball anymore.

I kept my head down, staring at the grass, but I could still feel their eyes boring into me, waiting for me to decide.

Two seconds later, I was let off the hook.

There was a noise distracting everyone - a deep thumping beat. A really loud bass sound from a car's speakers on full volume.

We scanned the parking lot and saw it. A shiny jet black Bentley. I'm not really into cars. But even I could tell that this was a seriously cool car. The music was so loud, you could feel the bass vibrating in your chest.

The jet-black Bentley swung into space and the sound system was snapped off. With the loud music gone, we could hear something else. It sounded like a lawnmower peet-puuting along.

It was Margaret's Fiat. The tiny car looked like a toy car beside the Bentley. Margaret grinned at us as she got out.

"I can't believe it! Girls...I might have found you a coach!" she said cheerfully. "Better than that - two!"