who’s going to catch me when i (baby come home)
–catcher!paige bueckers x pitcher!azzi fudd
MAIN MASTERLIST AO3
summary: collegiate sport had a way of dragging two star prospects, a shutdown pitcher and an airtight catcher, into each other’s stratosphere. together, they had survived busted toilets, brutal training days, and national championships. but after paige sent a teammate to the hospital, concussed on a stretcher, the natural chemistry between them shifted, and suddenly the idea of making it back home no longer felt easy to reach.
tags: major jealousy, pazzi being #1 in their chosen sport wbk, down bad!paige x perfect!azzi also wbk, contributing to the wlw softball stereotype sorry not sorry, paige just internally crashes out the entire way, angst, getting together; wc: 20.8k
notes: forcing you guys to insert pazzi into a random aspects from my life once again.
r/softball
AITA for sending my teammate to the hospital?
Submitted December 15th, 2022 by u/catchermyballsac5
Let’s get one thing straight, okay. It was an accident.
Yes, I [21F] like to talk a little smack on the field. I must admit, I sometimes dabble in an unserious, non-authorized MMA-style wrestling type thing with my roommates. And sure, my dream is to hit fast spinning balls with a metal bat as hard as I can for a living. But, I swear, I’m really not a violent person. However, after a recent incident, my best friend [20F] is convinced I need to see someone for anger management and I’m about to lose my everloving mind.
For context, let’s call my best friend ‘A’. A’s been my best friend for over two years, and we’re both D1 athletes on the same team. She’s our pitcher, and I’m the catcher, and if you know anything about softball, that basically means we’re attached at the hip. We do everything together.
Yesterday in practice, instead of setting up cones with me like usual, A was off chatting and laughing with one of the new girls on the team. This is the same girl A told me I’d “really like” if I ever got to know her. Whatever. Fine. I partnered up with new girl for warmups.
We were doing that drill where partners throw a ball to each other at the same time and both have to catch. Everything was going fine, until one rep when I threw the ball and this girl just… stopped. Like fully stopped, because she wanted to talk to A again. You literally cannot stop halfway through that drill.
My ball hit her straight in the head. An ambulance ended up taking her to the hospital.
I know it’s awful, but also, you don’t just stop to chat halfway mid-drill?
So here’s where I’m struggling. Instead of understanding that this was a freak accident, A has dropped completely everything for this girl. She rode with her in the ambulance. She’s cooked meals and brought them to hospital. She spends hours there filling her in on what happened during practice. Which, sure, that’s nice. But a minor bump to the head shouldn’t mean she suddenly doesn’t have time for me. We even had to reschedule our movie night because the girl was getting out of surgery.
Now everyone on the team keeps joking about how I’m “dangerous”, which feels dramatic. It’s not even that serious, and it’s not like I beaned her on purpose. Most of all, I really don’t think this situation warrants A acting like this girl is her new dependent.
AITA for being upset about this?
TL;DR: I accidentally hit a teammate in the head so hard she had to go to hospital. Now my best friend keeps bailing on me to take care of her and I’m feeling like I’m about to rip my brains out.
Before she was ever interested in girls, or hunted down age records, or chased national championships, Paige’s first love was T-ball.
As a kid, she spent entire afternoons after school with a bucket of whiffle balls, hitting in her backyard until the moon pushed away the sun. She quickly got relocated to the bigger field after putting one too many dents in her dad’s metal fence, and immediately made the A team on her first tryout. With that swing, home runs were more of a guarantee rather than a lucky shot.
When it came to fielding, no specific position called her name straight away. At first, her school coach placed her in the outfield. Her arm was strong, and her aim wasn’t bad at all, so it all made sense on paper. But definitely not in practice.
Like in all typical younger leagues, the ball barely got hit past the pitching mound. So Paige spent most innings mucking around, dragging her co-outfielders into conversations, and doing pretty much anything but field the ball. So even for that one time it would miraculously fly their way, her teammates were always too distracted and laughing on their bellies while Paige was halfway through telling a story.
Understandably, she got moved to third base next. Still to this day, Paige refused to the moon and back that it had anything to do with her stirring up trouble in the outfield. The previous girl who manned third base got directly smacked with a hard hitter and Paige was the only one not too afraid when the coach asked who’d step in. So, honestly, it probably did come out mostly of necessity.
Third base was… okay. She wasn’t scared of being stuck in front of fast spinning balls, and her arm strength ensured she could jet them back home without any trouble. But the same problem persisted. Because of her fast shooting and sniper aim, players barely made it onto third base. In other words, the occurrence of her babysitting a runner in her territory was pretty low, which meant long stretches of standing around with nothing to do. And Paige, left to her own devices, was still the same distracting menace that coaches had yet to find an answer for.
The final straw came when she had, God knows how, managed to distract their second basemen into walking over mid pitch just to have a chat.
“Alright. I’ve had enough,” her coach barked. “You’re getting moved.”
So that was how Paige ended up here. Directly behind the plate, sweating balls in this heavy ass catcher’s vest, knee pads and helmet (like surely this was overkill at this point). And yes, her coach made her run those torturous field laps in full gear while the rest of her team laughed about their weekend in the warmdown circle. If her coach’s kids were cursed into the next century, that was not her fault.
Every day, for two straight weeks, she would complain all throughout practice to anyone who’d listen.
“Bro, I’m literally about to throw up in here. You’re gonna have to clean it up.”
“Hey, fuckface! You look big enough to be a catcher. Get over here!”
But despite her insistent nagging and constant protests, it certainly didn’t help her case that she was completely, and utterly, a natural.
She guarded the home plate vigilantly, squat in a low crouch to resemble a doberman in her all-black gear. From the top of the diamond, her arm revealed itself to be an explosive cannon when it came to stopping runners before first. And don’t even think about stealing– one too many teams learnt that the hard way.
And as she grew older, Paige developed her most unique, untraditional skill that separated her from every other catcher in the country scouts watched: her charisma.
Every game was governed by the umpire, who shadowed the diamond from the tip and wielded the power of every call with their fist. Paige caught on early that in close match-ups, the difference between a ball and a strike came down to millimetres, and power wasn’t always the right answer to pressure. During short pauses, when batters walked up and the dust settled, she chatted. She learned names and asked about kids she’d never met. She remembered when little Johnny had a pickup game last weekend and coined nicknames that stuck. And while it didn’t work every time, it worked when it mattered.
With the bases loaded and only one run left for the win, when it came time for #5 to bat, the umpire didn’t just see another player stepping up. It was Paige; the catcher who listened, joked, and made the their long hours behind the plate feel shorter. And when the pitch dipped low, brushing her knees, and maybe just catching the edge of the zone, luck had a way of nudging the call in her favour.
The opposition never quite understood how. Had they known, some might have called it dirty. But scouts from the University of Connecticut didn’t care. As long as she was on their side of the diamond.
Top comments
u/ballrider333
Definitely YTA. Maybe not for the accident part, but for making this situation about you… your teammate literally went to hospital.
u/softballdaddy67
INFO: I’m wondering why you seem to be more upset about the movie thing than about someone needing surgery!?!?
u/justiceforoutfielders
Half YTA. Yeah, you know, I totally get it. Accidents happen. But this is sounding like you’re jealous, not concerned.
u/baserunner15
Hello?? “not even that serious” Why do you keep downplaying the head injury?? Ummm ?
Azzi’s parents signed her up for T-ball at the ripe age of four years old. But honestly, hitting a stationary ball with a metal bat over and over again ranked last on her list of preferred ways to spend an afternoon.
But by the time she advanced into proper softball, the new element of the game had somehow translated her stubborn reluctance into passion. At fourteen, her name was already making rounds around the country, passed between coaches and scouts as the star pitcher on the rise, with a viscous fastball that felt unfair to bat against.
For a typical audience, softball appeared simple enough when viewed from the stands. The batter hit the ball, they ran the bases, and tried to make it home. Win.
But Azzi comprehended the game differently, and at a much, much smaller scale; one that she’d separated down into moments so precise they bordered on obsessive. Everything began with the exact pressure of her fingers gripping the red seams, aligning them with careful precision. The ritual came from superstition and routine more so than mechanical technique. The ball disappeared behind her glove next, so as to conceal the pitch she would soon unleash. Then came reading the batter. Right or left-handed? Tall or short? Was this just another name in the lineup, or the one she needed to break. Then finally: the pitch.
When she combined all those pieces together, they collapsed neatly into a single, decisive outcome.
Strike!
Azzi had spent hours at the back of her house rewinding her pitch again and again, until the battered target could no longer hold itself upright. Hours became weeks, then weeks became years. Every fundamental was locked in. Every step was practiced until it became instinct. No scout could find another pitcher with a windup so powerful, a drive as fluid, or an acceleration that snapped the ball forward with such violence that made it nearly impossible to bat.
One particular afternoon in her senior year, her high school came head to head with the second-ranked team in her district. The opposition spent all morning brazenly trash talking about how exactly they planned to thrash them in the finals. But Azzi didn’t need to respond. Her game could do all the talking.
By the second inning, parents in the bleachers were calling for age checks, drug tests, or anything that could possibly explain their kids getting their asses so badly handed to them. Even when a batter managed contact, the ball spun off with such a perfect angle that it bounced directly to first base or whipped straight back into Azzi’s glove like a boomerang. The game ended almost as soon as it began. She walked away with zero free balls, zero walks, and a trophy clutched tight to her chest.
A certain coach watched it all go down from the stands. A blue cap casted a shadow over his eyes, but nothing could obscure the complete belt to ass hand delivered by #35, who didn’t let the pressure up off the opposition’s neck for a second. When the two teams climbed back onto their buses, only one school rode home laughing.
But there, underneath all that dominance, was where her one flaw crept in; a crevice where she sometimes, albeit rarely, floundered. To dominate the mound, a pitcher required three things. Azzi had the first two, game IQ and flawless technique, in spades. Unfortunately, the third, the mental game, was an entirely different beast.
The pitcher's mound was an unassuming thing: a dirt circle with a white rubber plate just off its center. But Azzi felt it for what it really was. A pressure cooker.
A softball game lasted seven innings. That meant seven rounds of landing the right pitch; seven opportunities to control the diamond. In those long games, any pitcher knew that sometimes the ball just wouldn’t cooperate with your intentions, and that was okay. When something went wrong, you brushed it off as a calculated loss. Reset. You adjusted your cap, tapped your knee once, and left the mistake in the past where it belonged.
And she understood the concept well enough. But that was just all theory.
Once a pitch didn’t spin the way she needed, or one batter didn’t stumble the way she expected, her momentum was washed.
She let the pressure rip through her chest. She lay down and allowed the sting of failure to throb in every movement. In those rare moments the ball felt like stone in her hand. Azzi was a girl who chased perfection with everything she had, but once it slipped from her grasp, she didn’t yet know how to get it back.
op replies
u/catchermyballsac5
GUYS first up, I am concerned okay? I obviously didn’t want it to happen. I’m only trying to say I don’t get why A is acting like this is all her responsibility now
u/catchermyballsac5
no just to clarify, I’m not mad at the girl. Just confused as to why A hasn’t checked in with me at all.
u/catchermyballsac5
Yo the accounts saying I’m jealous are kind of missing the entire point?? Explain how it makes sense to abandon your best friend over a tiny accident. She’s out of hospital now, it’s fine
u/catchermyballsac5 (later edit)
Okayyy wow. Didn’t expect this many responses!! Might talk to A tonight. Please stop private messaging me saying I’m in love with her. That’s ridiculous.
“Paige? There’s a man at the door here to see you.” Her mum’s voice muffled its way up the stairs to where Paige was gaming in her bedroom.
She recognised who it was the second she stepped into the dining room. Anyone with even the slightest interest in her sport knew the square set of this jaw and the steely eyes of the man who led teams to countless victories and sat through millions of conference interviews.
Geno Auriemma sat at her dining table like he commanded the room. He sped through pleasantries and introductions before swiftly digging into the meat.
“Lots of players want to be in this position,” he said, while raising his hand. “There’s good.”
His palm lifted to indicate each level. “Then there’s special.” Higher still.
