Lupe and Selina Play Through the Storm

Lupe waited on the field for the softball team to arrive for early morning practice. Most of the students remained in the cafeteria, so she paused to gather her thoughts and observe the late August sky.

Two or three trees had changed colors, but the California landscape remained green year-round. The air was fresh and moist. Some neighborhood joggers were out on the track that showed beyond the baseball field’s right side. The runners formed a ragtag group of middle-aged former athletes. Some supported the softball team, and Lupe greeted them warmly when their gaze met hers. She wore her old sweatshirt, a baseball cap concealing her highlighted hair.

When the team arrived, Lupe spotted the veteran players and gave them a wave. She attempted to check if the new girl, Cece, accompanied them. From afar, she noticed Keri nudging Cece toward the field. They were not walking together, and as they approached, Keri broke into a trot, abandoning Cece altogether.

“Countdown, ladies.” Lupe started the one-minute countdown toward 7:00 a.m., and the team complied. “Sixty!” She liked the sound of their voices ringing out together.

“Fifty-nine, fifty-eight . . .” Keri joined the other players, and high-fives followed. “Forty, forty-nine, forty-eight—come on, rookie!”

Several of the team members turned and called out to Cece.

Selina thought it felt too early for practice. Her stomach growled after two cups of coffee. She put her head down and quickened her pace toward home plate, where the rest of the team gathered. Was she last? Who were these people?

Lupe stood aside and observed her players haze the new team member. She partly empathized with the freshman. But other new players arrived punctually. No special treatment, she reminded herself. This is not a little girl. She’s a young woman.