Free Spring Perfection by Leslie DuBois

A
Perfect Game

 
    I love the smell of spring. To me it smells like hot dogs, linseed
oil, and the tight stitching on a new baseball. Spring brings my favorite
pastime, the happiest time of my life. But not today.
    It is the top of the fifth inning. We, Charleston Preparatory
School, are ahead one to zero. I am pitching a perfect game. It will be my
first perfect game since joining the baseball team two years ago as a freshman.
A perfect game is the dream of any pitcher. I mean, in Major League Baseball
there have only been twenty perfect games ever! EVER! And I was on my way to
getting one as a junior in high school. A perfect game means no one gets on
base. No walks, no errors, no mistakes. Unfortunately, I don't know if this is
possible. My head is not in the game. It   is somewhere else completely. It is
with Reyna. I made a promise to her and because of this stupid game, I don't
know if I will be able to keep it or not. Of course, the game isn't stupid.
Baseball is the greatest game on the planet. And if you ask my mother, she'll
say this is the most important game of my life. But then again, she'll say
every game is the most important game of my life. That's just the way she is.
It will take too much time to explain my mother. And this isn't a story about
her.
    In her defense, this is a special game. It isn't every day that a
high school team gets to have a spring training game with a college team. And
it certainly isn't every day that the high school team beats the college team.
But winning will mean nothing without Reyna by my side.
    I look over at her normal place in the dugout where she usually
sits next to Doc. She wants to be a doctor one day so he lets her tag along to
all the games and watch how to take care of different sports injuries. It is
free medical training for her future career.
    Today she isn't there and I know why. The reason tears at my
heart. I momentarily step off the mound in order to get my emotions in check.
Most people think nerves are kicking in. They think I realize that it's been
five innings and I have not allowed a single batter to reach first base. But
that is not what is eating away at me like termite in a tree house. I am a bad
friend. I should be by her side instead of worrying about my baseball stats.
    I stick my face into my glove and inhale the scent of the linseed
oil. It calms me for a moment and I step back on the mound.
    How did I ever get to this point? How did Reyna ever grow to be so
important in my life that I find myself thinking about her instead of pitching
my perfect game?
    I shake thoughts of Reyna from my mind and throw out a pitch.
    Strike three.
    I have survived another inning. Finally, I can retreat to the
dugout and try to get my head together. I try to purge thoughts of her.   I try to concentrate. I try to focus on
Carson at bat, but I can't. Instead, I think of how Reyna and I first met.

 
 

The
Day that Changed my Life

 
    The day my life changed was November 13th, 2002. It was a Tuesday
in English class which meant reading time. But to sixth grade boys, reading
time was a synonym for a little game we called “Flame it and Blame it”. It was
a highly intellectual game in which a winner was anyone who could fart in class
and successfully blame it on someone else. I was a "Flame it and Blame
it" champion three weeks running.
    The nation had just celebrated the one year memorial of the
September 11 th terrorists attacks, yet at
that time, the most serious thing I thought of was how to keep my fart game
winning streak alive. What can I say; I was a pretty superficial kid.

 
    That was the day Reyna Lewis breezed into my life. I couldn't take
my eyes off of her from the moment she walked into the door and handed her
schedule to Mr. Eckhart. Then her eyes scanned the room looking for an empty
seat.
    She had a big dark curly afro that bounced as if in slow motion.
She had an arm full of shiny bracelets that played music with each step she
took. I had