He paused, then raised it once more to signify a new benchmark altogether. “Your daughter is gifted. Most players are lucky to have one or two tools. But Paige has the power, speed, and the arm.” His gaze flicked over her quickly. “Hm, maybe not the look.”
“What’s wrong with my look?” Paige questioned before she could stop herself.
“You’re small for a catcher,” he said after appraising her once more. “Everyone at this level is going to be faster. Stronger. Your size is going to be a problem up in the big leagues.”
Over his years of recruiting, that harsh truth had afforded Geno every possible response in the book. Some kids raced to reassure it wouldn’t matter. Others listed credentials or insisted they’d been playing their whole life, so they shouldn’t change what wasn’t broke. Some even went as far as to turn it back on him, as if insulting the head coach’s appearance might earn them a spot in the lineup. But Paige’s answer was exactly what he wanted to hear.
“I’ll work on it, sir.”
“Yes, you will,” he nodded, before standing up to leave. At the door, he shook her mum’s hand, then hers.
“I’m confident about what we’re building in UConn, Paige. With you, we’ve secured the top two recruits from my list. I’m curious to see how you will gel together.”
“Together with who?”
Geno, unforthcoming as ever, gave nothing away.
“You’ll see.
They had heard about each other long before they’d ever met. The softball world was far too small to have not. Whispers travelled fast about the pitcher from Virginia who closed more games involving shutdown innings than not, and of a curveball that sent batters crying off the field before they even settled into the box.
There were just as many stories about the catcher from Minnesota, the one who stared down lineups full of the fastest runners and the heaviest hitters, then sent each player trudging back to their dugout after rendering them into nothing.
But it took leaving their hometowns for their paths to finally cross.
Paige was stuck pondering in a gas station aisle when her dad slid up beside her, holding out a protein bar for her approval.
“How about this one?” he asked. The fourth time in the past three minutes.
She took one look at it and almost gagged at the sight. “Yuck, no. Quests are the worst, seriously. The texture alone is criminal.” She pulled a sour face at the memory of the chalky feeling and rancid aftertaste. “And the macros are trash anyways.”
“Alright, alright!” he responded, lifting his hands in surrender. “I’ll leave you to it then. I’ll be waiting in the car.”
He turned around and walked out, which left Paige to stare hopelessly at the overwhelming wall of colourful packaging, each bar printed with different numbers that after Geno’s visit, felt more important. While none of them particularly excited her, over these past few months she’d developed a fixation on getting bigger before college. She wanted to show up to day one of training camp and make it clear she was committed to showing up and giving it her all. So committed in fact, that she was individually counting every gram of protein, fat and carbohydrate entering her body.
Her go-to brand, Kind Protein, wasn’t stocked, and it was growing more and more difficult to find an alternative. She really craved something sweet, but most of the options looked artificial enough to make her stomach wheezy.
“Sorry, could I just grab-” A voice cut through Paige’s focus and its owner leaned in to pick up a bar near her foot.
“Oh- yeah. Sorry, my bad,” Paige apologised, stepping back to avoid stomping on the girl.
“It’s fine! Really,” the girl, who appeared to be around her age, insisted easily, then waved her item with a shy smile. “Just really wanted this.”
Paige couldn’t help but notice how smooth and feather-light her tone sounded. For half a second, she wondered if it would be weird to ask this stranger to record a podcast so she could fall asleep to the pretty cadence of her voice. But then she realised she was definitely being weird and decided to ask her if the bar she chose was any good.
“Not bad for twelve grams of protein,” the girl shrugged. “I usually go for Kind Protein, but I don’t think this place sells them.”
“Wait, me too!” Paige pulled a surprised smile at having found a common interest with this stranger with a pretty voice.
“Really?” The girl seemed pleased. “Then yeah, these are probably the most similar. Were you trying to buy?”
“I guess,” Paige nodded. She reached down and picked up the same bar. “But honestly, I’m dying for something properly sweet that isn’t a birthday cake protein stick.”
The girl squinted slightly, like she was scrolling through a catalogue of options in her head. When one finally clicked, her eyes lit up.
“Have you ever tried Tru Fru?”
“Is that a cereal?” Paige guessed.
The stranger laughed. “No! It’s only like… the best thing ever. Total lifesaver when I’m on a cut. Come over here.”
She headed for the freezer section without waiting, and Paige followed without hesitation. She noticed, distantly, how easily she fell into step beside her, like a dog on a leash. She realised how even within minutes of meeting her, she’d probably follow this girl anywhere if asked. God why did she get so down bad for pretty girls? It was actually kind of a problem.
The girl opened the freezer door and pulled out a blue bag printed with pictures of chocolate covered fruit.
“Wait, they’re on sale!” She exclaimed. She pointed to a sticker on the glass before reading the words outloud. “Buy one, get one free.”
“I guess it’s fate.” The words left Paige’s mouth before she properly checked them over. For a moment, she braced for the awkward pause that might follow after calling this random interaction something as intimate as ‘fate’. She was ready to laugh it off as a joke when the girl replied.
“Definitely. This means you can try more flavours!”
They walked to the counter together. On the way, Paige stole everything from the girl’s hands and popped them all on the counter along with her protein bar. She then tapped her card before her new friend could object.
“Wait. I thought we were going to split?”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. You can pay me back if it’s shit.”
“You’re doubting me?” the girl volleyed back, amused as she picked up one of the shopping bags.
The two of them exited the shop and sat on a bench near the entrance. Paige ripped the bag open immediately and very quickly realised that these Tru-Fru snacks were extremely dangerous after the first bite. Her eyes widened at how good the strawberries were and almost moaned when she tried the blueberries. She wanted to devour the entire packet in one sitting.
Out the corner of her eye, she spotted her dad waiting in the car, and only then remembered she had someone waiting for her. She fully considered telling him to leave her there so she could get to know this girl all afternoon, but then realised campus was still pretty far away, and walking there wasn’t in the cards.
“Shit, I should go. My dad-”
“Don’t worry about it! I probably have to head as well. Still have to unpack my dorm,” the girl replied.
Dorm?
“You studying around here?” Paige investigated, or more accurately, fished for scraps of information.
“Mhm,” she nodded, swallowing a piece of strawberry before speaking again. “University of Connecticut.”
Paige’s face lit up as if she’d just won an away game. “No way! Me too! What are the chances?”
“Then I guess it really is fate,” she laughed, calling both of their memories to when Paige used that same word just minutes ago,
“Must be,” Paige agreed. She sealed the snacks and packed them into the girl’s plastic shopping bag. “You take these home.”
“What? No, you paid for them!” she refused.
But Paige had no plans on budging and quickly conjured up a plan.
“Okay, let’s do it this way then,” she readied herself to present a new deal to the bench. “You take both bags home,” she held up her hands to stop the girl from interrupting, “and if I see you on campus, we finish them together from your freezer.”
The stranger paused hesitantly while attempting to wrap her head around the rules and what possible rewards Paige could’ve gotten out of this. “I don’t see how this benefits you.”
“Trust me,” Paige pressed on. “It’s an equal trade, promise.”
“I sincerely doubt that… but fine. It’s a small campus anyways, so our chances should be pretty high.”
Paige grinned in triumph having persuaded her to take the bait. “Besides, we have that whole ‘fate’ thing going on too, right?”
“Right,” the girl laughed before they both stood and said their goodbyes.
It was only until Paige slid back into her dads car that she realised she’d made it through the entire interaction without ever asking the girl’s name. Her mood dropped half a level, but she recovered just as quickly.
She had a funny feeling that fate was really on her side.
Paige used to think freshman year was the happiest she could ever be. If it wasn’t the freedom of being away from home, or the fact that she was finally living out her dream of playing her favourite sport at her top-choice school, then it was definitely the way Azzi Fudd slipped into her line and never left.
Not only was Azzi their team’s star pitcher and her closest friend, but she was also the same girl she’d met days before at the gas station. When they showed up to their first official training, it almost wasn’t even a surprise when they saw each other across the field. They both had kind of accepted by this point that an entity larger than them must’ve been shifting pieces behind the scenes to push their paths to overlap.
Their friendship rolled out steadily in slow steps. Paige vaguely remembered saving a seat beside her on the bus, and then Azzi just started tossing her gear bag down next to Paige’s in the dugout the next day. Soon, they were the last two at every practice, the only ones with enough energy left to stay behind and chase the sunset with worn softballs and their cleats digging into the dirt.
During the rougher valleys of the season, Paige turned to noise to think while Azzi searched for silence to recharge. Paige would drag her to a crowded dining hall, talk a mile a minute about anything and everything, until she caught the flicker of low battery in Azzi’s eyes. Then she’d steer them to a quiet, empty field where they’d play catch until sleep grew heavy in their eyelids.
But none of it compared to how happy Paige was in her sophomore year.
The major, developing step began in the middle of orientation week, when a poorly installed wax ring in the apartment upstairs caused a pipe to burst directly above Azzi’s dorm room. It would have been perfectly manageable had a potion of faeces and urine not leaked straight through the ceiling. After one panicked phone call later, Paige had shoved all her clothes into one side of her dresser and waved a hand at all the new empty space she’d cleared.
“It’s just common sense,” she’d explained, as if it was the most logical solution in the world. “You hang out here all the time anyways. Saves you walking all across campus.”
Everyone’s heard of that rule about friends not living together, and those who did shouldn’t expect to still be friends by the end of the year. Paige and Azzi took that rule and shoved it up everyone's asses. It was almost freaky how easily they shifted into their new relationship as roommates. Paige cooked, Azzi cleaned. Laundry got tossed into the blue hamper that sat in the middle, and Sunday nights were reserved for quiet evenings of folding and sorting. Often though, their clothes would get mixed up, and somehow Paige’s hoodie always ended up in Azzi’s side of the wardrobe.
Paige quickly learned that unless it was for a softball game, dragging Azzi out of bed required l fighting her tooth and nail. She learned how to wrestle against groaned protests and clenched fists gripping onto bedsheets.
They turned down parties to stay in and watch horrible movies while eating chocolate until their teeth hurt. They stretched out from opposite ends of the couch, feet touching together in the middle, while they pointed out each unrealistic aspect of every film. Moneyball ended up being one of the larger offenders, and by the time it ended, more popcorn ended up thrown at the TV than eaten.
By Spring, when days grew long and classes drained every last drop of energy, all Paige wanted was to drop her bag at the door and hear Azzi’s voice call from the kitchenette. Her laugh, her high-protein yoghurt stacked in the fridge, and the simple relief of having someone who she could exist as fully herself beside. It was only then that Paige felt herself able to decompress and melt into the little home they’d formed for themselves.
Azzi would braid strands of Paige’s hair mindlessly while they watched film. They fell asleep on the couch, woke with overlapped limbs, and pretended not to notice the blush that lingered on each other's cheeks. Paige would sling an arm around Azzi’s shoulders on the walk to training while thumbing circles along the line between the younger girl’s collarbone and neck. She pressed ice packs to Azzi’s shoulders after long pitching sessions and felt her relax back into her touch. She rested a gentle hand on the small of Azzi’s back in a packed crowd, then lean her forehead on her shoulder after a harsh loss.
As for on the field, their chemistry far surpassed anything Geno could have possibly imagined. They spoke in their silent language from opposite ends of the diamond. Communication travelled with a tilt of the head or a subtle tap on a thigh.
Now, unlike other catchers she’s faced against, Paige wasn’t usually one to chirp behind the plate. She’d always thought players who talked the most tended to not have the skills to back it up. Trash talk was lazy, unsportsmanlike, and above all, something used to overcompensate for what someone lacked.
At least, that was the rule she held everyone else to.
Time was ticking down and they were deep into a high stakes game, one with too much scrutiny and against a rival school to top it off. A player from the opposing team had spent the entire at-bat smirking, throwing sly, disrespectful remarks towards the mound in her best attempt of rattling Azzi in any way she could.
Paige noticed the tightness in Azzi’s jaw and the slight tremor in her fingers when she rubbed the ball. The hitter stepped in, bat swinging loose at her side and wearing an open smug of arrogance.
She cracked the knuckles on her right hand and readied herself to do the thing that worked every time she felt blood thicken the water.
She tilted forward, lifting slightly from the dirt. She raised her chin just enough for her voice to travel directly into the batter’s ear.
