Lupe and Selina Play Through the Storm

the Long Beach screening room was a vacant office, overflowing with folding chairs, minuscule compared to Selina’s father’s fully equipped studio. Her father could freeze a play on the screen step-by-step or magnify the screen to examine a pitcher’s grip on the ball. Coach Lupe used an old flashlight to point out player weakness on the grainy film she showed of the Mexican Softball League.

“What’s the big deal, aren’t we going to this tournament to play Mexican women?” Molly said whatever came to her. “How athletic could they be? We will kick their big brown butts.”

“I can’t believe you said those words, Molly.” Lupe’s face burned bright red.

“Lighten up, Molly, you don’t understand what you are talking about.” Keri felt like she needed to defend her rookie roommate. “Our new first baseman is Mexican. Show some respect to Cece.” Molly, with her post-practice odor, stayed to one side of the group.

“I didn’t mean her. She’s one of us now.” Molly folded her arms across her chest. Her remarks still made Selina feel unappreciated and isolated.

“That’s enough, girls. Watch this play unfold on the screen.” She wished Selina had not heard those comments. “This is why we are watching the tapes. Notice how skillful this pitcher is? See the outfield responding to those fly balls?”

“Yeah, but see how slowly they take the bases? They all need to lose weight.” Molly would not shut up.

“You should be the last person to mention that Ms. Burger Queen.” Keri attempted to make the discussion less serious. The rest of the team chuckled nervously. “The point is, they get on base. These players hit the ball with a lot of strength and steal bases incredibly quickly. We must avoid giving them these chances.”