(fiction)

“C’mon!” I yelled as I peeked my head into the kitchen doorway. “Time to go.” The only response I heard was the sound of shuffling as my two sisters, my brother, and my parents finished getting ready.

I closed the kitchen door and trudged across the garage to our van. “They’re gonna make me late, again,” I mumbled to myself. I slid the door to the van open hard and it shut again. “Dumb door.” I slid the door open again and climbed into the very back seat. I hit my right fist into my mitt and the hits became increasingly harder as I waited.

“C’mon,” I mumbled to the empty car, “I know my game doesn’t start for another hour, but I want to get there and practice hitting with my coach.”

I heard the kitchen door shut and quickly looked across the garage. But my younger brother, Trey, walked across the garage by himself.

“Hi Krista,” he said in his normal cheerful tone as he slid the van door open.

“Hi Trey,” I growled. “Anybody else comin’?”

“Just me, Nic’s still getting ready,” he climbed into the van and sat in the middle seat in front of me.

I rolled my eyes. It’s just my game, I thought, who’s she planning on seeing?

“Are you gonna hit the ball today?” Trey asked as he fastened his seat belt.

I glared at the back of his head. “What do you think?”

“Well, you don’t always swing the bat.”

“It’s hard for me to tell what’s in my strike zone,” I said defending myself. “Coach Jerry says it’s because my zone is smaller than others.” I thought I had overheard my coach mention something like that to someone.   “So, sometimes it’s better to take my chances and try and walk.” I added my own conclusion.

“It’s because you’re puny, huh?”

“You wanna say that again?”

“What’s wrong with puny? It means small.”

“It means weak, Trey. I can still take you down, you know.” It was true, I could still pin him when we wrestled. The trouble was, he was now an inch taller than me and outweighed me by a few pounds.

“I know, “ he replied but then mumbled, “but sometimes I win.”

The kitchen door closed again and I looked over to see the rest of my family heading

 

toward the van.

“Finally,” I said.

Mom and dad climbed in the front seats, Jordyn sat next to Trey, and Nicole climbed in back with me.

“Did you get your hair just right?” I asked as sarcastically as I could.

“Oh,” she said innocently, “were you waiting for me?”

Good thing you’re not Trey or Jo, I thought as I looked out the window, because you would be in a headlock right now.

Dad pulled the van out of the garage. “Where are we going again?” He asked.

“Dad,” I said making it sound like two syllables.

“Oh yeah,” he said, “we’re off to Krista’s Game.”