A whisper, low and cold.
“You miss this one.”
She timed it to the second. Azzi released the ball just as the batter’s eyes jerked towards Paige. The ball flew cleanly over the plate, tore through the strike zone, past the bat and slammed smack bang into Paige’s leather glove.
Third year finally rolled around, along with the baggage of expectations that came with two championships sitting behind them. Once they’d won twice, it was no longer a question of whether they could do it again, and more of an expectation. While no one on the team said it out loud, everyone was dying for another lick of that satisfying taste of gold.
On another note, Paige and Azzi signed a lease for a shared apartment. Paige couldn’t recall there ever being a proper discussion, but convenient routines and easy habits had already formed, so resigning was nothing but the obvious choice. They both pulled up to campus a day early and unpacked boxes in the same steady rhythm they’d found the year before. They passed clothes and dishwashing soap in a production chain amongst comfortable silence. There was nothing to catch up on anyway. They’d spent most of the holidays on FaceTime, sharing small events as they happened, to the point it felt like they hadn’t been separated at all.
Sometime during the break, an email landed in the team’s inboxes that shook things up. Their shortstop had transferred out. But Geno, ever the recruiter, didn’t leave the position open for long. By August, they were informed that a shortstop from California was on her way. The name was someone Paige had never heard of, but apparently her infamous bunt sent fielders rolling to stop it.
Paige, with her jokes and easy charisma, had always meshed easily with new teammates. Over the years, she’d become a sort of unofficial vet who’d be the one to explain how the show ran and which staff member to go to for what need. She stored names in her memory quickly and attached nicknames to them even faster. She had this effortless ability to make rookies feel like they were included in something bigger than just another sports team.
So when their new shortstop, Sheena Lu, arrived for introductions, Paige expected nothing but business as usual. She swaggered up with her hands in her pockets and an easy smile that hopefully read as friendly and approachable to her future teammate
“Hey, Lu! Paige,” she introduced herself. “Welcome to the team!”
“Oh, hi,” she replied shyly. “I’m Sheena.”
“Must be pretty different over here from California summers,” Paige added, opening a conversation for Sheena to grab onto.
But the shortstop barely responded. Instead, she offered a noncommittal hum, while her gaze curved past Paige, focus already captured by someone else in the group. Paige turned and attempted to scan what Sheena was grabbed by, but came up short.
Another moment passed in silence, and Paige was beginning to feel a bit awkward. But thankfully, Sheena spoke again.
“Is that Azzi Fudd over there?” she asked, eyes wide. Though, the excitement that creeped out of her tone suggested she already probably already knew the answer.
Paige turned once more, slower this time to properly look. There Azzi was, stood off to the side and half listening to an overly animated exchange between KK and Caroline. The brunette observed silently at the same time that she adjusted the strap on her cap. Her expression was blank and it kind of looked like she was staring off into space. To anyone else, it might have read as judgment, or as if she thought she was above this childish conversation. But Paige knew that in moments like these, Azzi was on another planet entirely, her mind drifting off without meaning to. She found herself smiling softly at the sight before she even realised she was.
“Yeah,” Paige confirmed. “You know her?”
Sheena let out a small, disbelieving laugh that sounded shaky at the end. “I wish. She’s so cool. I mean, have you seen her highlights? I’m kind of a fan, I can’t even lie. Does that make me sound lame? Oh my God, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No!” Paige reassured quickly. “Not lame.”
It definitely was, but it’s not like she had any ground to stand on. If being a fan of Azzi Fudd was pathetic, then Paige was the biggest loser of them all.
Sheena’s head couldn’t help but swivel back in Azzi’s direction. “Do you think she’d mind if I talked to her? She’s so pretty. When I found out I might be coming here, she was totally the selling point– oh my God. Sheena, shut up!” She cut her ramble off with a groan and slap to her face.
“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind,” Paige responded. In hindsight, the words were nothing more than a mere throwaway remark she pulled from instinct just for the sake of being agreeable. But within weeks, she would be wishing she’d never said them at all.
From that moment forward, Sheena took Paige’s light, passing, barely-even-meaningful suggestion and translated it into a fully granted permission to imprint herself onto Azzi in any way possible. At team hangouts, she lingered wherever Azzi stood, and since Paige herself typically lingered around Azzi, she noticed every little thing.
The way she laughed too hard at Azzi’s jokes, reassured her incessantly, and whenever practice called for mini scrimmages, Sheena always placed herself in a purposeful spot so she’d somehow be picked to be Azzi’s teammate every single time.
Paige brushed it off the first time, but then it happened twice. By the third time, it stopped feeling coincidental.
Not once did Paige question why she cared enough to notice, but one thing was for certain.
Ever since the season began and the roster shifted, the balance she’d grown used to felt slightly off. She told herself it was nothing. Probably just her overactive paranoia. People came and went all the time; it didn’t always have to mean anything.
Still, something nagged at her otherwise.
The first week of December marked the change of a season. It heralded naked tree branches and icy roads you had to shovel. That was, unless you were on a Division I softball team.
For Paige and the rest of her teammates, the first full week of December meant five consecutive days of batting practice. By the end of it, if your reaction time hadn’t improved, if your stance still looked floppy, or your follow-through lacked finesse, you could kiss goodbye any chance of earning one of the few lineup spots that actually mattered.
Back in first year, Paige couldn’t think of anything better. An entire week where she and Azzi would, obviously, be drill partners. Paige imagined her correcting her form using that quiet, soft-spoken voice that Paige loved, and the thought alone made her mouth water, like a dog waiting on the promise of a treat.
Would Azzi fall for it if Paige started with the technique wrong on purpose, just off enough to justify stepping in close and fixing it properly? What would it feel like to have Azzi stand behind her, guiding her through the motions Paige already knew by heart. Azzi’s hands on her shoulders, her waist, her hips. December couldn’t come soon enough.
But when practice assignments were finally scheduled, Paige had to do a double take to read the paper. Azzi wasn’t listed beside her name at all. Instead, Azzi and the relief pitchers were to rotate feeding balls to everyone equally, so the whole team could get practice at different arms, speeds, and Azzi’s fastball. Logically, Paige knew it made sense.
But there was no chance she was going to let it slide. Once she wanted something, everyone knew it was already considered hers.
“Geno, give me a number.”
“I said no,” he shut it down immediately. He didn’t even offer the decency to look at her.
“I said give me a number,” she persisted.
Geno exhaled while rubbing his temples. “I’m not budging on this. Azzi will partner with everyone equally, and so will you.”
Paige tilted her head, searching deep to find a solution. “So you’re telling me that even if I hit a home run every second elimination game, you still won’t let me and Az partner up?”
Geno thought over the proposal and must’ve thought he was about to present the impossible.
“Fine, I’ll give you this. You hit a home run in every elimination game all the way through to the finals, and I’ll let you and Fudd partner up for the entire week next year. And I’m only agreeing to this because I know it’s not going to happen.”
The following December of their sophomore year saw Paige and Azzi partnered all five days– the aftermath of a freshman season that delivered home a NCAA championship banner, and an MVP trophy with Paige’s name engraved on top.
Geno never bargained with his catcher again.
Paige crunched a fallen dried leaf beneath her shoe as she stepped back inside. She swiped a bead of sweat off her temple and let out a loud, unrestrained sigh of relief at the cool air of the indoor training centre shooting at her. She spent a second to actively pray thanks to whoever kept the air conditioning running constantly. Their first morning session was a perfect tip off to her Monday. In between her clean swings, and solid contact, she was pleased to have identified a few things she wanted to improve. As she stretched her shoulders, her mind was already flying ahead, picturing what tips Azzi would offer as they worked through the rest of the week together.
When Geno instructed everyone to partner up at the beginning of training, not a single person bothered looking towards Paige or Azzi. Anyone who’d trained there last season knew the drill, and Paige assumed the rookies had picked up on it secondhand within the first few weeks. Besides, she figured most people weren’t eager to test her patience and risk catching her territorial wrath.
She gulped down another sip of cool water from her water bottle, and wiped away a fallen droplet. As she lowered it, an approaching body blurred the edge of her sight.
“Paige! Do you know where Azzi went?”
It was Sheena. She saddled up with her arms bent at her hips, shaking the cotton neckline of her sweat-darkened shirt, which was as drenched as Paige’s.
“She just dashed to the bathroom,” Paige replied. “What’s up?” She hoped the faint, stirring irritation beneath the question hadn’t slipped through.
Paige sometimes wondered how her new teammate managed to survive before transferring to UConn, since it seemed like every day Sheena discovered a new reason to seek Azzi out for help.
The shortstop scratched her head then looked towards the bathroom in the distance. “I wanted to ask if she could pitch to me after lunch. I think I’m struggling with hitting the low, fast ones, and who better to learn from than the expert herself, you know?”
Paige pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek to buy herself a second to process Sheena’s words. Instead of answering right away, she lifted her bottle again and took another sip, internally shaking her head at the sheer audacity. As she swallowed, Paige already had the words prepared on her tongue. There was a set arrangement in place, one that had been given Geno’s stamp of approval. No one in their right mind argued with his word. Well, except for Paige of course.
“Look, Sheena, I’m sorry but-”
“Hi!” Azzi’s voice cut in brightly as she saw Paige at the door. “Oh- hey, Sheena!”
Paige turned and exhaled in relief to see Azzi approach them. At least now she didn’t have to worry about being the bad guy when she turned Sheena down for Azzi. Now, her best friend could do it for herself, and Sheena wouldn’t want to argue back if the refusal came straight from her.
Sheena’s face lit up immediately, and she didn’t hesitate to pounce. “Azzi! I was actually wondering if you could pitch to me this afternoon. There are a few shots giving me total grief, and nothing I'm doing is working.”
Azzi hesitated, just long enough for her eyes to flick to Paige for not even a full second.
Paige clenched her jaw so tightly it ached. She held herself rigid in the hopes that any rude scoff threatening to escape would stay contained. She was acutely aware of all their teammates milling nearby, doing a horrible job at pretending they weren’t listening. They weren’t subtle at all.
Sheena on the only hand, barely paused for breath. “I really don’t want to let the team down, and I just– I really need help. And if anyone can fix it, it’d be you.”
Paige felt the early rush of satisfaction coming before it even arrived, as well as the ridiculous urge to celebrate vindictively in advance. Her hand curled into a fist in preparation to pump the air. The childish victory call of “take that!” tickled the edge of her tongue.
Then Azzi spoke.
“Okay, partner with me after lunch.”
Azzi probably added something after that, but Paige didn’t register it. The world shrank and her ears rang, the sound sharp and aching. Her back molars ground together as she waited for the noise to fade, but her mind was already pulling her backwards to freshman year.
Those consecutive nights she broke into the batting cages to train alone for hours, hitting ball after ball until the joints in her arms rattled. The late-night gym sessions that followed, long after everyone else had gone home, where she pushed her arms to failure and welcomed the burn that tore through her muscles. All the dinners she turned down, the parties she skipped, sacrifices she never questioned because of the overwhelming hunger to fulfill her end of Geno’s agreement.
That hunger had pushed her to achieve what no other freshman had done before. She had molded her life around it, without a single complaint.
Only for it to feel as though it had all been handed away by a single sentence.
When she finally confronted Azzi, back in her dorm, the words came out with the type of sharpness that only came from a fragile, broken edge.
“What the fuck was-” She stopped herself, pulling a deep breah in to remind herself that this was Azzi she was speaking to. “What just happened back there?”
Azzi was in the middle of something mundane, like untying her shoelace at the door, but looked up to the sudden tension in Paige’s voice.
“What are you talking about?” she asked. Her voice was filled with such innocent confusion that only worsened Paige’s frustration, and felt like pointy nails pinching her chest.
“What am I talking ab-?” Paige’s words broke off, unable to finish the sentence. It felt like smoke was clogging her throat. “You betraying me! That’s what I’m talking about.”
Azzi frowned harder. Clearly only half a light bulb clicked on in her brain because she continued to wear that scrunched up, clueless look. “Are you talking about batting practice? Paige, you’re the best hitter on the team, and Sheena was struggling. I just thought it made sense.”
