Bee had joined Interact Club freshman year. It was a community service club, and so Bee spent most of her free time volunteering with the club, making posters, and showing her support at meetings that her mother had to drive her to.

She sat in the cafeteria with the club president, Jane, and she ate her salad quietly. She and Jane got along, but the two of them weren't friends, and they didn't have much in common that didn't include volunteering.

"Good job on the poster," Jane said after she finished her sandwich. A few students had signed up to help with the May Day festival in town, which was over a month away, but Bee and Jane both knew the importance of planning ahead.

Despite the concern Bee had earlier that morning, the poster had arrived at school in perfect condition and was waiting for her in the office right before lunch, just as her mom had promised.

"Thanks. There's nothing a little glitter can't fix." The pink glitter sparkled under the fluorescent lights in the cafeteria, drawing in interested gazes. Even if people didn't sign up immediately, the poster and the event had their attention.

Bee watched as her friends, the baseball boys she had always grown up with, strut into the cafeteria. She watched as Larkin's eyes skimmed around the cafeteria until they landed on her, a grin lighting up his face as he strolled towards her, the others in tow.

"Bee! What's this?"

Larkin dropped his tray on the table, grinning at Jane. John stood next to Larkin, pushing his blonde hair off of his forehead, leaning to read the poster. "May Day volunteers... you know what? Sign us up. This is Sunday, right? Won't conflict with our game schedule."

Larkin elbowed John. "Speak for the whole team, why don't ya?" He busted a laugh, showing he was joking as he grabbed the pen, signing down his name on the sheet. "John's right though. We can't leave our girl hangin'."

"You guys... seriously. You don't have to do this," Bee protested with a laugh. This was reason number one why she loved her friends: they backed her, even when it wasn't convenient for them. Despite the rumors and hate she got for her position on their team, they wanted her there and they wanted to support her.

John rolled his eyes in good nature, signing his name on the sheet. "Volunteering can be fun. Besides, this will count towards graduation credits, right? Don't we need like, 20 volunteer hours to graduate, or some shit like that?"

Jane perked up at this. "30, actually. But, if you haven't fulfilled any... you're going to have to do more volunteering than just May Day."

Larkin slapped John on the back, barking out a laugh. "John, you sly dog, thought you were going to graduate without helping others. I see you."

John's cheeks pinked as he shoved Larkin playfully. Behind Larkin and John, Benji and Stephen signed as well. Benji and Stephen were a package deal, on and off the field. Benji was pitcher, and Stephen was catcher, and the two were inseparable. They had been since first grade, and even more so now that they were dating.

Benji snapped the gum he was chewing. "Don't lie, Bee. You just want us for our muscles." He posed, showing off his biceps, causing Stephen to fake swoon as he signed the sheet as well. "Ben, put those away. You're going to blind someone!"

There was a clicking tongue behind Benji and Stephen, and when Bee looked up, she saw the sly smirk from Oakland. He was with his Park School friends, all of them looking like they tasted something sour when they saw her.

The thing about the Park School boys was that they were popular. Back at their school, they owned the terf, and they were used to it. The school merger hadn't dampened that at all, but instead enhanced their popularity, only because they were new and exotic and mysterious.

For the most part, they got along fine with the rest of the students, but Oakland was hell bent on taking her down, and his teammates felt similarly.

"Well, isn't this cute. Battin' Bee and her pals are playing good samaritan."

Bee's mouth flattened. Battin' Bee was hardly an insult on it's own, but she knew what he was insinuating. He'd made jokes nonstop that she batted for the other team, which wasn't insulting to her in the slightest, but she hated that he joked about that. Especially when it wasn't something to joke about. Especially when Benji and Stephen were still there, both batting for the other team.

"I'd ask if you'd want to sign up, but I think being a good person would kill you." Her voice was sickly sweet as she smiled at him, fake enough to make Jane look at her with wide eyes, not quite catching on that they both hated each other.

Oakland put a hand to his chest, pretending to be wounded. "Ouch, babe." He laughed, elbowing his friends, clearly finding her pathetic and hilarious. She felt her mouth flatten again, wishing he was somewhere else.

He leaned his hands on the table, pushing his face into her personal space. "I can be good. Real good. Just tell me when and where and I'll show you what good can feel like." His voice was low, gravel beneath your shoe, and it made her flush. The exact reaction he wanted.

Instead of showing how his words made her feel suddenly too hot all over, she tapped her pen to the sign up sheet. "Okay. How about May 1, at noon, in town? Then you can show everyone just what being good looks like. Since you're so good at it."

He hadn't been expecting that answer and it showed. "How about tonight instead? In the gym, right in front of our teammates and coaches, showing them who truly belongs on the team?"

