The Hazing Incident
Persistent showers shifted softball practice indoors.
While her teammates slacked off in the musky confines of the retired basketball court, Kate dug in as determinedly as before.
Coach Whitley promised she hadn’t made a decision about shortstop, wouldn’t until spring, and that she noticed her efforts. The small assurance pushed her harder.
She continued her morning runs, ate leaner, lifted heavier, and now, accustomed to Abby’s presence, ignored her competition altogether. Despising Abby, comparing herself to her, wouldn’t do Kate any good. She could only focus within.
That was the beauty—and simultaneously, the misery—of softball. At the heart of the team sport was an emphasis on the individual. Whether up to bat or in the field, despite your teammates surrounding you, you were alone. An island unto oneself.
Of course, despite her best efforts, Kate still observed the other shortstop.
Abby never arrived at practice early, just barely on time, her uniform stained and untucked.
She didn’t smile and while she exuded poise when playing, her shoulders slumped otherwise, her stare downcast except to glare at anyone who might whisper in her vicinity.
Kate knew she should try to get to know her.
They had a class together. They literally shared a position, but she never spoke up.
In fact, so much time passed without talking to Abby that now it seemed awkward.
So, she maintained the status quo, communicating only when necessary. Until the swim to Wells Island.
Every year, after Coach Whitley announced the final roster, the team partook in a little friendly hazing. The university outlawed such practices, but they kept it lighthearted. The swim to Wells Island wasn’t even really a swim; calling it that was just part of the fun.
The upperclassmen blindfolded the freshmen, drove them to the dock, and told them to jump into the icy waves on the count of three.
When the countdown ended, the upperclassmen would reveal it was a prank and that no one had to swim, but every year, some unlucky, overly eager freshman threw themselves into the river before the big reveal.
Humiliating, yes. Harmless, for the most part.
And, of course, an unintentional test of who was most gullible.
After the prank, the upperclassmen subjected the freshmen to a game of trivia. Wrong answers earned a spray from a hose on the dock, correct answers earned a shot of vodka, so that as the trivia progressed, it became more challenging.
While the tradition typically ended in laughs and memories, this year Kate approached it apprehensively. The senior ringleaders, Courtney Seaborn and Lauren DeHaven, insisted that along with the four freshmen, they haze Abby too.
“We’ve never done this to transfers,” Kate said.
“We hardly ever have transfers.” Lauren, their ace pitcher, rolled her eyes.
The team gathered in the parking lot after practice, minus the freshmen and Abby.
The sun hadn’t set and, fortunately for the newest Eagles, it was an unusually dry and mild day for October.
Of course, that was thanks to Kate’s secret planning, checking the forecast for weeks, subtly suggesting to Courtney and Lauren that they do it on this day in particular.
“Cruz thinks she’s better than the rest of us. Let’s bring her down a notch,” Lauren said.
“You of anyone shouldn’t have an issue with this, Hutch.” Courtney patted the hood of her car. “Let’s round them up and meet at the dock. You guys hit the dorms. We’ll take care of Cruz.”
Kate sank as she hopped into Jill’s car with Mick and T.K. Abby was already detached from the team, and this would only make it worse. The regret anchored into her shoulders. She should’ve said something to her. Anything at all.
They made easy work of cornering the freshmen in the dining hall.
Kate’s group nabbed Riley Brookheimer, a promising left fielder.
The other upperclassmen gathered the remaining newbies, giggling as they blindfolded them, a happy show even for the victims as their peers hooted and threw food at them on their way out of the cafeteria.
Lauren and Courtney held a blindfolded Abby’s arms when they arrived at the dock. Ketchup stained the transfer’s shirt. In fact, as she drew closer, Kate noticed mustard in Lauren’s hair, an irritated scratch on Courtney’s cheek, and a cut on Abby’s lip.
“What the hell happened?” Mick asked as they led the freshmen down the dock.
“We found her at Sunny’s,” Lauren said. “Chased her into the kitchen.”
“She threw a lit cigarette at me.” Courtney scowled when Mick snorted. “It’s not funny.”
“You jumped me. What did you expect?” Abby asked.
“It isn’t supposed to be like this,” Kate said to no one in particular.
The wind dragged in clouds from the west and rocked the boats tied to the dock. Wells Island, an unoccupied speck in the middle of the river between Oregon and Washington, didn’t appear far from their vantage point, but was at least a quarter mile away.
