Chapter Text
"Well, ladies, I think you're aware that the decision is between the two of you. About who is going to be the starting pitcher for the Peaches."
No shit. As if it isn't the whole reason they're here. Lupe straightens herself as high as possible on her chair. In front of her it's coach Dove fucking Porter. She had risen straight to heaven when he had personally recruited her, when she had been selected for the Peaches, for his team. Then, she had come crushing back to Earth when she had seen that one last decision still had to be made.
She has no idea what it will be. The coach's expression is unreadable in its cryptid joviality. Next to her, her rival's face is instead all too readable. Max Chapman wants this as bad as Lupe, no doubt. Neither of them has warm-up pitcher in their dreams, she'd bet.
And Dove is clearly enjoying having them both hanging on his prolongued silence. He does literally have their fate in his hands. Just say it, goddamnit.
"In the end, I've realized that you both are too good to be anything but a starting pitcher."
Lupe swallows down her gasp and shares a dumbounded look with Max.
"But, we can't both be..." Max voices Lupe's own doubt.
"Of course, Chapman," Dove says, and he still gets in one last suspenseful pause before explaining, "that is why one of you will be going to another team."
Another team? Oh no. No, that is not good news. That is not good news at all.
"I've already talked to the Blue Sox's coach. Their pitcher has recently retired and he's in need of a fresh new star. He's impressed by you both," - Let it not be me, not me, please, God, not me - "so to avoid any further decision paralisis I've made it for all of us in advance. García, he's already agreed to having you on the team."
Fuck.
"No!" Lupe bursts out before she can stop herself, halting Max's smile of victory half way, "I mean, I can't, coach, sir. I can't move to Indianapolis."
Dove raises his eyebrows. "I don't see why not. It's a nice city, I'm sure, and the team is one of the best. After mine, of course, but still..."
"Of course it is, and it'd be an honor, really! I can't thank you enough for all you've done for me, sir, but-"
Lupe looks one last time at both him and Max, who look just as confused at her protests over being accepted in such a fucking good team as a starter, and she wouldn't have complained, really, if it weren't for - and she hates having to play the card of -
"But you see," she presses her lips together before finally blurting it out, without meeting their eyes, especially Max's, "I have a... kid. My daughter is only seven, and I've already uprooted her all the way from Dallas to here a few months ago at the prospect of making the Peaches. Is there any particular reason you chose me for the Blue Sox over Chapman? Because if there isn't I would ask you, beg you really, to switch us. For the child's sake, not mine. She'd have to change school again so close to the end of year and..."
"Alright, alright, yes, García," Dove interrupts her, raising his voice to stop her rambling, "I was not aware. You should've told me beforehand."
"I'm sorry," Lupe says quickly, and she doesn't want to think about how desperate she must look, "I didn't think it necessary. It won't affect any other part of my commitment to the team, I swear."
She still won't look at Max. This is the lowest blow she could've pulled, she knows it. But beggars can't be choosers. Fuck, it's still quite high the possibility that it will shoot her in the foot instead.
But Dove merely shrugs. "Well then, I guess my decision was based mostly on the fact that Max is already from Chicago, so I didn't want to uproot her. But under these circumstances... would you be opposed to it, Chapman? Would you do this favor to a fellow pitcher?"
Max doesn't meet Lupe's eyes either, but she looks as proud and strong as ever as she says, "Not at all, sir. I guess I'm in for a new adventure too."
Max sighs. She surely was in for more than one surprise back there. She still doesn't quite know what to make of it all.
On one end, she has gotten what she wanted. She'll be the starting pitcher, and in one of the best teams of the league. It's just not the one she thought, and she'll be moving too. Leaving all her friends and family behind. Clance. Mom and dad. Uncle Bertie.
It's scary. And quite a bit sad.
On the other hand, she'd be lying if she said she hasn't wanted to experience life on her own for a while. Maybe she would've never found the courage to do it without the circumstances forcing her hand. None of them will have much to argue against her decision now.
So as she sees the other pitcher smoking outside when she exits the building, she doesn't know whether blaming her or thanking her.
They've been rivals since they've played against each other on opposing college teams, but Max had also started to consider her a friend since the time they met in a gay bar for drinks after a game. She can't really blame her for fighting for her own family. Still, she does feel blindsided. She'd had no idea, she would've never even guessed Lupe to have a kid. Certainly not that wild college student and player, both on and off the field, she's seen.
Well, they do say you can never really know someone.
"Don't expect any more favors from me, García, especially not on the field," Max says with a grin on her face as she passes by her.
The smile that Lupe returns is more of a grimace. "I'm really sorry, Chapman. But I had no other choice."
Max nods. "I get it, don't worry. I'm a big girl, so I'll fare much better than your kid."
"Yeah, I'm sure you will. Good luck, Max," Lupe says, and her smile is more genuine now, before it goes away, and she adds clearly reluctantly, "Even though, could you not... tell anyone? I know you said no more favors, but-"
"Sure, of course," Max says with a shrug. "Can I know why, though? I don't think I understand all this secrecy."
Lupe takes another drag from her cigarette. "You kidding? Nobody would take me seriously, it's hard to come by even now. They'd question my ability to pitch if I have to think about the kid at home. And if they did the math and realized I was a teen mom? God, everybody would start questioning my professionality too! I hope at least coach won't."
Max mulls it over. "You're right. Especially the press may. I didn't think of that."
Lupe nods. "Thank you, then. For your understanding." Then she smirks. "But don't think I'll hold back on the field either."
Max smirks too. "I would've never expected you to. See you on the field then, Lupe."
"See you, Max."