Scotty small tried to look anywhere but his mother as she spoke to him about trying to get some new friends. He wanted to tell her about the Sandlot, and the boys that he knew played there, but he was embarrassed. He had made a fool of himself when he went there to talk to them, unable to do something as simple as catching or throwing a baseball. To them, he was a lost cause. He didn't have the guts to tell her that he had tried and failed, quite miserably, to make friends.
"Run around, scrape your knees, get dirty!" his mother went on, trying to gain his attention back from his thoughts. "Climb trees, hop fences, get into trouble, for crying out loud!" She seemed to pause as she thought over what she had just said and quickly added on, "Not too much, but some. Nothing like your sister."
"Hey, I heard that!" his elder sister yelled from the hallway. The door opened once more and Christine's head peered around the wood, looking to where the two sat. She smiled to them before stepping into the room completely, but remaining by the door. "I didn't get into that much trouble."
Christine Smalls was polar opposite to her brother and her last name. She had long legs and a long torso with their mother's reddish brown hair. She was only fourteen years old and people often mistook her for a sixteen or seventeen year old. She also wasn't as lanky as her brother was, she had been playing sports and joining teams since she could move on her own two feet. Their mom often said that she had been running before she even thought about walking. The loose short sleeved shirt and cotton short shorts revealed the tan that she had already accumulated and the muscle tone on her legs.
"Well, I'm giving Scotty permission, you were actually going against what I said," Mrs. Smalls said as she looked over to her daughter. Christine just laughed and shook her head.
Their mother wasn't kidding about Christine getting in trouble, either. Scotty had been sure that his sister was the only person in their previous school who had ever gotten in trouble with the local police and said 'catch me if you can' before taking off running. She never did huge offences to the law, but it was enough to set their mother into a tizzy every time. She was the fastest kid in the school, probably in the entire town, and the police never did catch her. Eventually she would always run home and the cops would be there waiting. She actually became close 'friends' with a few of them.
"Anyway," His mother quickly said, looking back over to Scott, "I want you to make some friends this summer. Lots of them."
Scott noticed the slight downward tilt to his sister's smile and knew that she felt sorry for him. She had always taken easily to new people, she could just smile and greet them without a single care of something going wrong. He had always asked her to teach him, and she would always tell him that it was something that you taught yourself.
"But…I'm not good at anything," Scotty said in excuse, "They'll always think I'm just an egghead."
"Oh, don't worry, you'll always be just an egghead," Christine threw in, getting a look from their mother when she did so. She lifted her hands up in surrender and turned to leave, shooting her baby brother a smile before she departed.
"You will, at least with an attitude like that."
Christine stepped down to her room, the floorboards cold on her feet. She looked around their new home, all of their things already unpacked from their boxes, pictures put up on walls and tables. She walked down the hallway to her bedroom, pushing open the door and stepping inside. While Scott's room was filled with all of his homemade knick knacks her bedroom had paintings, drawings, art supplies, reward ribbons and trophies all thrown around in the strangest order that it looked messy. She loved to draw and paint, but she also loved the outside and spent as much time doing sports and other activities as she could.
Jumping onto her double bed, she began to fiddle with the straps of the brace on her arm. She really hated that thing. She had gone and broken her wrist in a game a couple of months back before they moved. She had the cast taken off only days before they left, but the doctor said that it would be best that she continue to wear the brace, especially when doing any sort of physical activity that could jostle the injury.
The only plus about breaking your wrist is getting out of dish duty. At first, her mother had had her on drying duty when she helped with the dishes, but the cast still got wet and she often fumbled with the dishes, resulting with them falling, breaking and glass going everywhere. It was actually Bill who had saved her when he deemed it too dangerous for her to continue to attempt helping. She didn't know whether he was trying to protect their feet from the glass or his remaining dishes. Either way, she was grateful for it.
A soft knock on the door made her sit up in her bed, fixing the straps a moment before the door opened. Her mother stepped in smiling, and Christine knew that she was about to be lectured as well.
"I'll help him out, I know, I know," Christine said in defense, holding up her hands just as she had when leaving Scott's room. Her mother smiled and sat down on the edge of her bed.
