Hitting Home

I've never been the first of us triplets to do anything. I only joined the Stoneybrook Little League team because my twins did; hell, I only started playing baseball to begin eith because my twins did. And I only did most of the crazy stuff I did as a kid because I was going along with them. Ever since we were kids, people have seen us differently: Adam's the leader, the problem-solver, Jordan's the doer, the problem-creator; I'm just the thinker, the silent support for whatever crazy scheme those two have come up with. (And the clean-up crew afterwards.)

I'm too quiet, that has to be it. I don't directly involve myself in a lot of things, just let myself get swept in things, and it's just gets taken for granted that I'm the passive one of us triplets. I don't make a big deal about standing up for myself; if I want to go my own way, I just do. And I guess, because of that, even though I'm not the youngest one of us, people always think of me that way. Despite the fact that Adam acts more childish than I ever did, and Jordan's got the most juvenile sense of humor I've ever heard.

I guess it's not hard to understand why people think of me as the baby of the three, even my own family sometimes. Adam and Jordan discovered girls at eleven; I still haven't four years later. Adam was the first to start shaving, Jordan was the first to grow hair on his chest, and despite the fact we're all only minutes apart in age, at sixteen, I'm still as smooth as a baby all over.

Jeff likes that. A lot. Almost every time we get together, he strokes my skin (to see if I've got stubble, he says, smirking). Makes me blush just thinking about how much he likes touching me…

Well, I guess I was first at something. And second, and third, and…

Anyway. I suppose it could be seen as ironic, but Adam and Jordan are still trying to get past second base with the girls they date.

Jeff and I have been hitting home for almost a year.