I lifted my elbow, the way Dad always told me to. I stood tall and straight but bent my knees, the way Dad said I should. Dad was watching, so I had to do my best. This wasn’t goofing off in the backyard with Scooter and Benny for hours at a time, arguing about who could hit it the farthest. After it went over the Anderson’s fence, it was impossible to see.
   I waited for the pitch to come, waiting, standing with my perfect posture, ready to hit the ball out of the atmosphere. I saw him move, it was almost a flinch that told me he was going to throw, then I saw the ball, then I placed my bat, and then I swung as hard as I could and started to run. That ball flew high and far to the outfield, past Donovan Parker, who was messing around on his brand-new phone. I rolled my eyes; he should’ve left his phone in his gym bag.
   The ball whizzed past his head and was flying towards the fence, not quite clearing it.
   “Darn it,” I moaned. 
   Less than an inch shy of a perfect hit, a hair away from a home run. I’ve been trying to hit a home run since three games ago when I hit two. The expectations for my hits were really high now, all because of that game.
   I rounded first base and ran to second, glancing at Dad from the corner of my eye, hoping he was watching me the way he promised he would. I saw the look on his face, a proud look that made me feel so happy, I almost forgot to keep running. I felt myself slow down, my feet starting to drag.
   “Go for home,” Coach called, referring to me as I rounded third base. 
   I took his instructions and kept running, even though the other team had just recently retrieved my “close, but no cigar” ball. I slammed down on my mental gas pedal, speeding up as much as I could. I spoke to my legs in my mind, willing them to go faster, willing them to take me home. There was the home plate, only a foot away. I spotted Jimmy Parker, Donovan’s twin, winding up to throw the ball.
   I dove for the home plate, wondering if I’d made it. There was dirt in my mouth, my eyes, and all over my uniform, but all I wanted to hear was that one word, the single word the would make all of it worth it. 
   “Safe!”
   I shot up, excitement pulsing through me like the beat of a rock song blasting through Dad’s car radio. I’d just won the game for my team. A team full of boys, a team full of boys that thought I wasn’t good enough to play with them. 
   I snatched my cap off the fence where I’d hung it when I went up to bat and slapped it onto my head, capping the dirt into my ponytail.
   I spotted Dad, clapping wildly in the crowd, a very proud look upon his face. I shot him a smug grin, rubbing the brim of my lucky hat, thanking it for that hit.
   “A perfect hit and run if I’ve ever seen one,” Donovan and Jimmy’s father said, coming up to me to shake my hand. I knew I was smirking as I shook his hand, but he didn’t seem to mind.
   “Great job, kid,” he said, patting me on the back as he left me to stand alone, rubbing the brim of my cap and smiling like an idiot.
   “Not bad,” Donovan said, offering his hand for a handshake.
   I took his hand and shook it hard, widening my eyes. I was sure he’d have a sour attitude about speaking to me, seeing as his team’s loss was entirely his fault, and I was the one that hit the ball he missed.
   “For a girl,” Jimmy said, adding to Donovan’s comment and brushing past me, not giving me the time of day.
   I frowned and crossed my arms, trying not to let that comment shake me. All I really wanted was to be accepted into the league, but the boys seemed reluctant to let me in. I was just as good as they were, really, but they seemed to think that simply wasn’t true.
   “You got lucky, Jones,” one of my teammates said.
   Yes, that’s me, Camilla Jones, the only girl in the entire league. Most of the boys in the league called me Jones, as though I didn’t have a first name.
   I stuck out my tongue at him, unsure of another way to express my annoyance. I actually quite like my name; it’s long and flows like satin fabric when you say it.
   “Camilla!” 
   I turned to see Dad running towards me, his arms outstretched for a hug. I smiled at him, holding my arms out and collapsing into him. He didn’t seem to care that I was extremely sweaty or that I was covered in dirt.
   “You did a great job,” Dad said, pulling away to look at me. 
   I felt my cheeks heating up, turning red from embarrassment as some girls from school walked past, all looking at me as if I had some kind of contagious disease.
   “I heard she actually likes playing with them,” I heard one of them say.
   I scowled at them, wondering what it was that I did to make them gossip about me.
   “I heard she doesn’t have any friends that aren’t on the team. All her friends are boys,” another girl added, following the others out of the park.
   “Camilla,” Dad said. It sounded like he was repeating himself, trying to get my attention, so I turned to him, smiling.
   “Yeah?” I asked searching his face for an emotion that would tell me what he was about to say.
   “I asked if you wanted to get some ice cream,” Dad said, grabbing my gym bag and leading the way out of the park. I nodded enthusiastically, even though he was no longer facing me, and followed his long strides out of the park and into the parking lot.
   “Of course,” I said, as if my answer was an obvious choice. I knew it wasn’t an obvious choice because I tended to be unpredictable, but I acted as though it was to sound certain about it.
   “Good,” Dad said, opening my door for me. 
   I smiled and nodded to him as I slipped into his fancy car.
   “Top down?” Dad asked, buckling his seatbelt.
   I nodded and smiled, leaning forward to turn on the radio as Dad pressed a button and the top slowly came down, the sun once again beating down on my tanned arms. My tan was the result of spending so much time on the field, out in the sun.
   I bobbed my head to the beat of the music, singing along to the familiar lyrics.
   “You know this song?” Dad asked, looking at me in disbelief.