"I know you will, you're a wonderful older sister. I was actually going to ask you if you were going to join any teams. Your next doctor's appointment is coming up and I'm sure that he'll clear you to play," She said, placing a hand on her daughter's leg reassuringly. She watched as Christine's face fell slightly and she began to fiddle with the straps again.
"I don't know, mom, I just don't think I should," she mumbled out, looking over to one of the many ribbons that were pinned along a scarf that hung from one of her bookcases. "You know how people treat girls who play sports. I was lucky to have such a supportive team back home."
"Honey, you love to play, you should get back in the game. At least try. When school starts up in the fall your arm will be all healed and you won't need to worry about wearing the brace anymore," Mrs. Smalls encouraged gently, offering her most motherly smile. Christine just looked away in doubt, knowing that if she looked at her mother she might end up promising something that she shouldn't.
Christine's mother sighed at her daughter's reaction but knew better than to push.
"Alright, I can take a hint. I'll see you in the morning." She got up from the bed, leaning over one last time to give her sudden unhappy daughter a kiss on her forehead before she stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her quietly.
Christine leaned back into her pillows again before pulling off the brace on her wrist and tossing it over in the direction of her desk, sighing loudly. She really did miss playing sports, she had been without it for nearly six months and she felt like she was beginning to lose her mind. She had starting taking up track for a short while since there wasn't any work done on her wrist aside from the movement of swinging her arms.
"Damn," She muttered to herself as she rolled over, snapping off the lamp beside her bed before she curled herself under the covers. She knew that her mother was going to try again tomorrow, so she's need her rest.
Christine stood at the kitchen window, looking out into the backyard, eating her cereal of the morning. Her mother stood behind her, looking over her shoulder, as the boys played catch. Scott had missed the first one and proceeded to walk over and place the baseball in Bill's mitt. Christine had gotten a warning look from her mother when she snorted in laughter, effectively silencing the teenager from making another sound.
Scott still missed catching the second ball, casing Christine to wince. She wondered how long Bill would actually try and teach him before he gave up. She could already see that he really wished to have better things to do than just stand around and attempt to teach the youngest Small child to play catch.
The milk from her cereal nearly came out her nose when she saw Smalls try and toss the ball back to Bill, getting a soft smack on the back of her head as her mother quickly stepped up behind her. She began to cough as she tried to swallow her cereal and laugh at the same time.
"Oh, for Heaven's sake," Mrs. Smalls said as she patted her daughter on the back, taking the nearly empty bowl from her hands. Christine shook her head and wiped at her mouth, spitting the rest of the milk into the sink so she didn't choke on it. She could hear her mother cleaning up the last of the dishes as she took a piece of paper towel to try and wipe off her face.
She knew that she shouldn't laugh at Scott, she felt bad for doing so, but she couldn't help herself. She would go out and see if she could help him after Bill finished up. Maybe they could have some very delayed father/son bonding while they were out there. Her head shot up to look out the window when Scott cried out suddenly, her mother rushing over as well. Scott was lying on the ground with his hands to his face. Bill quickly rushed over to him, helping him up off the ground.
They stepped into the kitchen soon after with Scott complaining about his eye. Christine stood back as their mother rushed over to see what had happened, Bill moving to the fridge and grabbed a wrapped piece of meat. She winced at the slapping sound when the meat hit Scott's skin, over his eye.
"Nice and hard, press it against it," Bill instructed, looking over to Christine briefly. She knew about the cold press of meat all too well. Not usually for the face, though.
"I just took my eye off the ball, mom," Scott tried to assure, holding the meat up to his eye as he had been instructed.
"He still caught it, though," Bill added on, straightening up and looked down at where Scott was still grunting in pain. "Alright, just keep that on for about an hour. It'll still turn black but it shouldn't swell that way."
And black it was. It didn't take long after the meat was removed to notice the darkened skin. It wasn't as bad as some could get, and it wasn't all swollen, but it was easy to see that he had gotten one in the face just by looking at him. Christine tried to cheer up him, telling him about when she had first gotten hit with a baseball. She had been on the sidelines and the batter was really bad and ended up hitting her in the shin hard enough to bruise and swell.
