misha writes. duh.

At summer camp between seventh and eighth grade, she learned all she ever needed to know about baseball. She had rounded first a long time ago, but didn’t dare go past second. His hands were everywhere. His hot breath on her cheeks as his dirty Levi’s gave her rug burn. He was always lost in the friction. They were just being animals in the dirt in the woods behind his cabin. He had pimples and spiky red hair. She wondered if it would always be like this. Like baseball. Dirty, sweaty, rough, and boring. His name? Daniel Ackland.