“Line them up!” Courtney jerked Abby around to face the water. The squad lined up the freshmen next to her. “Welcome to the Wells Island swim!”
Abby growled. “This is bullshit. I’ve already been a freshman. I’m not doing this.”
“You’ve never been an Eagle, Cruz.” Courtney clapped her back so hard that Kate flinched. “When we remove your blindfolds, we’ll count to three, and you’ll jump into the river. The first one there and back is off gear duty. You don’t want to know what happens if you’re last.”
Kate gulped as she removed Madison Quong’s blindfold.
She didn’t remember the tradition being so mean-spirited.
Last year as a sophomore, no longer on the receiving end, she found it harmless and fun.
Even as a freshman, preparing to plunge into the swells felt like a thrilling rite of passage. But it didn’t feel right now.
“One…” Lauren started the count with a grin. “Two…”
Abby glanced over her shoulder at Kate like she knew she’d find her.
Somehow, she always seemed to find her. And Kate always failed to give her anything in return.
Not a hello, not a smile, not even a nod when she did something good at practice.
But she wouldn’t overlook her now. Kate offered a minuscule, nearly imperceptible shake of her head.
If Abby noticed, she didn’t make it known and turned back to the river.
“Three!”
Abby didn’t fall for the bait, but Madison and Riley, on either side of her, twitched to jump.
Harnessing the same speed and strength she wielded on the diamond, Abby grabbed both freshmen by their shirts and yanked them back as they started their leap.
The remaining freshmen gaped at Abby, who shook her head at them.
“Looks like this might be our smartest freshman class yet.” Lauren scowled at Abby. “Usually, we get at least one swimmer. Thanks for that, Cruz.”
“Not too late for you to show us how it’s done,” Abby said. “I’d love to see you take a dive.”
“Okay, that means it’s time for trivia!” Mick clapped and cut in before another fight broke out between Abby and the seniors. “But first, claim your prizes.”
The rest of the team had already been passing around a few bottles of liquor and poured shots for the hazing victims. While the freshmen winced, Abby tossed her drink back like water.
“That’s right, Cruz, drink up,” Courtney said with a sneer.
“Okay, it’s time for round two of the Insley Initiation Games! I’m your host, Mick McMechan!” Mick procured a microphone and note cards from her letterman’s jacket. “Shupe, if you’d be so kind.”
Jill hit play on a small portable speaker and game show music echoed on the dock. T.K. bopped along, taking a happy pull from her bottle of vodka. She offered it to Kate, but she shook her head, too busy staring at Abby, who nodded at her and mouthed thank you.
“Our first question is for Ms. Izzy Palamino of Denver. What year was Insley University founded?”
“1863.”
“Correct! T.K. will get you your prize,” Mick said as T.K. poured Izzy a shot. “Next up it’s the pride of Carson City, Riley Brookheimer. How many conference championships has the Insley Eagle softball team won?”
“Seven.”
“Correct! Pour some booze for Brookheimer!” Mick turned to Abby next. “Now, for our favorite transfer student, Abby Cruz. Abby, who is Insley University’s current president?”
Abby stared blankly, her mouth in a tight line. They warned the freshmen countless times to study up on school and team history, that a test was imminent, but Abby clearly hadn’t. She probably assumed it didn’t apply to her, though Kate also got the impression that she didn’t study much at all.
“This is stupid,” Abby said.
“How about a different question…” Lauren smirked. “Why’d you get kicked out of UCLA?”
Kate frowned as Abby’s cheeks flushed.
“That’s not on my cards, DeHaven,” Mick said, still impersonating a game show host. “Abby, last chance. The president of Insley University is…”
“Kiss my ass?”
“Brilliant guess!” Mick boomed. “But it’s the incomparable George Urgayle.”
The team laughed, and Courtney sprayed Abby with sickening pleasure. The punishment usually entailed a quick splash of water to the face, but she predictably soaked Abby from head to toe until Mick finally shouted enough.
The next rounds passed in similar fashion.
The freshmen class proved their competence, answering their questions correctly, even as the alcohol flowed.
Meanwhile, Abby encountered the hose three more times, dripping and trembling in the wind.
Kate tried to put a stop to it after the second round, but when Courtney suggested Kate receive the punishment instead, she shamefully backed down.