My mother always told me that it's not the size of the lion in the fight, but the size of the heart in the lion. At five feet two inches, she marched down the sideline, cupped her hands around her mouth and never let me forget the lion. "Heart, Rosa!" she yelled. "HEART!"

While one parent took things in stride, the other grew frustrated by those who laughed at my size. My father kept telling coaches and parents that I was just about to hit a huge growth spurt and traced it back to his grandmother's sister who grew almost six inches in one summer back in 1911. I tried to convince myself that he didn't mean any harm, but his comments really got on my nerves. When he bugged me about eating right and drinking my milk, I went into my room and put on my headphones. I cranked up the volume hoping the music would wash away the feelings of not being good enough. But the songs always ended, and the feelings came back.

I didn't say much about anything until my father came home from work one day and told us that he had taken a new job and we were moving. An unknown temper erupted inside of me. With the first girls' football league about to kick-off, the Ballplayers and I had a chance to make history. My team needed me and I needed them.

Broadway Ave. was my home and that's all there was to it.

••••

I watched the clock and waited for one last tick. I gripped my books and set my feet on the ground. Click, click. BEEP! I jumped up and darted towards the door. Miss Lopez looked up from her textbook and snapped it shut. She glared at me as I zipped across the room. I half-smiled. "Please read tonight!" she said firmly.

Yeah, yeah. I know. I liked Miss Lopez because she was young and played sports. I loved her English class for the simple reason that it was the last class of the day. The only annoying thing about Miss Lopez was that she had this thing about reading something besides school work for 15 minutes a night. I asked her one day if reading a cereal box counted. She said no. I asked about the comics. She shook her head.

"That means you, Rosie Jones!" I heard her yell after I reached the hallway.

I hit the dark checkered hallway of Lincoln school and felt free as a bird. While other kids stopped to socialize, I dumped my books into my locker and waited for my best friend Scotty "Sleepy" Jackson. I glanced right and then left. I stopped and watched two girls toss a shoe back and forth over a younger boy's head.

"GIVE IT BACK!" the boy yelled.

The girls stared down at the boy as he trembled in anger.

"Come on, Shorty," one girl snickered. "Can't you get your shoe back?"

I stayed crouched down by my books until she cocked back her arm. When she let go, I sprung up and reached out for the shoe. I grabbed it with one hand and then wrapped it up with the other. I clenched it tight in my hand as the girls stood with their mouths wide open.

"Come on, Rosie," one said. "You're no fun."

I scoffed at her and shook my head. "You call this fun?"

I handed the shoe to its tearful owner and returned to my locker. The boy mumbled "thank you." I turned around and tried to smile, but there was nothing to be happy about. I pulled my hat out of my locker and flipped it on backwards over my head. Then I looked up and spotted my best friend, strutting down the hallway with his lose arms swaying at his sides. I smiled at his droopy eyes and chubby cheeks.

"I just talked to Penny and Molly," Sleepy said. "They said Beef and Cowboy and J.J. want to play at the park. They want to know if you're in."

I nodded. "You're playing, right?" I asked.

He puffed out his cheeks and shook his head.

"Why not?" I asked.

"I think it's boys against girls," he said. "I hate it when they play like that."

"What?" I gasped. "We mix up the teams most of the time."

"I don't know," he mumbled.

My mouth dropped open. How could my best friend even be talking like this? Who cares what the teams are? Pete the sneak walked by us and I cringed. He leaned close to Sleepy with his beady eyes and smelly breath. Then he whispered something in my best friend's ear. Pete held his hand up trying to cover his big mouth. His lips split open and I stared at his big teeth. He tipped his head back and snorted in laughter.

"Get outta here," Sleepy mumbled in frustration. "Nobody asked you anything."

Pete left and I turned to Sleepy. "What's wrong?"

He looked past me and his eyes grew wide. "Mr. G's coming!"

I swiped my brother's baseball cap off my head and stuffed it into my bag. "Miss Jones," Mr. Gordon's voice bellowed. My muscles tightened. "I'd like to have a few words with you," he added.