"Hurts like crazy when they hit the bone, too," She said. "Although, the eye's just as bad." She sat down beside him on the front step of their house where he was fiddling with his mitt. The strings on the fake glove had come loose, never to be used again. She turned his face toward her, inspecting the eye. "Be glad, you got off lucky."
"I don't feel very lucky."
"I know, that's what I said when the doctor told me the same thing. 'Be lucky it was only your wrist' he says. Well, a broken bone is a broken bone, no matter how many places in the arm it is," She said, mocking the doctor's voice as she spoke. Scott laughed slightly, but was still miserable none the less. "You can have my glove if you want, it's not like I use it anymore. It should fit you perfectly!"
"No, that's alright. I don't think I'm going to ever play baseball."
Christine regarded her brother with a sad look in her eyes, wishing that she could do something to cheer him up. She remembered the first time that she had tried out for the boys' soccer team, since there hadn't been a girls' one, and they had laughed in her face and sent her away. But she didn't give up and continued to bother them until the coach gave her a shot. Not one of those boys could stop, steal or block any of her tricks.
"Don't just give up like that, Scott."
Scott was silent for a moment, looked over to his sister when she got to her feet. Her red converse shoes were dirtied from years of use, but she still loved them. "But you did," he finally said, causing her to pause and step back down to look at him. He noticed how sad she looked and how she fiddled with her brace.
"I broke my wrist, Scott. You got hit in the eye when you caught your first ball. Tell me which is worse."
Scott looked over his shoulder as she stepped into the house, clearly dejected from his words. He felt bad for what he had said, the sickening feeling in his stomach nagging at him. She was trying to help him, make him feel better even, and he accused her of giving up. He knew why she didn't play baseball anymore, and he'd thrown her fear in her face.
Looking down at the glove in his hands, he also regretted turning down her offer to use her mitt. It wasn't like he was going to be able to get a new one any time soon. He barely got an allowance and he didn't want to bother his mother or Bill with asking for a new one.
Scott looked up from his glove to the voice, unfamiliar to him. He immediately felt embarrassed and shy once more when he saw one of the guys from the Sandlot gang walking up the drive toward him. He was carrying a glove and baseball bat with him, apparently on his way to play ball with the others.
"I'm gunna go play some ball and we need an extra guy, you wanna go?" He asked lightly, stopping a couple of feet away from him. Scott just kept his eyes down at the destroyed mitt in his hands.
"Why not? Don't you like baseball?"
"Oh, yea! But, uhm-"
"But what?" The kid interrupted, clearly not liking the excuses that Scott was trying to come up with. The younger was beginning to wish that he had chosen a different place to mope around. He looked back down to his destroyed mitt and stood up, beginning to ramble on about how he couldn't play without a mitt.
He turned around when the door suddenly opened and his sister appeared again, holding her baseball mitt in her hand. She was smiling again-clearly not mad about what he had said to her earlier. The faded and used mitt in her hands fit perfectly with her torn up jean shorts, white tank top and red converse high-tops. She looked the part of a regular sports girl.
"Take mine, Scott." She held the glove out to him, giving him a look that just dared him to try and oppose her will. "I'll tell mom and Bill you went out, now go," she ordered as she pressed her glove into his hand and took the destroyed one from him. Scott looked over to Benny, hoping that he didn't seem offended at the excuses that he had made up. But Benny seemed preoccupied with looking at his sister.
"You can come too, if you want," he offered. Christine seemed surprise at the generosity, before she lifted up her braced wrist and hand.
"Sorry, doctor's appointment," she said apologetically. "But Scott's all free to go!" She nudged at her brother until he stepped off to follow Benny. The taller kid smiled up to her and nodded before he motioned for Scott to follow after him and began to jog back down their driveway.
This is my first Sandlot story, but I'm sure that it'll turn out great. I'm surprised at the lack of stories that can be found about the movie, but I didn't let that discourage me. Hope everyone enjoys!