Coach Keenan’s not into it. He’s looking between us with this dubious kind of smile, obviously trying to be polite, but seriously not considering Dad’s request.

Lifting his baseball cap, he scratches his forehead and then repositions the tattered red Angels cap on his head.

“I’m sorry to tell you this, Chief Barlow, but we’ve never had girls play on our team.”

“Well, I’m glad I can be here to see it happen for the first time.”

The coach’s glare tries to bore through Dad’s smile, but it’s got no hope. My Dad’s like a freaking redwood when he wants to be.

I nudge his arm with my elbow. “It’s fine, Dad. Let’s just go.”

“No, it’s not fine, Maddie. Milo Carter promised me that you girls could play ball here and you will. Now, since there’s no girls’ team, you’ll just have to join the Pitbulls.”

That’s their mascot. A vicious dog.

Take me back to Ohio! I want my old team back.

I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here! I don’t want—

The shouting in my brain is cut short by the sight of four guys strolling towards us. They’re a mix of builds and looks—one short black guy with broad shoulders and a cheesy white smile, a tall skinny Asian who looks pretty serious, this pale-faced guy with angular features and a mop of sandy curls. And then there’s the tallest one. Dark hair, blue eyes, that perfect triangular-shaped torso. Hot damn, he is fine!

I immediately look away from him, deciding then and there that I am so not interested. Hot guys are stupid. I figured that out before I even hit high school. They’re so busy worrying about their looks and scoring pretty girlfriends that they don’t care about anything that actually matters. That’s why I got together with Patrick. He’s intelligent. We could talk about current affairs, school, politics—things that were meaningful.

What’s the bet these jocks strutting towards us are interested in nothing more than baseball and having a good time?

So.

Not.

Interested.

My traitorous gaze steals one more glance at the tall one before I force my eyes to survey the diamond. It looks in okay condition. I can already see myself behind home plate, crouching down to catch whatever the pitcher’s going to throw at me.

“The entire league is boys only. I can’t think of one team we’re going to play this season that has any girls on it. I’m sorry, Chief Barlow, but Mayor Carter shouldn’t have promised you this. I just don’t think we can make it work.”

“Coach Keenan.” Dad crosses his arms, which is a tactic he’s been using my whole life. It makes his large muscles bulge a little bigger and adds to his power in this weird way I can’t explain. When Dad crosses his arms, you know to back the hell down, because you’re not winning that round.

“Y-yes,” the shorter man replies.

“Are there any written rules stating that girls are not allowed to play on a high school baseball team?”

“Uh…” The coach blinks a couple of times, then lifts his cap and does some more head scratching. “Well, uh…” After a soft sigh, he shakes his head and admits, “No.”

“Great.” Dad drops his arms, his broad smile back in place. “Now I’m not asking for special treatment for my girls. If they’re not good enough to play, then you can keep them on the bench. But I can assure you that I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t think they had it in them. I’m not one to waste somebody’s time.”

The coach obviously appreciates Dad’s say-it-like-it-is manner and starts to nod.

“Tryouts are over,” the guy with the sandy curls pipes up. “The team’s been selected.”

I notice the catcher’s mask in his arm and internally cringe. Great. I’ll be up against him, and he’s obviously not keen on us girls joining.

This is going to be so, so fun!

Not. Not. Not!

It’s hard to deny my disappointment. If I’m one hundred percent honest with myself, I love playing baseball. I don’t really want to make a career out of it. I’m not like Max. But I was kind of hoping to finish out my high school season.

Not if it’s going to be this hard, though.

I nearly grab Dad’s arm and try to pull him away until Coach mutters, “We could use a few extra players. Let’s at least see what they can do.”

He flicks his fingers at us, clicking on his pen and asking for our names and positions.

“Maddie Barlow,” I answer. “Catcher.”

I can’t help glancing at the curly haired guy. His expression buckles with a frown while his fingers tighten around his mask.

“And you?” Coach points at Max.

Her jaw works to the side and she glances at Dad. His chest is puffing with pride already.

“I’m Max. I play shortstop.”

“And she was the best hitter in the girls’ national league. I have her stats if you want to see them. She’ll win whatever game you need her to, Coach.” Dad squeezes Max’s shoulder, acting like she’s his star player.

Which she totally is.

Max swallows and gives the coach a closed-mouth smile.

I don’t get why she’s not grinning like a monkey. Dad’s right. She’s a total game winner. She probably has more talent in her pinky finger than half the people on this field. Oh man, I can’t wait to prove these skeptical douchebags wrong.

“Chloe.” My sister steps up, her voice soft and sweet the way it always is. “I usually pitch, but I’m not too bad in the outfield either.”

“Pitch? With those skinny arms?” Coach snickers.

“She’s stronger than she looks,” I snap back, giving him a pointed glare.

He raises his eyebrows and nods. I’m obviously not as intimidating as my father, who is now finding a seat on the bleachers.

Oh man, I hope he keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t embarrass us.

“Okay, ladies. I know you’re not exactly dressed to play, but why don’t you go out there and show me what you can do.”

Well, that’s unexpected, but what are we supposed to do? Dad’s already sitting in the bleachers waiting for us to make his fight worth it, so I can’t exactly refuse because I don’t want to get my jeans dirty.

I cast a dubious eye at the field, then look to my sisters. “You ready?”

“No,” they reply in unison.

“Come on, you guys.” I force a smile and lean in to whisper, “Let’s show these jerks what Barlow sisters are really made of.”

I spin around and lock my eyes on the team who have now bunched together to stare at us like we’re monkeys at a zoo.

“What?” I scowl at them.

Their only response is a range of smirks and snickers.

The tall one’s eyes narrow my way, and then he fires a ball at me.

I catch it without thinking, gritting my teeth against the sting radiating through my palm. What a jerk, throwing a ball that hard when I don’t even have a mitt on.

I guess he didn’t expect me to catch it.

From the look on his face, he definitely didn’t.

I smirk right back at him, then throw the ball with as much power as I can. It’s a small satisfaction to hear that thunk as the ball lands in his mitt. It’s my swift reply to his asshole introduction.

Glancing back at my sisters, I notice the impressed surprise on Coach Keenan’s face. It gives me the courage to call my sisters over and hunt out some mitts and a ball.

I crouch down by the gear bag, wishing I’d brought my own mitt with me. The equipment in this bag is on death’s door. I pick up a mitt that’s been patched together with duct tape, the leather straps that used to hold it together now replaced with thick string.

“Ewww,” Chloe mumbles. “I don’t want to put my hand in one of those things. It’s probably full of all kinds of grossness. This entire bag smells like sweaty jockstraps.”

“How do you know what they smell like? You been hiding out in boys’ locker rooms without us?” Max wiggles her eyebrows while I try, and fail, to swallow my snicker.

Chloe goes bright red, letting out an indignant gasp before smacking Max’s arm.

My twin laughs, shoving a worn mitt over her hand. “Man up, sis. We can sterilize when we get home.”

Chloe makes a disgusted face and pulls out the smallest mitt she can find. I grab a baseball that I’m sure used to be white a couple of centuries ago and squeeze it in my hand.

“Come on, girls. Let’s play some ball.”