I hung my head, knowing the way Mr. G asked for those few words meant trouble. Sleepy slipped on his coat and grabbed his books.

"Wait for me," I said.

"I can't," he replied.

"Come get me before you go to the park," I asked.

My best friend didn't look at me.

"Rosie Jones," Mr. Gordon called out. "May I have a minute?"

I walked over to our school principal and looked straight up.

"Did I see you with a baseball cap on your head?" Mr. Gordon asked.

The truth was the only way to stand a chance with Mr. G. "Yes," I said quietly.

He stuck out his hand. "May I have it, please?" he asked.

I shook my head nervously. "I'm sorry," I said. "I promise I won't do it again."

I felt so incredibly small standing next to the most powerful man in the building. It didn't help that our principal stood about six feet five inches and lifted weights like a pro football player. "Hand it over," he said. "You know the rules. I'll keep it until you prove you understand the rules."

"I'll bring you three from home, but please not this one," I began. "It's from the big leagues. Rico gave it to me."

He huffed and shook his head. "Do you promise not to break the rules again?"

I nodded even though I didn't feel wearing a hat indoors was as criminal as Mr. Gordon made it out to be. I just smiled and thanked him for letting me off the hook. He asked how my brother Rico was doing with his professional baseball career and I filled him in on what little I knew. Then he asked another question that required a more thorough answer. "How's English class?" he said.

"Umm," I said. "Good."

He pressed his lips together and raised his eyebrows. "What does good mean?"

"Everything is fine," I said. It was the truth. I wasn't failing or getting into any trouble.

"I'll be sure to ask Miss Lopez if there is anything that will help make English class great for you," he added.

I just wanted to leave the building, go home and burn all of my sixth grade frustrations off down at the park. Instead I was stuck in an interrogation and being threatened with a background check.

"Have a good afternoon," Mr. G said and then he moved on to his next student.

I race-walked down the hallway and tried to catch up with Sleepy. Just as I spotted him, my red-headed friend Molly O'Malley called out my name.

"What's up?" Penny Harris added as I walked over to my friends.

Wil Thomas gave me a low-five and I smiled at the Ballplayers from our home street--Broadway Ave. Penny "Sweet P" Harris, who was the coolest kid in the city, gave me a big, cool smile. The only person missing from our neighborhood group was Angel Russomano, who had moved on to the high school.

"Are you playing today?" Wil asked.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm in."

"Let's get going before all the eighth graders get there," Molly said.

"What's wrong with eighth graders?" Wil asked defensively.

"They think they run the show around here," Molly explained.

"Whatever," Wil said dramatically.

"And they have such attitudes," Molly added with a grin.

"Don't even get me started," Wil said firmly. "You are Miss Attitude."

Penny ignored all the cracks on each other. Molly, Wil and most of the kids on our street went back and forth between slinging gentle sarcasm and harsh insults. Everybody did this except Penny and I. Penny just smiled and shrugged most things off. Not many kids insulted Sweet P because she was not only cool and fun, but also a phenomenal athlete. Although not many kids picked too many fights or arguments with me, most called me 'shorty' and 'cute' one too many times. Unlike Molly, I didn't retaliate with any bad words or muscle most of the time. But there were a few exceptions.

"The boys want to play against the girls," Molly announced.

"Why are they into this girl-boy thing all of a sudden?" Penny asked.

"They know we mix up the teams all the time," Wil added.

"They say girls can't play football," Molly said rolling her eyes. "You know I handled that well. Pete made me so mad I wanted to stuff the football in his big mouth."

"I don't even want to get into some battle of the sexes," Penny said.

"I hear that," Wil added. "What's the point? We've already proven our right to play a million times before. Don't they know about Jackie Joyner-Kersee, Billie Jean King, Babe Didrikson? I'm telling Mr. G that we need to enhance our history classes with some women-in-sports material."

I looked at Wil and wished that I could think and speak like her.

"Let's take care of this at the park," Molly called out.