The calm ease she said it with only made the sting worse. Perhaps Azzi thought Paige was being selfish for wanting to keep the best pitcher to herself, but that idea never even got close to crossing Paige’s mind. The feeling of being pushed aside drowned out everything else, and every word Azzi offered did nothing but fan the flames.
“But you’re my partner!” the blonde cried out.
“Paige, I’m just feeding her the balls. It’s not like I’m best friends with her.” Azzi shook her head, her tone lifting at the end, still oblivious to what had Paige so worked up.
“No, of course you’re not,” she snapped back, the words spilling raw before she could temper them. “That’s definitely the last thing new girl wants.”
Azzi spluttered before speaking. “What does that even mean? P, I’m so confused right now. Sheena just wanted help getting her distance up by the end of the week.”
Paige laughed sharply, the sound cracking any semblance of calm she was managing at the start of this conversation. “Are you blind? She practically drools all over you every practice. She has a fat crush on you– it’s embarrassing!”
Her frustration flowed out unchecked, fueled by the realisation that this was apparently not going to be just a one-off situation. Sheena had every intention of staying locked as Azzi’s partner for the rest of the week. But Paige didn’t hear the harshness of her words until it was too late.
“You’re so fucking full of yourself,” Azzi hurled back.
The profanity sounded so foreign from Azzi’s mouth that it hit Paige like a slap then whipped tight around her throat.
“There is no way this is getting turned back on me,” Paige shot back, unwilling to back down.
“It is about you!” Azzi pressed on, anger finally crawling out. “You’re so bigheaded it’s insane. All these girls lining up for you, and the first one who isn’t into you must blow your mind! It’s making you crazy! You really can’t stand that someone might like me instead? ‘So embarrassing’? Like it’s impossible for anyone to find me attractive?”
Paige could barely keep up as Azzi’s tongue twisted and curled, each word spat with hurt and defensiveness coursing through.
That wasn’t what she had meant, at all. She meant it was embarrassing for Sheena– to be so, extremely desperate enough to pretend to be a bad hitter. Paige had checked the stats. Sheena wasn’t awful– far from it. She’d even batted second in the lineup for several games, a spot reserved for hitters the coaches could rely on.
But Azzi had taken it somewhere else entirely, somewhere Paige would never have gone on her own.
How had everything gotten so backwards?
Paige tried to steady herself and attempted to drag the conversation back to what actually mattered, if it could still be called a conversation at all. “I don’t know what you think I’m saying right now,” she said, shaking her head. “But I talked to some of the others, and even they think this is weird. Think about last year. Everyone knew to give us space during this week. That’s how it works.”
“Oh, so now you’re talking about me behind my back?” Azzi snapped. “Great! So now I’m this untouchable thing everyone has to avoid?”
“If that’s seriously how you think I see you, then you’re the one who’s crazy.” Paige shook her head, refusing to accept this backwards version of her feelings. None of this made sense. Now Azzi thought Paige didn’t find her attractive? Was this a joke?
“I’m done talking about this,” Azzi said finally. “I know we have that agreement and everything, and yeah, last year was fun, but I’m not buying into you calling a teammate asking for help ‘embarrassing.’ If someone’s struggling, you help them.”
“So what? You’re going to partner with her for the rest of the week?” As the sentence fell out of her mouth, her throat tightened into a bottle neck until it felt like she was about to choke up on her words. Her chest tightened as if it was collapsing in.
Azzi sighed, then hesitated.
“I don’t know Paige… we’ll see.”
The next day, Paige walked into practice wearing the hardest, downturned glare which dared anyone to so much as acknowledge Azzi’s new batting partner. Most of the team took the hint. Unfortunately for everyone, during Paige’s turn at the batting nets, KK– who had subbed in to feed to her– couldn’t hold back her snicker.
Batting Net One got thrown out after practice. It was hard to aim for a target when the metal post was bent beyond repair.
By the end of Friday, Paige had left her mark on every single net in the facility. Every softball from the coaching bucket met her brutal attack that grew only more explosive as the week dragged on. Not a single one of those pitches came from Azzi.
Sheena had better be a fucking good batter by the time game season.
The intensive training week passed, and the following Monday saw the blonde and brunette walking side by side from their dorm to the practice building. For how much Paige had anticipated batting week, she was surprisingly relieved it was finally behind them. They strolled in silence, basking in the last final moments of calm before Coach inevitably started yelling, until Paige broke it.
“How’s Sheena?”
“Huh?” Azzi glanced over, pulled out of whatever daydream had her transfixed. “Oh, she’s good. She mentioned something about her family coming to visit, which should be fun. They live overseas.”
“Her batting,” Paige corrected flatly. “I was asking if she’s improved.”
She secretly rolled her eyes. As if she gave a shit about Sheena’s parents or their international, probably-only-fly-first-class kind of money.
“Oh, sorry! Yeah, she’s a lot better now. Stopped hitting them into the dirt.”
Paige let out a small huff that sounded more like a hybrid between a laugh and a scoff, then nodded without responding.
Azzi slowed her step. “What’s funny?”
“Nothing.”
“You just laughed.”
Paige shrugged and kept her gaze fixed on the pavement ahead. “I just... isn’t that the bare minimum? She should already know that.”
Azzi stopped them in their tracks and turned to face her. “Paige. That’s not a nice thing to say.”
“I’m just saying.”
“It’s not easy for her living here, you know. Her parents live in Singapore. She sees them, what, two weeks a year for Christmas? She’s basically on her own.”
Paige didn’t stop walking and didn’t wait to see if Azzi was following her or not. “Is that why you’re so close to her now? You’re filling in as her mum?”
Azzi shook her head, exasperated. “I don’t get why you dislike her so much. And don’t lie, because I see the way you look at her when you think no one’s paying attention. But I see it, Paige.”
“I just-” Paige cut herself off before she exposed too much and tightened the strap on her backpack. She needed something to do other than focus on the knot growing in her chest. “You wouldn’t get it.”
Azzi let the words linger between them for a few more steps. Just before they reached the building entrance, she settled on what note she wanted to leave with “I think you’d actually like her if you gave her a chance. Shes really funny. Especially one-on one.”
Paige held the door open and let Azzi step inside first, borrowing a brief second of reprieve to process that detail. So now they were talking in private. She focused on the movement of her shoes to keep that information from digging deeper inside of her than it already had.
“I’m sure she’s hilarious.”
It all happened so fast. One moment, Sheena was perfectly upright and across from Paige on the field, no more than one base length apart. The next, she was flat on the ground, legs splayed out and arms limp by her head. Beside her, the softball rolled away casually, as if it hadn’t just knocked her out cold.
“Oh, shit.”
After that, everything blurred. Voices shouted, phones were dialed, and soon, whirring sirens cut through the air in a deafening wee-woo screech. Stretchers were dragged onto the field and cleats jumped out of the way to make room. Sheena expelled a low, disoriented moan as she was lifted into the ambulance.
“Does anyone have her parents contact number?” the assistant coach asked frantically.
Everyone shook their heads. Negative.
Azzi didn’t wait another beat. “They live in Singapore. It’s three in the morning there.”
The coach nodded once. “Alright. Azzi, you ride with her in the back. Call me as soon as the doctors assess her.”
Azzi stepped up without hesitation into the back of the vehicle beside Sheena’s stretcher. Just before the doors swung closed, she extended an arm to brush a soothing hand over Sheena’s shoulder and whispered words Paige couldn’t make out from the angle she was watching this all unfold.
And just like that, the doors shut, the sirens recommenced, and the ambulance disappeared around the corner. By the end of the entire ordeal, Paige still remained stationary, planted exactly where she’d been when she threw the softball that hit Sheena’s head.
Half a week later, Sheena was still in the hospital. Paige couldn’t quite decide whether that was a good or bad thing.
Bad, obviously. She wasn’t a monster. Of course she didn’t want Sheena suffering from a mild traumatic brain injury.
But like all things, there was a flip side that existed whether Paige chose to examine it or not. At the very least, she didn’t have to suffer through seeing Sheena’s face at early morning practices. More importantly, if Azzi was on the field and Sheena wasn’t, that limited the chances of them growing any closer than they already had. That absence gave Paige room to pretend, just for a little while, that their dynamic hadn’t shifted as much as it definitely had.
As long as it wasn’t displayed directly in front of her, she could almost believe she and Azzi were still as close as they’d always been, and that there wasn’t a third party steadily carving out more space in Azzi’s time, piece by piece.
To be fair, this dynamic where Azzi was annoyed at something Paige had done wasn’t new. Frankly, it happened quite often. The older girl always did something to get on her nerves– maybe one too many jabs to the ribs, or a small prank that she accidentally took too far. And once disturbed, worming back into Azzi’s good graces usually required a complex equation of things to make up for it. But Paige knew the formula like the back of her hand.
Sometimes it took a well-timed compliment, or a sly act of service like a coffee waiting in Azzi’s cup holder or her gear bag being packed before practice. And when all else failed, Paige could usually rely on her trusty puppy dog eyes to get Azzi to finally relent and go back to cuddling her begrudgingly like she always did.
But, like all things in Paige’s life, the most reliable way had always been on the field.
When it came to softball, Paige knew how to read Azzi mid-game like nothing else. The younger would let an off batting stretch get under her skin. Balls that died too early would roll straight into the opposition’s mit rather than past them. At some point, the built up frustration would tighten between her shoulders and bubble up in her face, and Paige would see it all. As the game progressed, Azzi would step back into the box, brushing off the typical noise of ‘good luck!’ and unremarkable ‘you got it!’s. But then, cutting through it all, she would hear,
“Imagine the ball’s my head!”
It was such a Paige thing to say that Azzi never needed to look to know who it echoed from. And when the other pitcher drove the next ball forward, Azzi knew the opposition had already lost.
Bam!
The crack of the bat shot her gunning to first base. All of her focus was funnelled into running as fast as she could that she didn’t have time to track where her ball landed. But it was only when the cheers grew to the point of deafening, even through her helmet, did she glance up. That’s when she realised.
Her ball had cleared past the barrier.
A home run.
After something like that, it was impossible to stay mad. Not after she went home clutching the MVP trophy for that championship win, glowing from a hard earned dub. Paige has always known how convince her to never stay mad.
But this time, something felt different. Azzi’s response hit harder than any of their endless bickerings or her fiery comebacks. This time, she was just quiet. She didn’t look at Paige much anymore and the silence hit harder than any argument they’d ever shared, and Paige knew, instinctively, that this standstill was going to be different than all those other times.
She had to adjust to a new routine. Now, she walked herself to practice in the mornings alone, without Azzi to fill the time with mumbled singing and updates about the upcoming weather that Paige had come to rely on. Without those small reminders, Paige was beginning to feel lost without anything to anchor her to remembering which day it was. She lost her headphones, so she walked in silence, and she showed up dressed for the wrong conditions on more than one occasion. Last week, she accidentally wore her brand-new Dunks on a day forecasted for torrential downpour. They were still sitting on her balcony, caked with dried mud, as if a little sunlight might somehow perform miracles on the ruined leather.
When practice was over, Azzi no longer lingered like she used to. She finished her cone stacking duties with extreme efficiency and dashed as soon as she could, leaving Paige behind to do nothing but watch her retreating figure.
She caught herself thinking back to old times, when things were as they should be. She and Azzi used to stay for hours after practice, fielding grounders, throwing loopy airballs and finally finishing by backing up farther and farther just to see how far they could throw the ball to eachother.
They’d go on forever like that until it the sky darkened the and stormy clouds forced them to pack it in.
And sometimes, on rare nights, they wouldn’t go home at all. Once in a blue moon, they’d lie flat on the dirt in the center of the diamond, shoulders brushing, and admiring the stars while crickets chirped into the silence around them. Their heads would rest close enough so Paige could sense the warmth radiating from Azzi’s temple, and feel small flyways tickle her cheek. Most of the time they didn’t talk, letting the cool air brush over their skin. But once in a while, they would. And every time they did, Paige felt herself fall a little further into something she knew was far too deep for her to climb out of.
On one particular night, the field lights had been long been turned off which left the diamond dim and open to the starry sky. The field smelled of cut grass and the remnants of hard effort from the day’s training. The muscle tissue deep between Paige’s shoulder blades ached in that satisfying way that only came from a long practice session.