   “Yeah,” I said, giving him a look. He smiled.
   “That’s a pleasant surprise; this is a classic,” he explained, backing out of his parking space.
   I nodded my agreement and continued to sing along, watching Dad’s expression out of the corner of my eye as I did.
   When Dad smiles, he gets little wrinkles on the sides of his eyes and he bites his bottom lip, as if he’s trying hard not to smile. 
   Mom tells me that I look just like Dad when I smile, which is a huge compliment, considering how long I’ve wanted to be just like him.
   Dad drove just under 30 miles per hour, which makes me laugh. He’s always so careful when he drives.
   I watched the trees go past as the car moved along the roads, shadows falling over my face in patterns determined by the trees themselves.
   “I hate this road,” Dad said under his breath, taking the sharp turn that the road forced you to make as you drove, as if it wanted you to crash.
   I laughed at Dad as he muttered some foul language, as if talking to the road. I did that sometimes too, even though I knew it would never say anything back.
   “It can’t hear you,” I told him, smiling.
   He glanced at me and laughed.
   “I know, Camilla,” he said, his voice barely audible over the sound of my laughter.
   “There’s a Braves game tonight,” Dad informed me, glancing at where I sat next to him.
   “I know! I asked Mom if she’d make popcorn, but she said we’ll have to make it ourselves,” I said. I let a few giggles escape my mouth, remembering the look on Mom’s face. 
   I knew why she looked so bothered about us having popcorn while we watched the game. Last time we ate while watching a game, we ended up throwing food at the television, which I got out of cleaning up by falling asleep just before the seventh inning stretch. 
   “Well, we’ll just have to learn how to make our own popcorn then,” Dad said, obviously refusing to be defeated my Mom. 
   I knew Dad probably knew how to make popcorn, which made what he said even funnier.
   “I love you, Daddy,” I said. I didn’t know why I chose to say it right then, but it was true, so why not say it, right?
   “I love you too, Camilla,” Dad said, the wrinkles next to his eyes returning.
   I didn’t want to say it out loud, but I was thinking that I loved him just a little bit more.
   
   We pulled up to the ice cream shop and Dad opened his car door. I waited for him to come around to my side and open the door for me. I felt like a princess when he did that, like it was important to him that I get out of the car safely.
   “There you are, sweetie,” Dad said, chuckling slightly to himself, as if he’d just told a joke to himself and it was a very funny one. 
   I was sure my joke was much funnier.
   “Two muffins are in an oven, Dad,” I said, following him to the door of the ice cream shop.
   “Okay,” Dad agreed, understanding that I was telling a joke.
   “The muffin on the left says, ‘I think it’s hot in here, don’t you?’”
   Dad nodded, showing me he was listening.
   “The muffin on the right says, in reply, ‘Ah! A talking muffin!’”
   Dad erupted into laughter, holding his stomach as his raspy chuckle echoed into the air, making everyone for what seemed like miles turn to look at us.
   I turned bright red; I was suddenly hyper-aware of all the attention we were receiving.
   “Dad, you told me that one,” I informed him. I knew he didn’t really find my joke funny, but he always laughed at my jokes. I knew he was trying to be supportive, in case I ever decided I wanted to tell jokes for a living, the way he did to pay his way through college.
   “I did?” Dad asked, laughing even harder as I nodded, opening the door for him.
   He thanked me with a nod, unable to talk because of the lack of oxygen I’d caused with his lame joke.
   The ice cream shop smelled like any other ice cream shop, I suppose. The air was colder than I expected it to be and it smelled faintly of whipped cream. It was crowded, as always, and filled with kids I recognized from school. I felt like I should’ve been embarrassed, standing there with my father, covered head-to-toe in dirt, but I didn’t. I was having a nice time with Dad, so it didn’t really matter that the kids were all giving me strange looks.
   “What are we getting, sweetie?” Dad asked, reaching over to wipe some dirt from my shoulder. 
   “That one,” I told him, pointing to a flavor that sat close to the front, with swirls of bright colors. I knew it was probably just vanilla ice cream with food coloring to make it more exciting, but I didn’t care. Anything that looked that exciting had to be great, right?
   “You only want it because it’s colorful,” Dad said, laughing.
   “That’s what you were going to get, isn’t it?” I asked. I then gave him a look that told him he wasn’t fooling anyone.
   “That’s beside the point, Camilla,” Dad said, chuckling again.
   “Is it, Dad?” I asked, placing my hands on my hips.
   “I’ll get something different if you will,” Dad said.
   “Fine,” I said, shrugging and turning back to the ice cream, surveying my choices.
   “Hold on, we have to shake on it. This is my money we’re spending,” Dad said, a look of pure joy painted across his face. 
   I smirked and held out my hand for him, which he grabbed and shook hard, moving my entire arm, making me burst into a fit of giggles, exposing a grin that showed my teeth.
   “Don’t hurt the money, Dad,” I said, pulling my hand away and making a muscle.
   “Don’t get wise on me, Camilla,” Dad laughed.
   I laughed and crossed my arms, looking over my choices once again.
   “I think I’m going to get chocolate,” I decided.
   “That’s what I was going to get,” Dad said, smiling.
“Great minds think alike, Dad,” I said.
“Great minds think alike, Camilla,” Dad agreed, nodding slightly.
   
Just Like Dad, 6-8, p.1