PITCH PERFECT.
@yfxwonwoo
it started in fourth grade.
some boy with small hands and messy hair said evey’s pitches weren’t too great, so she had felt the need to correct him. her pitches were amazing, thank you very much, and this scruffy kid had no right to criticize her.
it hadn’t ended well, to explain it simply, as well as gloss over the scab she’d had on her knee for two whole weeks (a long time when you’re eight years old) and the baseball-shaped bruise she’s sure she had left somewhere on the boy’s body.
they’d run into each other again, over the years. there was even the smallest sort of tenuous friendship between them - similar situations, the shared burden of being the token asian kid, a mutual love for really good food - but it was always broken again by an argument similar to that of their very first interaction, even as they grew up.
that same lanky kid was across from her now. she rolled her eyes and set her hands on her hips in the most confident stance she could come up with at the moment. “yeah, yeah, sure you can make a paper airplane better than me. i’ve had years of perfecting this art, alright?”