Chapter Text
It was a crisp Saturday morning at Peaks Valley—the kind that smelled faintly of dew and dust, when the sun was still deciding whether to warm the air or just hang there like a bright coin in the sky. The Pickles were scattered across the diamond, gloves snapping, cleats crunching against the dirt. The new season had barely begun, but everyone felt the buzz of it—the eighth graders’ last chance to make it count.
Coach Dan stood near home plate, whistle slung around his neck, clipboard tucked under one arm. The team huddled close, caps low, faces attentive but sleepy.
Rochelle shaded her eyes with her hand, scanning the field. “That’s weird,” she murmured. “Laurie’s the assistant—she usually stands next to Coach.”
Kai tied her hair into a quick ponytail. “She probably slept in or something.”
Rochelle frowned. “But Laur never misses practice.”
It was true. Ever since she’d quit softball last season, Laurie had taken up helping her dad during warmups and practices—organizing drills, calling plays, and shouting encouragement like she’d never stopped being part of the team. It started as a way to stay close to her dad after the divorce, but it turned into something else: a quiet passion. She had a knack for rallying the team, lifting spirits when the energy sagged. Somewhere between the scrimmages and the pep talks, Laurie had found a new rhythm, a new version of herself she hadn’t known existed.
“Eh, who cares,” Yuwen said, tossing a baseball in the air and catching it one-handed with a smirk. “It’s not like her being here would make much of a difference.”
Rochelle shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “You wanna repeat that?”
Yuwen just grinned wider, like he lived for her annoyance. “Relax, Roch. I’m just saying—we can handle a morning without our ‘assistant coach-slash-cheerleader.’” He used air quotes around the last part, his tone somewhere between teasing and defensive.
Before Rochelle could deliver the inevitable scolding (and she definitely looked ready to), Coach Dan clapped his hands loudly, pulling the team’s attention back.
“Okay, Pickles!” His voice carried over the field with the easy authority of someone who’d done this a hundred times. “First game of the season. Last year, we made it all the way to state. We came close—really close. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
The team straightened, a few exchanging quiet nods. The memory of that last game still stung, but hearing Coach say it like that made it feel more like unfinished business than failure.
“I’m proud of you all,” he continued. “You worked hard, and that’s what matters. But this year—this year, we push harder. We play smarter. And we don’t let distractions get in the way. Not school drama, not rival teams, nothing. Got it?”
“Yes, Coach!” the team shouted in unison, voices bouncing off the bleachers.
“That’s what I like to hear!” Dan beamed, his voice booming with warmth and pride. “Now—warm-ups! Yuwen, stop tossing that ball before you take someone’s head off!”
Yuwen caught it midair and shrugged, unbothered. “No promises, Coach.”
Dan rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. “One of these days, that attitude’s gonna earn you an extra lap.”
As the team broke into motion, Rochelle still couldn’t shake the small, unsettled thought: Laurie never missed a practice. Not once.
She glanced at the bleachers, half expecting to see Laurie with her clipboard swinging at her side. But the stands were empty, the air still.
Whatever the reason—Laurie’s absence hung over the diamond like a question no one wanted to ask out loud.
Practice went on without Laurie.
The morning settled into rhythm: the crack of bats, the thud of cleats, the echo of Coach Dan’s whistle cutting through the air. The diamond shimmered in the late-morning sun, and dust rose in soft clouds every time someone slid or pivoted. Even without Laurie’s familiar energy, the Pickles pushed themselves hard—almost like they were trying to fill the space she’d left empty.
Yuwen and Kai practiced batting near the chain-link fence. Yuwen lined up his stance, twisting his grip on the bat with lazy confidence. Kai pitched fastballs—sharp, clean throws that made the bat ring when Yuwen connected. Every hit sent a clean line drive slicing into the outfield grass.
“Nice,” Kai said, shaking out her arm. “Guess you do remember how to hit something that’s not sarcasm.”
Yuwen grinned. “Funny. I thought sarcasm was my best swing.”
Across the field, Coach Dan and Rochelle were working with Taylor on her catching. Rochelle crouched low, glove open, shouting pointers while Coach stood behind her, calling encouragement. Taylor missed a few, but when she finally caught one cleanly, Rochelle whooped and clapped her shoulder.
“That’s it! That’s the sound of progress!” Rochelle cheered, Dan chuckled.
Meanwhile, Tom, Borna, Luciana, Hannah, Tarrence, and Junn ran relay drills from second to home base. Their calls overlapped with laughter and shouts of “Mine! Mine!” as the ball flew back and forth. The infield felt alive again—an orchestra of scuffed dirt, leather snaps, and breathless laughter.
But even with the noise, something was missing. Normally, Laurie would be jogging along the sidelines with a clipboard, shouting “Nice form!” or “Good hustle, Tarrence!” or slipping in a quiet joke when Dan wasn’t looking. Her voice had become part of the team’s rhythm—encouragement layered between orders and laughter.
After a long, steady stretch of drills, Dan finally blew his whistle.
“That’s enough for now! Bring it in!”