This time, Azzi broke the silence first.
“Did you always want this?” she asked, her voice drifted quietly and edged towards caution. It was a tone Paige could’ve listened to for hours if she could. “For your whole life to end up revolving around this sport?”
“One hundred percent,” Paige didn’t hesitate even a second to answer. “Didn’t you?”
Azzi let out a short sigh which broke off into a slight laugh. “I don’t know. Well, I do know. I don’t know why I said it like that.” She paused. Her eyes focused on the scatter of constellations overhead. “I didn’t like it at first. Softball, I mean.”
“What? How is that possible?” Paige cried, immediately requiring clarification. The admission caught her off guard. Since coming to UConn, the idea of softball without Azzi Fudd in it didn’t feel possible at all. In her mind, the two had long since twisted themselves into the same thing.
“This game gave me everything,” Paige spoke on before Azzi could elaborate, the words spilling out full of earnest. “This team, a goal, something to aim toward every day. What else does that?”
“No, I get that,” Azzi agreed quickly. “I do. I like the team part too. I like winning, especially once I stopped riding the bench.” She paused again so she could select her words more deliberately this time. “But I think you love it the way you do because you’re good at it. If you weren’t, if you lost all the time, you wouldn’t be this obsessed with it. You can’t tell me I’m wrong.”
Paige opened her mouth, then closed it after nothing came out. She followed Azzi by staring up at the sky, jaw set tight, because as much as she hated it, she had to admit that in her heart, there was an element of truth that sat uncomfortably in the words. Azzi took advantage of the silence to continue.
“If all that we’ve built only works when we’re winning, then what happens when that stops? When someone’s better than us. When we’re not the team everyone’s gunning to beat. Who are we then? Am I still happy when I don’t have a trophy to point at? When I can’t justify every sacrifice with a banner on the wall?”
Paige absorbed every word and held her tongue so Azzi could keep going.
“I barely have time to live outside of this,” she admitted. “I don’t see people. I don’t date. And I keep thinking… what happens when I finally do, and I’m lying next to someone I’m supposed to care about, but I can’t sleep because we lost by one run that afternoon? What if this game hardens me to the point that I forget to be normal about anything else?”
“So what,” Paige propped herself up on one elbow so she could face her properly, “you don’t think it’s worth it? You think chasing the cup fucks you up enough you’d rather choose a relationship over this team?” Over us?
Azzi didn’t look at her. “Yeah. Maybe.”
Paige let a singular beat pass, then shook her head. “No. No way, Az. I don’t agree with that. I can’t, not about this.”
“Then tell me why I’m wrong.”
She took a slow breath in and searched deep through her heart for the right words. “Why does it have to be one or the other?”
“That’s not what I mean.” Azzi frowned.
“You talk as if being tough means icing yourself out of everything else,” Paige said. “Like that somehow makes you less capable of loving someone. It’s bullshit.”
“Doesn’t it?” Azzi asked. “Okay, think of it this way. When you’re behind that diamond, and your calves are burning, and your knees are begging for rest, and your heart is beating so fast it’s screaming at you to stop. You’re trained to stand your ground while a ball flies at your face faster than your instincts want to allow. Isn’t that unnatural? How does that not bleed into everything else?”
“You’re framing it all wrong.”
“No. I’m not,” Azzi pushed back.
“But you are, though.” Paige shook her head, and an arising thought pulled a soft, uncontrolled smile to her face without her even realising. “How can you not be romantic about softball?”
Azzi scoffed. “You’re insane.”
“No, I’m not,” Paige copied. She shook her head again and shifted closer, their breaths mere inches apart. “People bring their girlfriends to our games all the time. They make first dates out of sitting on uncomfortable bleachers, eating shitty hot dogs, while watching something that technically has no real impact on their lives at all.” Her voice dropped into something softer. “And then there’s the team. When the bases are loaded and you just need that one run, sometimes the most important thing you can do is sacrifice yourself to get that teammate on third home. How is that not the purest act of love?”
She didn’t mention the intimacy that suffocated every moment she and Azzi trained together, just the two of them. How it pressed on her chest so unbearably it almost reached a breaking point. If she were being more truthful, she would’ve explained that what Azzi probably viewed as routine, or a mere necessity, was something Paige treasured deep in her bones. Azzi was famous for breaking things down to their simplest, most derived form, so from her point of view, she probably viewed their roles as functional and interchangeable. Like they could be any pair of teammates on the team who just balanced to throw to each other.
But they weren’t just an outfielder aiming for first, or a shortstop tossing to whoever was closest, whether that be second or third.
No other two players spent the hours they did together, repeating the same motions over and over until every action was perfected down to the very centimetre. Before practice, after practice, weekends, holidays. It never mattered. They learned to communicate through each other’s tells more fluently than through spoken words, able to read the smallest twitches in posture like it was breathing.
And sure, game days were chaos. Competitions were a test of who could chant the loudest and who could slide the furthest. There was no space for anything but noise and relentlessness.
But within each play, just for a small, intimate moment, there was a pause. A slim pocket of silence where nothing else could survive. The batter stood between them– just the pitcher and the catcher, breathing in sync, and responsible for everything that came next.
Paige watched Azzi breathe in, round her arm, and drive the ball straight into her glove.
If that wasn’t romantic, she didn’t know what was.
“Alright! Room assignments are here.” The assistant coach slapped the clipboard flat on a couch in the hotel lobby. She scanned the group with hawk eyes, daring someone to test her patience. “No one leaves their rooms tonight. I won’t care about whatever excuse you come to me with. Anyone caught sneaking out is running sixty laps before they even think about touching a ball tomorrow, and don’t try trick us. We will know!”
A few groans rose from the back, but most of them laughed at her strict words. The road had been wrought with tortuous bends and turns, and the narrow bus seats meant everyone’s joints were stiff. Pre-season scrimmages and early home games had shot the year off to a solid start. But this was their first true away game of the conference, and the whole team was buzzing with restless energy and itching to remind everyone of who they were.
But first, Paige needed sleep.
The bus ride had been anything but restful. Eager to get herself a good spot, she’d hopped aboard early and claimed a window seat. Instead of sitting down, she stayed standing longer than necessary, craning her neck toward the windows so Azzi would see where she was. She spent the first few minutes killing time, leaning forward so she could joke around with KK in the seat in front. Azzi was infamous for sleeping through alarms more often than not, so Paige hadn’t worried at first. Typical Azzi. Probably still tucked under her comforter, blissfully snoozing the morning away.
Then the doors shut. And Paige was still standing.
“Paige!” CD yelled from the front. “Sit down. We’re about to head off.”
“But-” Paige started to protest, ready to jump into an explanation about how their star pitcher was about to get stranded on campus.
“Bueckers. Sit down! Now.”
You didn’t want CD telling you anything twice, much less three times. Paige grumbled under her breath and dropped into her seat just as the engine rumbled to life. That’s when the roll started.
Her coach called names down the aisle and voices answered back in varying degrees of enthusiasm.
“Present, as always,” one muttered.
“Here,” another forced out.
“Tip of the morning!” That was KK.
Paige’s name had been called early, so she stared out the window at the thin edge of road visible through her window, until she heard Azzi’s name. She opened her mouth to yell that her bus partner hadn’t arrived and had overslept her alar-
“Here.”
Paige whipped her head around so fast she nearly nicked her shoulder on the armrest.
There was no mistaking who spoke. Only one person could sound that pretty so early in the morning. Even croaky from sleep and a little rough around the edges, it was soft and unmistakable, a voice she knew too well.
There Azzi was, hidden eleven rows back. Paige realised then that she must’ve boarded even earlier than she did to escape her notice.
Then Paige’s eyes shifted to the seat beside her.
For one fleeting millisecond, she hoped it was empty. Making excuses on Azzi’s behalf came instinctually. Maybe it was her knee acting up again, and she needed the aisle to stretch it out. Sure, it would suck to sit so much further from her as usual, but at least there would be an understandable reason for the change.
But the seat wasn’t empty.
Beside Azzi, sat Sheena Lu, relaxed and already typing on her laptop like this was the everyday routine.
Everything went red.
She twisted back around immediately, unable to stomach the sight any longer, but not before Azzi glanced up. Their eyes met for the briefest heartbeat, and Paige hated how naked she felt. She’d never been good at hiding anything and Paige couldn’t help but wear every emotion plainly on her face. She knew that Azzi had seen every bit of shock, anger and disappointed that flashed on her expression.
But worse that that, Paige caught that Azzi’s face didn’t reveal a thing. No flinch, no eyebrow scrunch as a masked apology, no hint of guilt in her eyes. Nothing.
Azzi didn’t change at all.
By the time CD finished the roll call, Paige was vibrating so hard she genuinely considered if everyone’s suggestion that she seek help might be valid for once. Nothing she did could shake the hot anger from the edges of her vision. She measured her breaths, counted down from ten, while trying to erase the image already branded into the backs of her eyelids. Azzi and Sheena, side by side.
Everything pissed her off after that. KK reclining her seat straight into Paige’s knees. Caroline’s obnoxious hay-fever sniffles from across the aisle. Aubrey laughing far too loudly while on FaceTime with her new girlfriend, with zero respect for the rest of the team. Which she could do, because they were girlfriends. In love.
Paige just about hit the fan.
“Can you shush?” she snapped, curling around to whisper-shout through the gaps between the seats, though it was definitely more of a shout than a whisper.
“Damn. Someone’s in a mood…” Aubrey dragged the last word out before turning back to her phone and raising her eyebrows, as if to silently say to her girlfriend ‘can you believe this guy?’.
So by the time they reached the hotel, Paige couldn’t have cared less about who she was rooming with. She just wanted a shower and a bed.
“Ah, crap.” Sheena’s ear-grating voice scraped Paige’s insides like nails on a chalkboard.
“It’s okay,” someone offered in consolation. “KK’s a great roommate.”
“But I wanted to be with you…” Sheena’s whining drifted off, her upset pout directed towards Azzi.
Paige almost rolled her eyes straight to the back of her head. Who cared who you were paired up with? It was just for one night, and you were sleeping anyways. Paige couldn’t have given less of a fu-
room 7: paige + azzi
Suck on that! Paige couldn’t help the blissful and immediate satisfaction that flared through her chest. She didn’t bother hiding it as she grabbed her key and jetted straight for the elevators. She was sleeping next to Azzi, and Sheena wasn’t! Sucks to suck!
In her excitement, she must’ve rushed so fast that she reached the room first. Shrugging, she dropped her duffle and skipped directly into the shower.
The hot water reddened her skin and soothed her muscles while steam filled the small bathroom. As she scrubbed away the stuffy bus air, she found herself rehearsing lines without meaning to. What topic sounded casual enough, but still allowed room for her to joke around? Should she recycle a conversation they’d had before to play it safe? Or would that be too boring? Somewhere between shampoo and conditioner, it struck her that this wasn’t natural. Never once had she needed to prepare to talk to Azzi. From the very beginning, since that first accidental meeting at the gas station, words always flowed effortlessly between them, like something had pushed them into motion long before.
Now, one wrong word felt like stepping directly onto already-cracked ice.
No matter though. Fortune favoured the prepared, or whatever the saying was, and Paige had done plenty of it. She was confident the night would play out with its usual rhythm: chatting until lights out, pretending to sleep when coach knocked for room checks, only to whisper again until the sun rose.
But it soon became clear that someone else didn’t share those same plans.
When she returned to the bedroom, towel snug around her chest, she was met with darkness. The lights had already been switched off. On a closer inspection, Azzi was tucked in bed, her chest rising and falling, slow and even. She had her silk sleep mask pulled over her eyes, a sure sign that she was genuinely asleep. Last year, Paige probably would’ve smiled at the pink bunny detailing. Tonight, it felt like a closed door.
She slipped into her pyjamas as quietly as possible, stepping into her pants with exaggerated care, careful to not wake Azzi up. Since the younger girl was scarily sensitive to light, Paige had to stifle a yelp after tripping in the pitch-black room. The dreadful silence amplified every breath and every rustle of the sheets as she slid into bed.