She didn't rise to the challenge. Instead, she put on a sweet smile, winking at him, forcing lust into her voice, only she found it wasn't so hard to force all of a sudden. "Thanks, but I'll pass. A pity though, I really would love to work you hard on May Day. So hard, you'll be sweating like a pig, glistening in the sun, panting with the desire to do good. Too bad."

He was still leaning on the table, too close to her, and she watched his eyes dilate. "You'll work me hard, huh?" He licked his bottom lip, like he was thinking about it. He leaned impossibly closer, his cheek rubbing against hers as his mouth found her ear. "I'd like to work you hard, you busy bee. When I'm captain this season, I'll have you working so hard you'll be begging me to give you what you want. I'll have you on your knees, begging me, moaning my name in front of our teammates, showing everyone just how submissive you really are."

She jerked away from him, her face on fire, knowing her reaction wasn't appropriate. She should have laughed it off, or better yet, came up with a witty retort, but instead she just looked foolish.

His grin spread across his face slowly as he took in her frazzled reaction. He winked at her, then straightened up, running a hand through his hair, looking unphased. "Think about it, babe." Then, he turned with his friends, laughing all the way to their table, where a brown haired girl was shooting daggers at Bee, clearly upset by what just happened.

Bee was upset too. So upset that she stomped off towards the bathroom, not bothering to finish her lunch recruiting people to sign up to volunteer.

* * *

Tryouts had always gone in her favor. She played travel baseball nearly year round, only taking a short break in the winter. When she wasn't on her travel team, she was in the gym, putting in the hours, trying to keep her muscles strong and in peak condition.

That afternoon, she was pissed. She was fed up with Oakland and his band of merry men trying to make her feel like she didn't belong, and she wasn't going to put up with it. In the girl's locker room, she looked at herself in the mirror, admiring her brand new sports bra and matching leggings. They were both pink, heathered, and the leggings had mesh cut-outs. Probably her sexiest workout gear that she owned, considering the sports bra was definitely acting as a push-up bra as well.

Good, she thought. She was going to make Oakland eat his words while looking hot as hell.

She tied her hair back in a high pony, then grinned as she reached for her bag. She strut out of the locker room and to the gym like she owned the place, knowing full well that when it came to the baseball team, she pretty much did.

When she walked into the gym, Larkin gave her a wink, a silent act of encouragement. It wasn't the first time her team was seeing her in a sports bra and leggings, but with the way the Park School boys immediately stopped what they were doing to stare, it made her feel empowered.

She didn't even look at them. She dumped her bag against the wall of the gym, immediately stretching her legs. She was not about to lose her position to an entitled brat that didn't have to work hard for everything he got.

"Pair up," the coach barked, and Bee knew what that meant almost immediately. She grabbed her glove from her bag, sliding it on, looking towards Larkin. He was her partner, always, but just as she was turning towards him, Oakland yanked the back of her bra.

"Guess we're partners," he taunted. His words were poison, dangerous, and Bee knew he was going to try and make her look bad. In any other situation, she would have ran, but something about Oakland made her want to prove a point.

She bared her teeth at him. "Let's see what you got."

They started off close, only two five away, passing to each other. Despite the short distance, Oakland was not giving her an easy time. He was throwing the ball just as hard, if not harder, than he would if they were standing yards away. His accuracy was spot on, landing straight in her mitt every time, never straying. She never had to lean or stretch to catch his throw, and her palm was beginning to grow sore from catching his fast throws.

She was giving it to him just as hard, though. She knew her form was perfect, knew she was dishing it out as hard as he was serving it to her, and the scowl on his face told her he wasn't expecting her to be this good.

The couch blew his whistle. "Alright, step back."

Both Bee and Oakland took a step back, putting more distance between them. She rolled her shoulder, hand gripping the ball, and she threw it. The thwack it made was satisfying, but she didn't have time to gloat as he sent it immediately back, an instant response. She watched how his body moved with such fluidity that it made her heart skip a beat. It was obvious he was all muscle, and that he worked out frequently, and that he cared about his physical shape. It was obvious he spent hours just tossing a ball back and forth, working on his form, excelling in his craft.

But, so had Bee. She whipped it back just as fast and just as accurate. The ball met the glove every time, hitting her palm so hard that it caused pain, and she was beginning to wonder if she'd fractured one of the bones in her hand.

Coach blew the whistle again, and they took another large step back. Again and again until everyone was on either side of the gym, staring at each other. This was when it got obvious who was an accurate thrower and who wasn't. She held onto the ball, watching for a moment as her teammates and Park School boys threw their balls, sailing through the air, mostly accurate. Some fell short. Some hit the back walls. Some weren't even close to hitting their partner's glove.