The players jogged to the mound, breathing hard, gloves tucked under their arms. Dust clung to their socks and sleeves, and the faint smell of sunscreen and sweat hung over the group.
Dan looked over them, a proud half-smile creasing his face. “Great hustle, team. That’s how you start a season.”
A few players exchanged tired grins. Rochelle pushed her hair out of her face; Yuwen plopped onto the grass, chewing on a sunflower seed like he hadn’t just run six bases in a row.
“The game starts in two hours,” Coach said, his tone both firm and fatherly. “So get some rest, hydrate, and eat something light. Can’t wait to see you all play.”
“Yes, Coach!” they said, voices overlapping.
As the team dispersed—some heading toward the benches, others toward their water bottles—Coach Dan lingered near home plate. The field was quiet now, save for the hum of cicadas and the faint thud of cleats against gravel. His gaze drifted toward the dugout, to the small folding chair beside his own—Laurie’s usual spot. Empty.
He didn’t say anything, but the pause was long enough for Rochelle to notice. She slowed beside him, brushing dirt off her knees.
“She’ll be here, Coach,” Rochelle said softly, offering a small, hopeful smile.
Dan nodded, his expression unreadable. “I know she will, Rochie.”
But his tone wasn’t uncertain—it carried a quiet confidence, like someone who already knew and was just waiting for everyone else to catch up.
Rochelle tilted her head, curiosity flickering across her face. “You don’t seem worried. Do you… know where she is?”
Dan’s mouth curved into a knowing half-smile, the kind he used when his daughters thought they were hiding something from him. “Oh, I know where she is.”
Her eyes widened. “You do? Then why isn’t she here?”
For a moment, Dan didn’t answer. He looked out over the field—the bases lined in chalk, the banner fluttering in the breeze—and exhaled through his nose, like he was holding back the rest of the sentence. Laurie had made him promise to keep it a surprise.
“Just know,” he said finally, his voice soft but sure, “Laurie will come to the game. I promise.”
Rochelle studied him for another moment, trying to read between his words. There was something amused in his tone—something proud. Whatever Laurie was up to, it wasn’t bad. If anything, Coach Dan seemed to be looking forward to it.
As he walked off toward the dugout, clipboard tucked under his arm, Rochelle squinted toward the parking lot in thought.
Laurie never missed practice. If she wasn’t here… she had a good reason.
And by the look on Coach’s face, that reason was going to surprise them all.
The game was still thirty minutes away, but the bleachers were already bursting with life. Parents waved handmade signs, siblings chased each other up and down the aisles, and clusters of students crowded together with snacks and chatter. The air buzzed with a kind of small-town electricity—the promise of a fresh season and maybe, finally, a championship before the team moved on to high school.
For the Pickles, this was more than a game—it was a second chance.
Inside the dugout, the players sat in various states of focus and nerves. Kai was tightening her glove straps. Rochelle was braiding her hair. Yuwen leaned back against the fence, tossing a baseball up and catching it with casual precision, pretending he wasn’t watching the stands fill.
Then Rusty, the announcer, voice boomed through the loudspeakers, slick and confident as ever.
“Good afternoon, Peaks Valley! Welcome to opening day for your hometown Pickles! Let’s hear it for the visiting team, the Creekside Coyotes!”
A polite round of applause followed as the opposing players jogged onto the field.
Rusty wasn’t done. His grin was practically audible.
“And now, folks, making Pickles history this season—please give a big round of applause to the team’s first-ever cheer squad!”
The crowd erupted into cheers and whistles as a group of students walked onto the diamond—eight girls and two boys, all in shiny green-and-gold uniforms that sparkled under the afternoon sun.
The Pickles players collectively froze.
“Cheerleaders?” they said in unison, heads snapping toward the field.
One by one, they crowded the fence, pressing close together to get a better look.
“This oughta be good,” Yuwen muttered with a smirk, pushing off the wall and sauntering forward like he was above it all.
But the second his eyes landed on the front of the cheer line, the smirk died.
His breath caught. His heart stumbled. And for one dizzy moment, the world narrowed to a single impossible sight.
Laurie.
She stood in the middle of the formation, smiling nervously, green-and-gold ribbon catching the light as the crowd roared approval. Her hair was tied back with a glinting bow, and her uniform—bright, confident, completely unexpected—made her look like she belonged to this new, loud, fearless world.
Yuwen’s stomach dropped straight through the turf. His grip on the fence tightened.
No way.
The rest of the team squinted toward the field, trying to confirm what their eyes were telling them.
“Guys,” Tarrence said slowly, blinking hard. “My glasses might be dirty, but I think I see Laurie.”
“Wait—hold on,” Kai said, leaning forward.
“That is Laurie!” Luciana gasped, laughing.
“Girl, what?” Rochelle said, half shocked, half delighted.
“No way?” Said Hannah.
“Yooo,” Borna added, eyes wide. “She look good, not gonna lie.”
“Dude?” Tom groaned, shoving his shoulder.
“Hey, I’m just sayin’!” Borna protested, hands raised.
