The Pitcher's Mound

 Alice stood on the pitcher's mound, all four feet and five inches of her. Alice was the tiniest no matter what, in school and in sports she was always a head shorter than anyone else. She had heard every short joke under the sun and man we're there a lot of them. Being the brunt of the joke, Alice always had something to prove. If people assumed she was a joke, she had to do more than anyone else to prove them wrong. She had to be the smartest and the toughest. Not naturally gifted or talented Alice learned to practice harder, study more and grind her way to excellence no matter the toll. 

 She warmed up with the coach throwing the ball as hard as she could. She loved hearing the sound of the ball slap into her coach's mitt. 

"Nice Alice!" Said the coach as the fifth strike in a row slapped his mitt. 

There was no better player than Alice, at practice, anyway. Every practice her pitches were accurate, her form impeccable. When she stood up to hit every single hit went right over the third baseline. Alice was fast, sometimes she could get away with a shotty hit and still make it to first, outrunning the ball was risky but she loved it, and she was the only one on the team who could do it. 

Yet when it came to games, her confidence didn't come so easily. Her stomach would churn the night before, making her sick. The lack of sleep would catch up to her and by the time game time rolled around she hadn't even been able to eat a thing. Alice never said anything because this is how she'd always been, this is what it was like to play a game. She thought everyone must feel this way. 

It was game time, her white pants perfectly cleaned and bleached thanks to Camille's expert skills. A purple scrunchy held her slicked-back ponytail. Yes, Camille had made a scrunchy especially to match her uniform. Her team, the fighting grapes, had struggled at the beginning of the season but was quickly making a comeback, playing tougher teams and holding their own. 

Alice ran to the pitcher's mound for the first inning, took five deep breaths, and looked right into the catcher's mitt. Focus Alice, focus.  She threw the first pitch. 

"Ball!" The ump proclaimed. 

Focus Alice, Focus! Come on Alice. 

She threw the next pitch. 

"Ball!" said the ump. 

Focus Alice, focus! Come on Alice, you're better than this! Don't let your whole team down!

Alice wound up and threw the third pitch a bit below her strike zone but the batter swung her bat, with no contact. 

"Strike!" The ump yelled. 

Focus Alice, if she wouldn't have swung, it would have been another ball. Come on Alice! You need to do better! 

Alice threw two more balls and walked the batter. 

Alice wiped the sweat on her forehead with her mitt leaving a bit of dirt on her face. She thought she may cry. 

The coach clapping his hands, "Shake it off Alice. Shake it off." His face stern and serious said otherwise. 

Not okay Alice. Not okay.