It dawned on her then, for the first time, that maybe Azzi’s distance had nothing to do with Sheena. Paige had assumed that once the girl was discharged, this disruption would resolve itself and everything would snap back to normal. But now, she wondered if that had been a myth she’d been hiding behind to soothe herself- something false, like a band-aid.
Because Sheena was discharged two days ago… and Azzi was still distant.
Paige stared up into the black nothingness above her. She couldn’t see a thing, but she swore the popcorn ceiling was mocking her.
The space between their beds felt wider than it ever had.
The sun arrived without ceremony, and for the first time, Paige watched it rise without the sounds of Azzi worrying about how late they’d stayed up. She fell back asleep.
When she woke again to the blaring alarm clock, Paige opened her eyes and gathered energy into her vocal cords so she could argue against Azzi’s groggy complaints and eventually drag her out of her slumber, as she always inevitably had to do.
But when she turned across the room, she was met with an empty bed. The sheets on Azzi’s side had long since cooled and smoothed flat by the natural progression of time. She was already gone.
By the time Paige made it downstairs, Azzi was seated around a circular table shared with their teammates. She was nursing a half-drunk cup of coffee and scraping the bottom of her yoghurt bowl, with, notably, Sheena by her side.
Paige hesitated, unsure whether to pull up the chair next to her as she always did, or to pretend she hadn’t noticed her at all. The uncertainty made the top of her neck itch, and the loose cotton threads of her shirt feel noticeably more irritating against her skin than ever before.
The team filed onto the bus and rode to the field. Paige decided to sit with KK this time. She told herself it was because she needed to go over gameplay with their outfielder, but truthfully, she didn’t know if she could survive another sting of Azzi choosing to sit somewhere else again.
As soon as the bus rolled to a stop and the girls spilled out, Geno clapped his hands and immediately called for warm-ups.
Paige nodded and went to grab her mitt. She scanned the field for a throwing partner, no longer able to comfortably assume she was paired with her pitcher. She was already bracing herself to look past Azzi when her name got yelled out.
“Paige!”
The blonde barely reacted in time before a softball arced swiftly through the air and slammed perfectly into her mitt without her having to adjust. The sting of impact shot through her arm was so familiar that she knew exactly whose face she was going to see when she looked up.
Azzi stood a few metres away, mitt raised, and eyes trained back on her.
It was something so small– barely anything, really– but this was the first time in days that Azzi had chosen her without question, and God did it felt enormous. Paige transferred the ball into her throwing hand while she begged her face to please remain neutral. But when she spun it back across the field, straight into Azzi’s glove, a dizzying sense of relief loosened in her chest. She told herself not to read into something so mundane, but she couldn’t help it.
They fell into an easy rhythm, allowing muscle memory to take over. Given recent events, even something as simple as warm-ups felt like something Paige couldn’t take for granted. She found herself treasuring each catch and then each throw, as though it might all disappear if she wasn’t cautious enough.
When it was time for the coin toss, coach indicated for Azzi to head over to the home dugout.
Azzi nodded, then nudged Paige slightly with her elbow. “C’mon. Let’s go.”
Paige hadn’t noticed Coach’s signal, but she didn’t question it. When Azzi asked, she would always follow.
UConn won the toss. Indecisive as always, Azzi hesitated and chewed on the inside of her lip. Just like clockwork, she glanced at Paige in a quiet request for her to take the lead.
Very aware of Azzi’s tendency, Paige already had a response prepared. “Field first.”
The opposing captain nodded and then turned to head back deep into their own dugout. Paige was already halfway exited out the gate when a leg struck out from the side. It caught Azzi’s calf, sending her stumbling clumsily, though luckily she caught herself just before she hit the concrete.
“Oops,” Number thirty-two drawled, smiling mockingly. “Better be careful, Fudd.”
Azzi, always so painfully conflict-averse, didn’t say a word.
But Paige on the other hand, was spilling with outrage. She pivoted on her foot and allowed anger to run fast and hot. She was ready, guns blazing, to turn back and make it an issue– scene be damned. But Azzi’s calloused hand circled her wrist with a force firm enough to keep them moving towards their own dugout.
“The fuck was that?” Paige hissed.
Azzi kept her gaze forward. She didn’t look at her once. “Relax.”
“You don’t just trip a player for no reason.”
“Don’t worry.” Azzi finally dropped Paige’s wrist. Her tone cut in a way Paige hadn’t felt before. “She wasn’t flirting with me. No need to be disgusted.”
Paige jumped to correct her. “Azzi, you know that’s not-”
“Doesn’t matter,” Azzi cut her off. “We’ve got a game to play.”
They walked back to their dugout, steps fallen out of sync.
The game was falling into pieces, with the opposition leaving them behind in the dirt. The deficit had nothing to do with UConn failing to score bases. In fact, Paige’s bat came alive early and kept their first inning alive with a bang. With loaded bases and #5 fourth in the lineup, it was a guaranteed formula for a blowout home run. But offense only made up half of the equation.
By the third inning, the opposition was firing with loaded bases and the score was tilting further in the wrong way.
Azzi vibrated with ungrounded energy on the mound. She had the ball clenched tight in her hand, fingers pressing into all the wrong seams. From behind the plate, Paige’s irritation stirred as she took in the faraway look on Azzi’s face, the one filled with too many thoughts and jumbled emotions. Paige could read it like an open book.
When another fastball sailed just off the corner and the changeup died far too early in the dirt, Paige noticed the tension in Azzi’s neck, then the off-rhythm tempo of her breath. She watched one pitch miss high, the next wide, another float uselessly. She couldn’t stand to watch any longer.
Paige turned to the umpire and called for time.
She slid off her mask and jogged out to the mound, heart pounding unevenly with each step. Azzi didn’t look at her when she stepped up, eyes still locked on a single leaf folded into the grass.
“Az,” Paige spoke quietly. No response.
“You saving your pitches for the finals?” Not even a laugh, or a smile.
Instead, Azzi shook her head, unimpressed and much too proud. “I don’t need a breather.”
“I know,” Paige encouraged gently. In moments like these, Azzi’s ego was fragile, a tangled mess that required the utmost care while handling. “You’re still hitting your spots. Just wanted to talk through this batter.”
Azzi exhaled through her nose, then finally nodded.
“She’s got fast hands,” Paige explained. “Likes the fastball when it’s out over the plate.”
“So I should pitch her in this time,” Azzi suggested. Her tone was low and serious. It was a reflection of how badly she wanted to get back into the game.
“You’re the boss. I trust you,” Paige replied, letting Azzi fully take the reins. “But we’ve got this one. Let’s stick it to her.”
“What if I get to three balls?” Azzi’s asked unsurely, unable to help the insecurity from bubbling to the surface.
“Then show off that nasty slider I know you’ve been hiding,” Paige redirected instantly. “Just throw it to me. I’ve got you.”
Azzi let the words of encouragement seep fully into her brain. Finally, she nodded with a new gathered sense of certainty.
The next time Azzi let go of the ball, it snapped directly into Paige’s mitt. And so did the next after that. Batter #32 went down swinging, frustration clear as day when she trudged defeatedly back to the dugout.
For the first time in her career, Azzi successfully clawed her way out of a rut mid-game. The game’s momentum picked up again once her rhythm had returned. She worked tirelessly, sniping through the rest of the lineup with renewed focus. But despite the surging comeback, the home team’s lead had grown too large.
The game ended. 12–11, home win.
After the girls came back home to Connecticut following the game, things between Paige and Azzi fell back into something slightly more familiar. They slipped into their previous routines of walking to training together, driving around town aimlessly, and cooking dinner for two.
But still, there was no hiding the simmering aftermath of tension lingering beneath the surface of whatever this weird thing between them was. Paige couldn’t complain, though; at least Azzi had stopped skirting around her and no longer gave her the cold shoulder. She’d take whatever she could get.
On a certain night, Paige told Azzi that morning that she planned on hanging out in Nika’s room upstairs for a bit. As much as she loved spending time with her roommate, staying for hours in Nika’s dorm was pretty routine. The dorm upstairs was just better. Nika’s couch was comfier, her TV was bigger, and most nights they ended up there long after Azzi had fallen asleep anyway. It was another unspoken arrangement that had grown naturally over time.
They were an hour into a survival game when the screen paused. It flickered twice, then died for good.
Nika flopped back across the couch and let out a frustrated groan. “Fuck, okay. I give up. It’s not going to work.”
Paige was still buzzing from her energy drink she’d down while walking here, so she checked the time and shrugged. “We can just go back to mine.”
They quickly unplugged the gaming system and headed downstairs. When Paige stepped through the door of her dorm, the first thing she noticed was the empty hook by the entryway.
Azzi’s keys were missing.
Paige placed her own keys into her slot and racked her brain, searching for anything Azzi might’ve said throughout the day. She hadn’t mentioned plans. They’d done their weekly grocery run the day before– Paige was sure of it, because she remembered ragging on Azzi’s cart, which was loaded with vegetables and cottage cheese. She, on the other hand, had tossed in Pop-Tarts, Slim Jims, and a bag of Tru Fru to balance out all the grossness.
The blonde shrugged and shoved the questions to the back of her mind. She and Nika plugged the setup back into the TV and sank themselves into the couch. Once the screen flickered back to life, one round blurred into the next, and hours passed quickly. The two kept one-upping each other and refused to be the one to finish the night with a loss. They played and played until the light outside the window faded and the hours slipped by unnoticed.
In the middle of another round, Nika yelled in victory as she shot another player dead. “Yo, just give up already, this is yo-”
A familiar creak of the door hinge interrupted her, followed by soft laughter trickling in through the hall. Paige and Nika twisted their heads atop of their necks to look.
Azzi stepped in first, shrugging off her coat and tugging her beanie free. A second figure trailed in behind her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Paige tried to remember if she’d seen this girl before, but she came up short. She moved easily, taking Azzi’s jacket without asking and hanging it on their– Paige and Azzi’s– rack.
The stranger pulled her sweater over her head to reveal a box-tee and the waistband of her boxers, then let the jumper drop onto a chair. As she settled herself in to their dorm, each of her movements were questionably smooth and with familiarity, like she’d done this all before.
Paige watched it all, static.
Azzi wobbled as she balanced on one foot to kick off her shoe. With a cheeky grin, the girl tilted her hip into Azzi’s, just forceful enough to bump her off balance. Azzi let out a unrestrained laugh and waited no more than a second to nudge her back. Both of their smiles were comfortable and careless. Too loose to be completely sober.
Nika eyed Paige, eyebrow lifting in a silent question. Paige didn’t notice. Her attention was locked on the stranger standing in the middle of her apartment.
The lights were still low, but Paige squinted to catch every detail anyway. Her hair was long, and straight so it fell smoothly behind her broad shoulders. Her muscular arms filled out the sleeves of her fitted shirt and denim stretched tight over quads. A small nose ring glinted when she walked past the lamp light.
They hadn’t bothered turning the entrance light on, seemingly too focused on giggling over whatever their conversation was about. It occurred to her all at once that if Nika’s TV hadn’t randomly broken down, she would’ve still been upstairs, and none the wiser to what was happening just one floor below her. The thought of Azzi bringing home strangers while Paige had been busy elsewhere lodged painfully in her chest. Her mind tumbled into a spiral. Who knew how many times this had happened?
Azzi leaned in and murmured something into the girl’s ear. Her guest nodded, then headed straight for Azzi’s bedroom. Not once did she look around or stop to pause at their decorations. She just reached for the handle and disappeared inside as if she already knew the way.
Paige felt the faint sensation of Nika’s socked foot kick gently against her shin.
Instead of beelining into her bedroom, Azzi approached them on the couch, forcing Paige to look away from where the girl had vanished and school her expression from sour into something passable. Up close, the little details she hadn’t noticed from across the room emerged in the light. Mascara darkened Azzi’s lashes, a light sweep of blush warmed her cheeks and earrings sparkled on her ears. They were the pair Paige knew she adored but almost never wore, since they were banned during training and usually not worth the hassle of taking in and out every day.
Paige felt her food rising back up.
“Hi, Nika,” Azzi greeted softly, lowering her volume to match the dimly lit living room. Nika hey’ed back with a casual tone that hid any possible wariness she might’ve felt.