Meanwhile, Yuwen hadn’t moved. His usual sarcastic armor was gone—just replaced with the stunned silence of a boy watching his world shift half an inch sideways. His jaw clenched, and he forced out a scoff that didn’t sound nearly as confident as he wanted it to.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath. “Of course she’d do this.”
But even as he said it, his eyes didn’t leave her.
Laurie—his Laurie, the quiet assistant who used to scribble game notes and hand out water bottles—was standing at center field with the cheer squad, waving to the crowd as if she’d been doing it her whole life.
And for the first time since he’d known her, Yuwen didn’t have a single snarky thing left to say.
Laurie had never heard Peaks Valley sound this alive.
The crowd’s cheers washed over her in one long, dizzying wave as she stood with the rest of the cheer squad at the edge of the diamond. Sunlight bounced off the green-and-gold pom-poms, and the steady thump of the marching drums pulsed beneath her feet. Her heart was racing so fast she could barely breathe. But it wasn’t fear. It was something bigger. Something wild.
She adjusted her bow, stealing a glance at the bleachers. So many faces, so much noise. Somewhere in that sea, she knew her dad was watching, probably fighting a grin and pretending to be casual about it. He’d kept his promise. He hadn’t told anyone.
Then her eyes drifted toward the dugout.
The team was pressed up against the fence like a row of startled cats. Rochelle with her jaw dropped, Kai half-laughing in disbelief, and the rest of them craning their necks to get a better look.
And then there was Yuwen.
He stood a little apart from the others, one hand gripping the fence, his expression halfway between shock and… something else. His mouth was parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t figure out what.
Laurie’s breath hitched.
For a split second, the crowd, the cheers, the sun—all of it—fell away. It was just the two of them, staring across the diamond, caught in that suspended moment where words didn’t fit.
Then the captain, Maya, clapped her hands. “Positions!”
Laurie jumped back into place, forcing herself to focus. She could feel the eyes on them, the energy humming through every muscle. The music started—a bright, pulsing beat that vibrated through the turf—and instinct took over.
They moved as one.
Arms sharp, feet light, voices rising above the music:
“We are the Pickles and we couldn’t be prouder!
If you can’t hear us, we get a little—LOUDER!”
The squad stomped, clapped, and repeated, their chants echoing across the field. The crowd answered with cheers of their own, stomping the bleachers in rhythm.
Laurie’s voice carried clear and strong, surprising even herself. Each word left her throat with power she didn’t know she had.
When they finished the routine, the applause hit like thunder. Laurie’s chest swelled, her cheeks flushed with a kind of joy that made her feel untouchable. She looked back at the dugout again.
Yuwen was still watching her—no smirk this time, no sarcasm, just that quiet, stunned look like he was seeing her for the first time.
Laurie laughed under her breath, shaking her head as she turned back toward her squadmates.
If that wasn’t the loudest moment of her life yet… it was about to be.
The team were still buzzing, trading half-whispers and stunned laughter.
“Bro, she nailed that routine,” said Hannah, shaking his head.
“Yeah, Laurie’s really out here stealing the spotlight,” added Kai with a grin.
Luciana nodded, still peeking over the fence. “She looks… happy. Like, actually happy.”
Before anyone could say more, the dugout gate creaked open and Coach Dan stepped inside, clipboard in hand.
“Alrighty, team—”
“Coach!” Rochelle cut in, eyebrows raised. “You didn’t tell us Laurie was gonna be a cheerleader!”
Dan froze mid-step, caught off guard. “Uhhh, well…” He scratched the back of his neck. “I might’ve… left that part out.”
“Yeah dude, that was so uncalled for,” said Hannah, crossing her arms but grinning all the same.
“Seriously,” Kai chimed in. “Plot twist.”
Even Tom smirked. “Guess she found her new position on the field.”
The dugout filled with chuckles and murmured agreement, the earlier shock melting into something lighter, something proud.
Dan raised his hands. “Alright, alright—listen up. I know a lot of you are… well, surprised. But let’s leave that till after the game.” His voice firmed, that coach’s tone slipping back in. “Right now, I need your heads in it. The crowd’s here for a reason. Let’s give them a game worth cheering for.”
The laughter faded into nods and focused silence. Gloves were adjusted, bats tapped the ground, and the air thickened with anticipation.
Dan looked them over his team, his kids, and smiled faintly. “You know what to do out there. Trust what I’ve taught you. Play smart. Play together.”
A chorus of “Yes, Coach!” rang out as the team stood and jogged toward the field, the metallic clatter of cleats echoing in rhythm.
From the fence, Yuwen cast one last glance across the diamond where the cheer squad was gathering again where Laurie, still glowing from the performance, laughed with her teammates.
He took a deep breath, adjusted his cap, and whispered under his breath, “Alright, Laurie. Let’s give you something to cheer for.”
And for a moment, Yuwen thought it would be easy to push it all aside Laurie, the surprise, the strange feeling sitting heavy in his gut.
But little did he know.
It was going to be hard for him.