My steel blue eyes peered awake due to the annoyance of my deafening alarm. Unconsciously, I tossed my feathery periwinkle purple blanket to the other side of me and creeped off my bed. Not knowing how what astonishing achievement would happen that day, I leisurely brushed my butterscotch blonde hair. In mid-brush, I realized what goal of mine I would be accomplishing that day. Like a bullet, I jetted down the stairs to get the most important piece of clothing I had laid out the night before. When I turned the sharp corner, my dry faded blue eyes glistened at the sight of what I saw. To most people it appeared just an ordinary outfit; however, I pictured it as a chance to prove myself. Lying there, neatly folded, shined my Ayersville softball uniform.
The uniform, decorated with royal blue lettering and a mustard yellow outline, was overused. There was a noticeable tear in my ragged musty skyblue socks. The rusty, lumpy, uniform looked bulky on me, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t care what I looked like. More than anything, I wanted a chance to start on the sandy diamond for my softball team as a freshman. I just wanted a chance, one chance to prove myself.
 Advancing on with my morning routine as if everything were normal, my mind would flutter back to topic of the softball game. I even captured myself going over bunt situations in my mind. When I was ready, I waited for my dad to give me the signal to leave. While my dad raced me to school, he murmured, “You ready for your game tonight?”
I hissed back, “Of course I am, sir!”
I went to my classes and counted down the hours until game time. Although, as the hours shorten, my nervousness lengthened. With my knees clashing together like waves on the ocean, the palms of my pale hands glossy from sweat, and my heart jolting like electricity, the last bell sounded. With the desire to arrive first to the locker room, I hurdled past the stampede of students in the hallway. Plowing and scratching, I emerged into the massive locker room to see my coach slouching there. He bulldozed all the jagged metal softball equipment into this lopsided charcoal black bag. His actions materialized to a halt when he saw me hastily waddle in. Blurting out every word, he screamed, “Dales, you ready for tonight?” 
With the most respectful and mature voice that could possibly come out of my mouth, I squeaked, “Of course I am!”
            “I’m counting on you to be a big defensive stop in the infield today,” he insisted. 
With my musty softball bag, I scampered on to the school bus. I cautiously bunkered in the back of the bus with some of the seniors. For the first five minutes of the jerky bus ride, they relinquished to me some nerve-calming advice. With my stomach settled, I jammed to the intense beat of my pre-game music. For the moment, only that moment, I was calm. My arms relaxed; my heart slowed down, and my fingers stopped fidgeting. For what seemed like hours, I sat stalkerishly looking out the window. One of the seniors whispered, “You nervous yet?’
“Not as nervous as I was ten minutes ago,” I sighed.
“Don’t be nervous. You’re the best third baseman we have,” the senior mumbled.
“But what if I mess up?’ I asked.
“You won’t mess up. You have talent in your body. Now just go use that talent,” she snapped.
In thirty minutes the bus had relaxed to a stop. Out my window I noticed a grainy, ginger dirt field. I slinked off the ancient old bus and headed straight for our dugout. Piece by piece, I slowly tugged out my helmet, gloves, cleats, and my original flavored sunflower seeds. As usual, my glove was chalky and very chapped. The whole team fiercely flew through our pre-game warmup. When we felt confident with our skills, we progressed back into the drab dugout. There, our coach shouted the starting lineup. I held my breath to hear my name announced last, but I was ecstatic like lighting.
The starters slowly blazed out to the middle of the field. With sand crunching under our cleats, one senior gave us a motivational quote, but I wasn’t listening. I looked absolutely fine, but I was not fine. I was nervous. My palms were flooded with sweat, and my legs shook like a hurricane. Dispersing to their usual positions, the team crouched into their fielding stance. Within minutes the first pitch was thrown: strike. With every pitch, I grew calmer and confident. ‘Confident, confident and calm,’ I thought to myself. Then unexpectedly a rocket of a line drive whipped right at my head. Almost instantly and without hesitation, I made the first out of the game.
Within that softball season, I not only started as a freshman, but I was named “Rookie of the Year” and “Best Defensive Player of the Year.” I worked and worked to accomplish my life goal. This all started with me waking up to the deafening sound of my alarm and not knowing what astonishing achievement I would accomplish that day.