As Paige stared up at Azzi, her brain lagged behind the moment. She noted, absurdly, that Azzi had greeted only Nika, but hadn’t acknowledged her at all. Under normal circumstances she probably wouldn’t have thought about it twice, but lately, every look felt unusually weighted, and every omission pressed heavier than justified.
For a singular second, she considered taping her mouth shut and pushing her head down. Just let it go, her logic urged. After all, the last time she’d pushed something like this, it led to her words being misconstrued in every impossibly backwards direction. She had to be careful with what she said next. She couldn’t afford to spook whatever tiny bit of Azzi she’d been granted these past few days.
“How are you?” is what she settled on instead. She winced internally as the question flowed out. It sounded too out of place given the unignorable elephant in the room, but it was too late to reconsider.
Azzi was obviously thinking the same thing, since her head flinched just a slight touch. She blinked emptily, likely surprised the blonde didn’t jump at the chance to interrogate her about the unexpected fourth person in this apartment.
"I'm... good," Azzi responded after a pause. A metal click flicked her gaze briefly to catch the bedroom door close, before returning it back to Paige.
“Good… that’s good,” Paige nodded to herself, too stuck in what she’d seen mere seconds ago.
The tension in the air was so thick it was palpable. It was a standstill that no one had balls big enough to break first.
"I should probably head out," Nika, predictably, was the one to offer mercy. Paige and Azzi were both too chicken shit.
"Oh- no, you don't have to," Azzi jumped in quickly. "It's fine, promise. We’re just going to-" she gestured vaguely toward her room. "We're not-"
"I was leaving anyway," Nika cut in, already rising off the couch.
Azzi offered to walk her out. Paige didn't wait around another second to observe the rest. The moment the other two rounded the corner, she stood abruptly and rushed into her own room.
Just before she pushed the door closed, she heard her best friend murmur something to Nika.
“I thought you guys were upstairs. If I’d known, I-” the rest was cut off by the door she slammed a little harder than she meant to.
In the bathroom, she splashed freezing water across her face and gripped the edge of the counter so tightly her knuckles shook with pressure.
She leaned her head over the sink, willing gravity to wrench this nauseous swirl in her stomach down the drain. Her mind filled with images she could barely endure: Azzi's laugh, the girl’s hand lingering at her back, the way they’d pushed at the other with comfortable ease.
Through the wall, giggling laughter filtered through again. Azzi’s voice, followed by the other girl's.
Paige closed her eyes.
It wasn't just Sheena anymore. No longer was this confined to the team, or to circumstances Paige could lie to herself were temporary. Azzi was actively building a life that no longer included her in the way it once had. And worst of all, she had absolutely no clue how much of it was happening right underneath her nose.
The moment Paige thought that tense blip from the beginning of December was over, the cruel gods of this world bumped her down a notch. Suddenly, everything felt more brittle than before, somehow worse now that neither of them bothered to pretend otherwise.
Since Azzi’s date, Paige had taken to ignoring her outright. Unlike before, she no longer made pitiful attempts at starting conversations and only acknowledged Azzi when absolutely necessary. Stubborn as Paige, Azzi matched the distance with an infuriating kind of restraint that ground at Paige’s insides. Since neither of them were pushing back, it felt like neither of them wanted to be the one to chase either.
The dynamic was foreign and icky compared to how they used to act before. Before all this mess, they shared inside jokes and random snacks scavenged from convenience stores. Now all they had in common was the air they breathed, taut with friction and strained so thin it might just implode at any moment.
This standstill lasted a full week until CD noticed, as she always did.
“Pack it in,” she snapped after a routine drill ended with numerous dropped balls and too many unforced errors. “You’re not heading to your lockers until you sort whatever this is out. Thirty minutes on the diamond. And don’t think I won’t know if you leave early.”
One by one, their teammates, coaches, and the training staff filtered out the building. The field emptied, leaving Azzi and Paige alone as the last two on the dirt.
The light generators hummed against the crisp air as dusk settled overhead. Paige walked to her spot behind the plate without thinking. She settled low into a squat and held her mitt open, every movement guided by habit alone. She almost expected Azzi to roll her eyes and walk off. But she stayed, as if governed by the same force that had led Paige to do the same. She toed the rubber, rolled the ball once around her palm, and set her grip.
From her vantage point, Paige didn’t need an announcement to know exactly where the pitch was going.
She caught it cleanly. A familiar sting bloomed in her palm and instantly triggered her muscle memory to take over as she transferred the ball to her throwing hand and tossed it back.
The ball travelled between them like that for several silent minutes. With each catch, their breathing tangled further into sync, this unspoken push and pull tightening until the fibres of their lungs braided into one.
"How's-” Paige started.
"Fine.” Azzi shut the ball in her glove and pitched back a riseball without missing a beat.
Paige caught it and held it a second longer than necessary before returning it. “And Sheena?”
"Why are you so curious about everyone today?" Azzi’s words landed less like a question and hit more like a jab. Her next fastball broke in sharper that time.
“Just wondering,” Paige shrugged, shaking out her catching hand until the bite in her palm dulled.
They repeated the motions in a steady rhythm. Azzi pitching, testing different spins and speeds, Paige catching them all perfectly each time. The gap in dialogue stretched out, which meant every smack of leather impacting leather echoed louder into the empty field. Eventually, Paige broke the silence.
“How do you think we’ll go in these last scheduled season games?” She forced an imitation of ease into her voice in an attempt to bridge this gap between them.
Azzi shrugged, eyes tracking the ball as it spun towards her. "I was confident at the start of the year, but… I don't know anymore. Elims are coming up soon."
Too soon, is what she didn’t say. But they were both thinking it. Leading teams in other conferences had caught up. New recruits, sharper scouting, full teams built with exploiting UConn's weaknesses particularly in mind. Any cracks of weakness in their star pitcher and catcher had undoubtedly been studied with the one winning goal in mind.
"I was confident too," Paige said, pleased to have found something they could finally agree on, as small as it was. "I think since... since all of this started, the team's been kind of rocky."
"All of this?" Azzi repeated.
Paige couldn't tell if Azzi was genuinely the most naive person alive, or if she was just refusing to acknowledge the hard truth out loud.
Either way, Paige wasn't letting it slide. Coach hadn't forced them out here for nothing.
"Don't do that, Az," Paige shook her head. "We've been weird since, what, December? Before that even, I don’t know.”
"I don't have a problem with us," Azzi said flatly. Her next shot scraped the bottom edge of the strike zone.
The ball snapped into Paige’s glove, and that final blow snapped the last thinning rope of restraint inside her.
"Why are you lying?" Paige said, exasperation slipping through now. “I know you feel it too. Ever since Sheena, and then that girl you brought home, everything's been off.
"So now this is on me?" Azzi shot back. "Paige, if you think this all just started when Sheena transferred in, then you're the one lying to yourself."
Paige paused. A sliver of doubt arose before she could stop it. Had this thing been building longer than she'd realized? Had she just been late to notice?
She shook the questions out of her head and threw the ball again. "I don't know. I just want us to go back to normal. Friends."
Azzi scoffed out a strained laugh, and raised her glove.
“What’s so funny?” Paige asked.
“Friends,” Azzi quoted. “You think other teammates treat each other the way we do?”
It yanked Paige back into memories of their shared dinners cooked together instead of separately, of twin beds shoved side by side on away trips, of entire conversations carried in glances and sarcastic smiles in a secret code no one ever seemed to crack. Come to think of it, she couldn’t name any other two friends like that, and the realization made her feel foolish for ever missing it.
“Best friends, then,” she corrected easily, pleased with how fast she figured out a part of the mystery.
But apparently that wasn’t enough to satisfy Azzi. Once the pitcher caught the next throw, she glanced up at the clock to watch the minute hand tick past thirty. Without wasting another second, Azzi shed her mitt and stalked off to the equipment shed without a word.
Paige huffed and shook her head in disbelief. Didn’t Azzi remember they had to go in the exact same direction? They literally lived together. She jogged after the younger girl and caught her wrist just before she dumped her gear. Paige tugged Azzi to a stop, but the brunette didn’t turn around.
"So that's it?" Paige said. "You're just okay with this? We're going to lose, you know.”
"You're so focused on losing," Azzi murmured quietly, "that you can't see what's actually been breaking."
She turned against every better judgement, forcing herself to finally take in Paige’s downturned eyes and trembling lips, the offcuts of dwindling resolve holding her upright. She was all slack shoulders and despondent hesitation, like a kicked puppy waiting to see if she’d be turned away.
The sight stirred something deep down in Azzi’s gut that approached too close to pity for her liking. She forced herself not to fall back into the trap, grounding herself with a determined exhale through her nose. It almost resembled a laugh, but there was certainly no humour in it.
“We don’t act like friends, Paige. We never have.”
Paige swallowed dryly. The words hit like a foul ball straight to the ribs.
“And besides,” she continued, quieter now. “Friends don’t get mad every time the other lets someone else get close.”
"That's not-" she started, then stopped. She didn't know how to finish it.
"If we lose," Azzi took a step back, "it won't just be because we stopped playing well. It'll be because you're asking me to pretend we're something we've never been."
She walked away, leaving Paige alone on the edge of the field. For the first time, she had the sobering realisation that this was no longer a game she knew how to win.
Paige clenched her teeth together, fighting against the persistent burn that radiated through her thighs. The constraining padding along the inside of her helmet pressed tight into her aching temples. Sweat gathered inside the foam edge and itched along her scalp. Unfortunately, her right hand was set by her side and her left was stuck inside her mitt, so wiping it off was out of the question. She wiggled her toes so as to not focus on the irritating beads of perspiration that had fallen into to the outer edge of her eye.
The sun bore down without mercy, its blazes shooting off dirt and metal until it pressed directly into her skin. But all of it registered distantly. There was only one feeling that drowned them all; just one sensation that truly mattered:
Pressure.
Their team had battled tooth and nail all season in their push towards the Final National Championship game. Every match leading up to this point had ended in narrow margins, and all their wins came down to the wire. Players rode the bus home nursing scraped knees and massaging sore arms. That morning, each member walked onto the field knowing nothing was going to come easy.
Paige crouched behind home plate, her shin guards digging right into the dust. Her eyelids didn’t blink as she watched the UCLA batter bend into ready position.
It was only in tight moments like these, did the world truly narrow down. The booming of the crowd, the asthmatic wheezing of the umpire behind her, the oppositions endless chants. Every detail dissolved into a dull hum. Paige slanted her eyes behind her mask’s gridded facebar and solely focused on Azzi’s first breath.
She wound up methodically, then followed into a subtle twist of the joint at her wrist. Paige caught the tell at the exact moment before release, her fingers peeling back and up against the seams. The ball left Azzi’s hand a fraction earlier than the batter expected.
Paige didn’t need to think. She didn’t even need to look.
All driven by instinct, she positioned her glove at the ready in the open air where she already knew the pitch would fall.
The ball broke sharp and hard into a downwards snap, swerving the bat’s edge entirely.
Strike!
The umpire’s shout was satisfying and echoed around the field. But instead of relaxing, or simply throwing it back to the mound, Paige sighted another opportunity arising.
At the edge of her vision, she spotted the runner on first creeping sneakily over to second, in search for an opportunity to steal.
Paige didn’t waste a second. She exploded her thighs out of the crouch, squared her shoulders and fired the ball in a flat, vicious rocket, that shot straight to the inside edge of second base. Jana caught it easily, covered the ball with her free hand, and swept the tag down in one fluid motion as the runner desperately slid, bursting dust all around them.
The umpire raised his pointed finger. Out!
Cheers exploded through the dugout. Geno nodded once in approval while the bench erupted behind him, hands ferociously banging against the metal fence. Momentum pulsed from the stands all the way to the outfield.
But no one expected that it was all about to be ripped from right under their feet.
The next pitch dinged off the bat all wrong, too fast, and too unexpected. Paige barely had time to flinch before the ball slammed straight into her throat. Thankfully, her padded guard absorbed most of it, but the impact still knocked the air out from her lungs. She automatically clutched her stomach and slammed heavily to the ground. The entire field tilted on its head.
Azzi gasped as soon as the ball made contact and was already on the move even before it finished rolling away. She crossed the dirt in seconds and dropped to her knees beside Paige before anyone else had begun to react. Sheer panic wiped away every trace of the tension that had lived between them for weeks.
