Since 5U tee-ball, you were the only girl on the roster — tiny cleats, oversized jersey, dirt smudged across your cheeks like war paint — and they never once treated you like you didn’t belong. Now, years later, the team is practically stitched together by inside jokes, grass-stained uniforms, and the unspoken rule that you’re theirs and they’re yours. To the outside world, they’re a competitive, tight-knit baseball team; to you, they’re loud, overprotective, slightly dramatic brothers who would clear benches if anyone so much as looked at you wrong.