This is a story I wrote for math...yes, indeed I did say Math.

Anyways, this is uber cliched, but I hope you guys forgive me!

“Batter up,” Michael shouted to the team.

I saw Brendon grab the worn wooden bet with sure hands. The sports tap around the bottom was now brown from all of the use of the neighborhood kids using it every day after school when the weather was nice enough for us to play.

Brendon gave a few practice swings then walked up to home plate, getting ready for Michael to pitch the baseball.

Everyone was staring at Michael or Brendon. This decided pretty much who won and who didn’t. Either my team lost by a ton, or we lost by a reasonable amount. Maybe, by some small chance, no one would get out and I would finally go up to bat, but the chances of that happening we small.

Michael wound up and threw the ball. It seemed to disappear before our eyes. I heard a few kids groan behind me. Surely Brendon couldn’t have hit that. Surely he missed and our team lost again.

Then, we suddenly heard a loud whack. We glanced Brendon and saw the bat was tossed aside and the Brendon was running for his life to first base.

I saw James go over home plate. One more point for us.

I waited, watching to see everyone come in, expecting us to loose.

There was a silence so heavy, so menacing, no one knew what to do. This hardly even happened in major league! But no one was walking to the side of the street where the rest of my team was waiting.

Suddenly, someone cheered. I looked around to see who it was, and saw it was little Lucy. She loved to watch her older brother Tom play. She was just a four year old and always carried around a ratty pink blanket with her wherever she went.

We suddenly realized what happened. No one was out! I was going up to bat! We hadn’t yet lost! It was call for a celebration, which we did. My team started cheering and giving everyone high fives (except for the people on the bases).

I took the bat from where Brendon had thrown it, wrapping my hands around the familiar sports tape, well worn. It wasn’t warm anymore, but it held all the comfort in the world.

There were scuff marks along the wooden bat, indents along the sides of the bat where the ball hit it and the end had a nice collection of the dents and scrapes from being thrown to the ground. This bat had taken much wear and tear from us, yet it still had yet to break (thank goodness, none of us had enough money to buy a new one, even if we combined all of our money).

I gave it a few swings and then slowly walked up to bat.

“What’s the little girl gonna do,” Jonny, the catcher, said behind me. I paid him no mind, knowing I had to hit a homeroom if my team had a chance to win.

My eyes were on the ball only. I watch him Michael as we slowly wound up, trying to throw me his hardest and fastest pitch.

I saw the ball leave his hands, and I felt the adrenaline pump threw my veins.

The ball, I knew, was moving quickly, but to me, it seemed to be moving very slowly, like Michael had pitched a slow ball.

I swung the bat and heard a loud crack. The ball went flying, the bat had a new, very large dent in it.

I was stunned by home far the ball went. It went soaring over our heads, higher and higher, almost getting higher than the apartment buildings over our heads.

But, slowly, it stopped getting high and began falling down in an arc. It was gaining speed and getting closer and closer to the windows in the apartment building across from me. I nervously watched it, getting more and more nervous as it sped closer and closer to the closed window.

Suddenly, we all heard what everyone dreaded. The ear splitting (to us and us only) crash as glass fell down.

“Oh noo,” I heard Jonathan whisper behind me.

“Run,” Eric screamed.

We all ran in a panic, afraid of what would await us when we got home.

I ran as fast as I could, trying to put as much distance between me and the house.

While I was running like a madman, I thought. What would happen to those people? Would they be able to pay for the new window? Maybe the ball had destroyed something other than the window. Maybe it had hit someone in the head!

Suddenly feeling guilty and having second thoughts, I turned around and ran faster than I ever had before.

I ran to the front of the apartment building where we usually played our baseball games.

I saw our precious bat was still lying on the ground from when I has discarded it after I had hit the ball.

Stopping in front of the entrance, I caught by breath in front of the entrance. After a few moments I could breath normally and I grabbed the bat. I slowly turned and faced the door. With increasing dread with each second, I turned the bronze knob. It wasn’t locked, but every second I had second thoughts. What would mom do to me? And how would whoever lived their react? Would they make me pay for it?

I knew for a fact that Mom couldn’t pay for it, not after Dad died in a mining accident. Mom was barely making enough for ends meat, even with Ben working at the local factory, rather than going off to college on the full scholarship they offered him.

With heavy steps and with a guilty heart, I walked up the stairs until I got to the third floor. Finding the only door, I hesitated up to it.

My heart was thudding and I was afraid of what would come, but I knew that it was better I confess to this than walk away.

Slowly, I raised a fist to the door and knocked three times slowly.

I could almost hear my knocks echoing off everything, like this was some nightmare made just for me.

I heard locked being undone and I slowly saw the knob being turned.

As the door swung open, I saw who lived here. It was a mother holding a crying child.

She had on a cleaning apron, a blue blouse with her dark blonde hair pulled back with a white bandanna. The baby was wrapping a white blanket that looked new (something that I had never gotten from my parents, even when my dad was alive).

“Hello,” She said in a soft, kind voice.

“Hello, Ma’am,” I began. “I was playing baseball earlier and I accidentally hit a ball threw your window. I broke your window, ma’am.”

Instead of frowning, like I was almost positive my mother would have done, the lady smiled.

“Thank you for telling me, young man. You have a lot of courage for not running off with the rest of your friends when you hit the ball, and you show a lot of responsibility too,” She said.

I looked guiltily down at the ground. But then I thought of what she said. I was courageous when I had turned back from my friends? I showed responsibility by standing here?

But how did the woman know that I had hit the ball? And how did she know I was playing with my friends. Surely our voices don’t carry that high, could they?

I asked the woman and she laughed, also turning a delicate shade of pink. “I confess, I watch you boys play baseball every day from my window. I sometimes even cheer you on, as long as my window isn’t open. I do love watching baseball, and I can’t wait until I can start watching Aaron play.”

She watched us play? Then, had the woman seen me come back to her apartment building? She must have, or she was tending to her baby, Aaron.

“Oh,” she said after a moment. “I’m Mrs. Thomas. I have a son that’s about your age, but he’s away at boarding school right now. He’ll be back in the late spring.”

Mrs. Thomas was sending a boy my age away to a boarding school? They must have a lot of money, seeing as to send Ben away, even for just high school, had cost my family a lot. I have to work weekend evenings to start raising money for my high school boarding school, and I was only ten years old. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how much it must cost to send a ten year old boy to boarding school.

“Ma’am, I was wondering if I should pay for a new window for you, or something else you had in mind,” I said, dreading the answer because she might say that I had to pay for a new window.

“Oh, you don’t need to pay for it! How about you just come here to help me out, rather than playing baseball for a month. I know I could use the help, and I’d like to get to know you better,” she said, smiling. But then, her smile faltered. “Could you introduce me to your mother though? I would like her to know about this, you did break my window after all,” Mrs. Thomas said, sounding sad about needing to tell my mother.

I nodded slowly and then asked her if she wanted to follow me home, or if my mother should come here.

“Oh, I’ll just follow you,” Mrs. Thomas said with a smile.

What did you think? Was is a total disaster?

Oh, when this takes place: I always pictured it as the early 1900's, during the depression and before good child labor laws....idk...if you've ever seen the movie Samantha: An American Girl (yeah, yeah, I used to love her and I was SO psycked when they made the series into a movie), well, I pictured the boy to live in the same time period and way as Nelly does.

So, sorry for the cliched idea, but I hope you guys liked it!! Kindly, review please!

-Lizza