"Paige!” Azzi leaned down to inspect her throat. “Are you okay?"
Paige needed a few more seconds to suck oxygen back into her airways. Her breaths were shallow at first, then grew deeper, albeit painful.
"I'm fine," she forced out hoarsely, though it wasn’t as convincing as Azzi had hoped.
“Are you sure?” she checked. She helped Paige remove her mask and scanned over her face and neck, hovering her hands where she wasn’t sure if she could touch.
“Yeah, I’m sure. I can still play,” Paige tried to insist.
But every coach had watched the play unfold and clocked the speed at which the ball had slammed her to the ground. The decision was unarguable. She had to sit out.
The inning continued, and Paige was forced to watch it unfold from behind the metal fence. It took only a few plays for the threads to start unravelling. Azzi stepped up to the mound once again, but without Paige behind the plate, something essential was missing. Her pitches drifted wildly, and the relief catcher failed to read her once again. She wasn’t privy to any of Azzi and Paige’s signals, and as quick as it started, all the connection was broken.
Between each batter, Azzi paced the perimeter of the circle and exhaled her stewing doubt hotly through her nose. She adjusted her collar needlessly, despite having already done so minutes ago in the hopes that it might send some luck her way.
The events laid the proof out plain. The truth was simple and impossible to ignore. The synergy between Paige and Azzi didn’t come from familiarity alone, and they weren’t interchangeable pieces who just happened to had fallen into the same system. Apart, the team rattled into broken fragments around them. But together, they were more than just teammates; two halves of a whole.
Paige didn’t need the scoreboard to know their lead had dwindled down to one. They’d reached the bottom of the final inning, and UConn’s bats were all spent up. One run from UCLA would force extra innings. Two would end it outright.
As the team put down their helmets and picked up their mitts to head back out, Paige rose off the bench.
“I’m going back in,” she said, not asking for permission.
Geno looked at her for a heavy moment. It hurt him to say the words, but it was his duty to prioritize his players’ health. “You’re hurt. Sit back down.”
“Coach, this is the championship,” Paige pressed harder. “I have to.”
The image of his catcher getting knocked in the throat replayed in his mind, and every sense of logic told him to refuse. But the dugout drummed with restless energy, suspense packed so tight it felt ready to explode spontaneously straight up into the bleachers. The hunger for the win was almost thick enough to touch. No one was ready to walk away without the trophy.
Geno took it all in, then nodded once.
Paige jumped at the chance before he could say another word. She slammed her vest on with practiced speed and slapped Geno’s shoulder on the way out.
“We’re getting you that win tonight, coach.”
Azzi was running through her warm up routine steered purely by autopilot. She shuffled into place, scuffing her cleats into the dirt, then rolled her shoulder and tested her grip. The movements were less for practice and more an attempt to slow her racing heart. She glanced at the scoreboard, then dried her sweaty hand on her pants, checked her palm, then wiped it again.
She walked through every possible remedy for her shaky anxiety, but her usual routine fell short. She searched into the future and could only picture each pitch falling short or sailing too high above the strike zone.
Cold doubt threatened to drown her lungs. The score weighed heavily as it knocked and banged around the back of her mind. Their slim lead felt so fragile in her hands, as though the singular point was already slipping through her fingers like sand.
“I can do this, I can do this, I can do th-”
“You can do this.”
She looked up sharply.
Instead of the relief catcher, Paige stood right in front of her, already suited up in her gear that fit like a second skin. Her catcher’s mask dangled from one hand, and with the other she wrapped around Azzi’s shoulder firmly, pulling them together and anchoring her amid the noise.
“UCLA thinks they’re about to watch us crack,” Paige spoke quietly, just loud enough so the two of them could hear. “But you’re about to prove them all wrong.”
Azzi looked at her with shocked, wide eyes. “Paige? You shouldn’t be playi-”
“We’re getting three outs. Right now.” Her voice was so, so solid– firm enough to knock on the door of every tower of doubt.
Still, the bleed of Azzi’s uncertainty was too fierce that even Paige’s words struggled to stem it. “I don’t know if-”
Paige stepped in closer until their heads nearly touched. The proximity blocked out the roar of the crowd.
“You’re the number one pitcher in the country, so act like it. Let’s take this one home.”
Without waiting for a reply, Paige jammed her mask back on, gave Azzi’s shoulder one final, solid squeeze, then jogged back to her place at the tip of the diamond.
UCLA sent their first batter up. #21 stepped her back foot into the box and measured her distance from the plate. She adjusted her grip on the bat handle, bent her knees, and flicked a glance towards first base, already mapping her trajectory for the sprint the moment she made contact.
Azzi released a slow exhale, her breath deep and steady and void of any tremor. She toed the edge of the rubber and the entire world narrowed to the forty-three feet between where she stood on the mound and the girl crouched behind the home plate. UCLA’s crowd clapped and chanted around her, but the noise melted away. Despite standing physically alone, she was not by herself. Paige’s firm voice stayed with her. You can do this.
Azzi observed #21 sink into a low stance, then signal ready with a slide of her foot into the box. You’re about to prove them all wrong.
She drew in one final breath, lined her fingers along the seams, then snapped her arm forwards, unleashing her infamous fastball. It rode high, and snapped right into the pocket of Paige’s mitt with a deafening crack that cut through the diamond.
That first pitch was more than a strike. It was an exact echo of what Paige had said earlier. We’re getting three outs. Right here, right now.
The second batter stepped into the chalk and readied the bat for her third attempt. Azzi looked to her left: no runner on first. She looked back to home plate: Paige, crouched as expected. But instead of her usual positioning, her glove saddled the outer edge of home, angled off to the side rather than centered.
That signal was so subtle, but just visible enough that it spoke clearly to Azzi. Once she noticed it, everything else surfaced into focus. The batter’s toes were itching forwards onto the plate, closing her stance. Her back elbow was bent tight, her wrists were cocked into her body, and her feet were stationed right on the line.
Paige might as well have been holding up a glowing sign saying “pitch away, aim outside!”
Like responding to a message, Azzi breathed in deep, gathered herself, and then drove the ball to the outside edge of the plate, exactly where Paige was waiting. It landed true.
Strike! Two outs. One to go.
The final batter walked up, and Azzi gulped. From the previous innings, she knew this was the toughest in UCLA’s lineup– formidable and more than capable of hammering a home run to push the game into extra innings. She had studied Azzi all game. It was obvious; if not for the beady eyes that stuck to her like persistent cobwebs, then for the way she translated Azzi’s every micro-movement into a tell before the ball ever left her hand. Even when Azzi varied her pitches, the batter matched them, smashing balls deep into the outfield with far too much spin for UConn’s fielders to catch on the full.
After two lucky pitches, Azzi managed to set two strikes between them.
It wouldn't be enough to just pitch low, and aiming high was too dangerous. The batter’s agile reactions and adaptable limbs meant Azzi and her trusty fastball were outmatched.
She would have to pull out something completely different. Let’s take this one home.
Azzi let go of all the gathered strategy she’d been collecting throughout the game and trusted her instincts to take over. She wound up, windmilled her arm around for the perfect arch, and aimed straight for Paige. As it left her hand, she didn’t calculate for spin, or try to cheat the pitch away from the barrel. The throw carried nothing more than a sacrament of her heart and trust, stitched into the seams and released with the flying spin of leather.
The ball screamed into the center of Paige’s mitt with the sound of a locked door.
Strike three.
The stands exploded into straight chaos, screams raining onto the field. The UConn team sprinted into the middle of the diamond and crashed together as they were crowned back to back to back champions. But finally between Paige and Azzi, across all forty three feet, everything settled blessedly into place.
Gloves that had been thrown in celebration were raining from the sky; it was miraculous none of them seemed to hit her. The whole team was huddled so closely together, with their arms thrown around shoulders, all tangled in a tight pack. The huddle jumped about in messy fashion, pushing the flashing cameras left and right until it was almost impossible to make it to the girl she needed to find most.
Amidst all the celebration, Paige didn’t wait for the motion to slow before she began to move. Her eyes stayed fixed on Azzi’s face, and like a force from above heard her pleas, a pathway opened for her to beeline across the field.
She tucked her fingers to curl under Azzi’s jersey, then drew her in and guided her into the tunnel without a word. As they walked deeper, the volume of the stadium faded behind them until all they could hear were each other’s steps.
Not knowing where Paige was taking them, Azzi took this opportunity to speak.
“You scared me,” she said as they walked. Her voice was quiet and croaky, vocal cords torn raw from all the chanting the match had demanded from her.
Paige ignored that. Her breathing had yet to even out, and her chest was still wound up tight with adrenaline and something deeper coursing through her. Once they rounded the corner, just beyond the light, she pulled them to a stop. She turned on her foot to face Azzi, her catcher’s mask still hanging from one hand.
“You were wrong.”
Whatever Azzi thought Paige would say after their big win, it definitely wasn’t that. The pitcher frowned slightly, and was quick to respond, fueled by the rush of the moment. “What?”
“That night, under the stars,” Paige spoke. “When you asked if this game hardens you, if it makes you less capable of loving anything outside of it.” She took a small step closer. “It doesn’t. I promise you, it doesn’t. It… it teaches you what’s worth fighting for. Who you wouldn’t want to win without.”
Azzi’s next inhale got caught in her throat, making her trip through her next breath. “P…”
“You were wrong about something else as well,” Paige whispered, speaking the truth out loud and allowing the weight to fall off her shoulders. “I was never disgusted that she liked you. I could never think that, Az. I was just so terrified you liked her back. This entire thing between us– yeah, it’s the most honest thing I’ve ever felt, and I always knew that. But you woke me up to the fact that it’s more than just you being my best friend. I don’t want to pretend it’s just friendship anymore. You and me? Us in sync? That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever known.”
Paige took in a deep breath of air once her confession ceased, the long spew of words clearly sucked all the air out of her. For a second she was afraid Azzi would jumble the words the wrong way.
But she didn’t step away.
Azzi shook her head instead, in a slow left to right like she couldn’t believe it. Her mouth twitched into a smile like the tension of the game had finally eased off from between her shoulder blades. All the pressure from the seventh inning, the crowd, the batting lineup all fell into the mist, and unveiled the light at the end of the tunnel.
“It’s about time you noticed,” Azzi said softly. “Come here.”
She reached out and bunched Paige’s shirt in her fist before pulling her in close until their chests pressed together. Her eyes flickered to the blonde’s mouth before she tilted her head and crashed their lips together. They moved without rush, simply enjoying the shared taste of adrenaline and victory on exploring tongues. There was no urgency as they kept finding their way back to each other, lips slotting together again and again. The shared relief of finally getting a taste of each other left their heads dizzy, spinning from how long they’d waited for this moment, far longer than either of them wanted to admit.
When they pulled back, their foreheads rested together, and the rumble of the stadium rose to a distant hum again. Azzi traced her thumb along a raised vein on the inside of Paige’s wrist, feeling the frantic pulse settle under her touch.
Then all of a sudden, Paige stiffened.
“What?” Azzi asked, already smiling.
“Fuck,” Paige whispered. She jerked back just enough to reach into her duffle back and pull out her phone. “I just realized I have to do something.” Her thumbs flew over her keyboard, jaw clenched in concentration. “Just lemme finish this, and then I’m all yours.”
Azzi peeked over her shoulder. “Are you seriously doing this right now?”
r/softball
UPDATE: AITA for sending my teammate to the hospital?
Submitted by u/catchermyballsac5
So first things first. Fuck you to everyone who responded.
I was shocked at first when my post blew up with as much attention as it did. I even had to mute this app when my PMs got flooded with people yelling at me to get my head out of my ass. Far too many of you called me jealous, a bitch, and an oblivious motherfucker (those were the more PG, and much less creative examples). Who knew there were so many kind, and giving people who are ready to share their scathing opinions of me during my desperate time of need!
Next time I have a problem, I will no longer take to the internet for advice or emotional support. It’s clear not a single one of you has any ounce of compassion, empathy or tact in your rotten hearts.
Okay now that I’ve gotten all of my notices out of the way:
A and I just kissed.
and yeah, maybe I was a little jealous.
taglist: @merder1630-blog
