Thursday: 11:00 P.M. Softball

Seventeen only comes once in a lifetime/ Don't it just fly by wild and free..." Tim McGraw's voice rings out from a boom box perched on an aluminum grandstand, behind a well-worn softball diamond. Beth Perez, 17, is playing catch and humming along, until she sees the yellow sign hanging from the chain-link backstop: WE LOVE YOU MR. AVERBUCH!

Her expression changes, and she wings the ball straight into the fencing. "I'm tired of crying," she mutters. "I'm sick of going to funerals. I'm sick of having to cope with everything and see my friends in pain." Her Webster Groves Stateswomen are preparing for a 4:15 game against Kirkwood High School. Only death keeps getting in the way.

Many people's first education in mortality comes during high school. But at Webster Groves, in other ways so typical, the lesson has been extraordinarily harsh. The class of 2000 has been especially hard hit. And no group here has borne as much grief as the women's softball team.

On the first day of school last year, Miss Voss came on the p.a. with shocking news. Three Webster teens had died during the summer. Incoming junior Katy Orf, her classmates later learned, had perished in a head-on collision in Pennsylvania. A week later, Erica Brussel, whose brother was a junior, died similarly on route 55. And then on Aug. 3, junior Joe Grosberg was found in the Mississippi River. Joe had been well known as his class's biggest flirt.

"Katy's funeral was hardest for me because she lived right next to me, in my backyard," says Beth, the softball team's shortstop and co-captain. "But I knew Joe since sixth grade, on the bus. He'd make me play with his earlobe."

"Make you?" asks Becca Dunn, the centerfielder.

"It was soft, and he would fall asleep," protests Beth.

"He said my path was straight and his was crooked and he was gonna try and knock me off mine," recalls Becca.

"I don't think Miss Voss should have come on the p.a.," says Jenny Kettler, the rightfielder, absently.

"We were like 16 years old," says Becca. "You had to tell us things."

The next day Miss Voss had to tell them more. Overnight, Jeremy DeNeal had run into a wall at the juncture of routes 70 and 270. Jeremy had known everybody and done everything: partied with the partyers, prayed at Young Life, worked in the school office. Meg Kassabaum, a reserve third baseman, looks up. "The whole school went silent," she remembers. Then it fell apart. One girl cried so hard in her car that she had an accident of her own.

"People said we were cursed," says Meg. "All anybody could ask was, Why is this happening to us? And, Who's next?"

"You don't want to ask it," agrees Becca. "But you ask it anyway."

School counselors were swamped, especially the plainspoken 58-year-old who doubled as softball coach. "Mr. Averbuch told me, 'If I was in Jeremy's position, I would want you guys to be celebrating the good things I did in my life rather than mourning,'" says Stephanie Murray, a pitcher.

The girls fall silent for a moment.

"He'd call me at home if I didn't go see him one day," says Beth. "He'd say he was just making sure I was O.K."

"He was the first coach I had who told me, you're a great softball player, and you're gonna be able to do it," says Meg.