Bee took her stance than threw the ball, stepping into the throw, watching as it went hard and fast, straight into Oakland's glove. He didn't lean, didn't stretch, didn't move as he caught the ball.

He didn't even hesitate as he threw it back, soaring through the air and landing in her glove perfectly, causing her to wince in pain. He had enough power to throw the ball across the field. If she didn't already know he was vying for her position at 2nd base, she would have assumed he was an outfielder, with how accurate his throw was and how much power he had. She would bet money on his ability to be able to throw from center field all the way to home plate to get someone out.

After warming up with passes, Bee threw her glove down and held her hand, her back turned towards her teammates, assessing it. Definitely sore, but nothing looked or felt broken. She dug in her backpack for her batting gloves, slipping them on and then grabbing one of her bats from her bag.

Coach was already setting up the batting cage, and Oakland was standing beside him, bat in hand and smile on his face. Even though Bee had given it back to him, it still looked like Oakland wasn't sweating it at all. She bet he paired with her just to freak her out, and she wasn't going to let that happen.

"Bee!" Coach called. "You're first."

Bee was first probably because she was the best batter on the team. She didn't think that gloatingly; it was a fact that her batting average was just better. She was great at accuracy and hitting them hard into the outfield, far enough back so that they usually scored her two or three bases a hit.

She grabbed her helmet, shoving it on, and she felt Larkin press his hand to the top of the helmet. "Show them who's boss," he said, making eye contact with her. She gave a short nod, swinging her bat once, twice, three times, then she stepped into the cage.

She watched Coach stand by the batting machine, but before she began, Oakland stepped up to the cage beside her, grinning. "Okay, battin' Bee. Show us just how fucking hard you're gonna work this season."

She knew the words were meant to fluster her, but she wasn't going to give in. "Oh, I'll show you just how fucking hard I'm going to work."

The ball shot out, coming towards her, and she swung hard. She listened as ball met bat, watching at the baseball flew threw the air, hitting the top left of the cage. Before she had time to gloat, another ball shot out, coming towards her. With her muscle memory, Bee swung again and again, hitting the ball towards the left, all hitting the top. All of those would have sailed into the outfield, far enough to grant her a few bases. By the time the machine had finished spitting out balls, she had worked up a sweat. She stepped out of the batter's cage and yanked off her helmet, smoothing down the flyaway hairs. She wiped the sweat from her forehead, rolled her shoulders, then high fived Stephan, who looked ready to go next.

Larkin wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "Bee, that was awesome! You just showed Park School who's boss."

She let out a laugh. "Let's just see how you do. Hope you've been practicing this past winter."

"Doesn't matter how hard you practiced all winter. There are only 10 or 11 varsity spots. Look at how many are trying out today. There's what? 20 of us trying out? Ten of us are getting cut."

Bee shot a glare at Oakland, hating the confidence in his voice, hating the way his two lackies stood behind him, arms crossed and toxic grins on their faces. "Oak's right. 10 are getting cut and guess what? We Park School boys are good at this game. Good enough to beat you in the playoffs last year."

Larkin stiffened but said nothing. It was Benji who joined them, sauntering over with an easy grin. "Try again, Parkies. This is our team and our school. You're lucky we let you in and let you try out for our team."

Oakland's eyes narrowed, his mouth twisting. "Let me show you just how lucky you are to have us join you." He swung his bat, nearly hitting Benji, then pulled on his helmet. He stepped into the batting cage, his stance fierce. Bee didn't want to watch, didn't want to give him the satisfaction, but she was drawn to him. To the way his body swung when he hit the ball, sending it sailing towards the top center. The crack was loud, angry in the gym, but Bee didn't flinch.

He was all muscle. He readied himself again, swung, and let the ball feel his anger. Each hit landed in the same area; he was consistent and he was a powerhouse.

Bee felt her throat tighten. Before, she knew Oakland was good, and she knew he would give her a run for her money, but she still stubbornly believed it would be her on second base. Now, watching him, it was obvious that they were matched in skill level completely. He was literally her other half in every category so far: throwing and batting.

She had no reason to believe he wouldn't also be perfect on the field.

When he stepped out of the cage, he ripped off his helmet and grinned, his eyes meeting Bee's immediately. Gotcha, he seemed to say with his eyes. She raised an eyebrow, forcing herself to look at ease. She turned on her heel, swinging her bat, placing it carefully in her bag. She knew she looked tense. She felt tense. But they wouldn't get to play on the field until after the snow fully melted and the ground was solid.

She was hitting the gym tonight. That was now a non-negotiable.