Stepping into the batter's box, I could feel my heart pounding against my chest. The crowd screamed as I pawed the ground, took my stance, and stared directly into the pitcher's eyes. I was ready.

"Carissa, let's go." My daydream evaporated at the sound of my mother's voice.

"What?" Stepping out of the batting box and back into reality, I yelled, "I'm coming."

After settling into the backseat of the van, my twelve-year-old adrenalin-charged mind returned to the game of baseball. It was always the same dream; me standing in the batting box, holding the bat, the pitcher winding up, the ball spinning through the air, and then, I swing my bat, connecting with the ball, and it's going, going, gone, over the fence. The crowd roars as I circle the bases, reveling in the power of my bat.

"Did any of the other girls signup for the team?" My mother always interrupted my dream, but today, my dream was about to become a reality. A few weeks ago, the Boys and Girls Club had posted a signup sheet for their baseball team. Without a moment's hesitation, I signed my name to the roster.

"There were quite a few at the try-outs, but I don't know who made it." Unlike most girls, I wasn't afraid to play with the boys; I just wanted to play.


As our van pulled into the parking lot, I could hardly contain my excitement. Almost before the van came to a complete stop, I jumped from the van, grabbed my new equipment bag, and yelled. "Hurry up, Mom. You're too slow."

The adrenalin coursed through my body. The drum roll of my pounding heart announced my presence as I hurried through the gates; of course, no one else could hear it but me, but I reveled in the moment. 'Let's play ball' was the only tune playing.

Coach Dan walked out of the dugout and waved at Mom and me. Having coached my little league team for three years, he'd been pleased when he'd seen my name on the sign-up sheet. "Carissa, grab your glove and have your mom put your bag over there. We're just about to choose teams."

I hadn't paid much attention to the other players until I approached the pitching mound. My eyes scanned the group. I recognized John, Terry, and Lamont from swimming. Jacob and Jason were in my tumbling class. I spun around and checked out the playing field. Reality slapped me in the face.

I was the only girl amidst a sea of snickering twelve-year-old boys.


A trickle of sweat ran down my back, but my game face said I was here to play. Most of them ignored me, acting as if I was invisible. A few went for the jugular.

"This ain't no powder puff team. What's she doing here?"

"Pffff ... I'm not even going to worry about her. One fastball pitch, and she'll be gone."

"This isn't little league, little girl. You'll be crying to your momma before you know it."

"Forget her. I came to play ball."

"Yeah, let's show her how guys play the game."

Coach Dan picked Jacob and Terry as Team Captains. They strutted around like peacocks, acting as if they were the next Derek Jeter or Sammy Sosa. As they started choosing team players, it was obvious neither of them wanted a girl on their team. The other boys stepped away, leaving me standing alone. Squaring my shoulders and standing as tall as I could, I appeared to be unscathed by their sneering and snickering. For one fleeting moment, I wondered if I was naive in believing I could compete with these boys, but just as quickly, my competitive spirit chanted, "Bring it on!"

After Terry chose the last boy, Jacob's shoulders sagged, knowing he was stuck with a girl on his team. Annoyed, he pointed at me and then joined the other guys in the dugout.

As I entered the pit, I could feel their eyes drilling holes through my body. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes, so I bit my lip until it bled, refusing to show any sign of weakness. Finding a spot to sit at the end of the bleachers, I closed my eyes, remembering those long days of batting practice, standing alone in that cage, swinging the bat until I couldn't swing it anymore. I took a deep breath and exhaled. This was my dream; no stupid boy was going to take it away from me either.

My first two times at bat were disastrous; I struck out. Sitting on the bench, I silently chastised myself for succumbing to a fit of nerves just because some horrible smelly boys thought they were better than I was. This had been my big chance, and I failed miserably.

"What's up, Carissa?" I recognized Coach Dan's voice. I couldn't look him in the eye, so I just shrugged my shoulders. "Not giving up, are you?"

"I blew it! Played like some sissy girl and struck out twice." I was angry with myself.

"Yeah, you did. Never known you to feel sorry for yourself, though." When I didn't respond, he added, "Why don't you go out there and show them who you really are?"

He patted my shoulder and walked away, leaving his words rattling in my head. The other team was screaming like banshee Indians; they'd just scored two more runs. We were losing four to one.

"Yeah, if she hadn't struck out, we might have scored."

"I was on second base. If Paul had batted, I'd probably have made it home."

They didn't even care that I could hear them, not that they didn't have a right to be mad. Everyone plays to win, and they needed a scapegoat; I was it!

"Carissa, you're up next." Coach Dan called out. As I stood up, I sensed more than heard their obvious disappointment. Bases were loaded with two outs; I wasn't who they wanted to see step into that batter's box.

I could feel my knees knocking as I picked up the bat and walked to the plate. The other team moved closer to the infield, several of them yelling about an easy out. My palms were sweating, and I rubbed them against my jersey before stepping up to the plate. From the corner of my eye, I could see my team packing their gear.

"Easy out."

"Come on, Derek. Three pitches, and the game is our's."

"She can't hit anything."

Their remarks stung, but not as much as the one that rang out from my own dugout, "We'll get you guys next time." They'd already admitted defeat.

Perspiration bubbled above my lip, and my brain screamed at every one of them. The games not over yet, guys, you'll see. You're going to eat those words!

The pitcher took his stance, checking the runners on first, second, and third. Not one of them was in a leadoff position. Coach yelled something from the sidelines. I didn't hear what it was, but their attitude changed immediately.

The pitcher smiled at his teammates, preparing for another strikeout. Winding up, I watched as his first pitch flew across the base.

"Strike one!"

The pitcher laughed, tossing the ball in his hand. My teammate on third base shook his head, jamming his spikes into the dirt. I straightened my back and took my place at the plate, swinging the bat a couple of times. The pitcher wound up, sending the ball across the plate at 65 mph.

"Strike two!"

My team was sitting, huddle together on the bench, waiting for the next strike. No one of them yelled or called out a word of encouragement. I'd been given a chance to live my dream, and I was about to blow it. Every arrogant boy watching me sweat in that batting box was silently saying, "I told you so."

Coach Dan walked out to the batting box. My eyes focused on the ground, ashamed to look at him. His voice was low, soft, and encouraging, "You can do this! Now's the time to prove it."

That was all. He didn't yell, look upset, or even discouraged; he just said those few words and walked back to the dugout. Everyone had me counted out, including myself, but not Coach.

I stepped back into the batter's box, knowing he was right. If you wanted something bad enough, you had to be willing to work for it. Now was my chance, do or die. I either proved I could do it, or I let my dream slip away. It was up to me.

I took my stance, took a couple of practice swings, and stared at the pitcher, daring him to give me the best he had. Confident of an out, he wound up and released the ball, sending it sailing toward home plate. An eerie silence hung over the field.

My eyes never left the ball. The pitch was perfect. Swinging, my bat connected and splintered, sending the leather missile through the air. Going, going, gone - it flew over the outfield fence. As I circled the bases, I was sure I had wings on my feet. Ecstatic teammates were crowding the home plate as I crossed it. My heart exploded!

Not only had I hit the one and only home run of the day, but I'd hit a grand slam to win the game. Every snickering and sneering face was gone, replaced by shock, excitement, and respect.

"Way to go, Carissa."

"Fooled them, didn't you."

"Knocked it right out of the park."

"You can be on my team anytime."

With the crack of the bat, I instantly became one of the boys. It was the best day of my life. I had no way of knowing I would go on to bigger and better things, but at that moment, I didn't care. I had proven I belonged!