Bad news is, our bench is getting frustrated.
“Bridget, I love you, and this is ridiculous,” Phoebe says quietly as Lola trips on her snowshoes on the way to the plate to bat. “Pull her. Please, for the love of kittens and getting a car next summer,pull her.”
“That’s not all it takes to get a car next summer,” Teague pipes up. He frowns and glances at Shiloh. “Probably.”
“You’re not getting a car for pulling Lola,” Shiloh confirms.
“Appreciate the try, Phoebs,” Bridget says. “But I’m not pulling Lola. Isn’t this little project of yours about believing in people? I believe in Lola.”
“Yay, I’m standing again!” Lola thrusts her hands into the air in a victory sign, takes one step, and goes down again.
The crowd roars.
And Tavi, who’s been completely unable to sit still all night, sighs.
“She’s doing that on purpose,” she mutters to me.
“Why?”
“Because tomorrow, she’ll get endorsement offers for laundry detergent and stain-resistant athletic clothing and probably something a pro football player is endorsing that they’ve been looking for a ditzy sidekick for in their ads.”
“You live a very pessimistic life.”
She slides a side-eye at me.
I grin.
Her cheeks turn pink, and she leans into me to nudge me with her shoulder. “Sopessimistic. Like, just call meTotes Peppimisty.”
“I think you meanpessimisty,” Carter says from his seat behind us.
Tavi’s cheeks go from pink to flaming red, which is new. “Shut up, Carter.”
“Siblings don’t fight if they want to go to heaven,” Estelle calls. And then she gasps. “Michael James Lightly.Donotmake that hand gesture. We’reLightlys, for God’s sake.”
“And you’re not going to heaven either, you old witch,” Michael mutters.
“I heard that.”
I ignore whatever Estelle says next, because Jane’s whispering something to Tavi.
I lean in.
They shoo me away.
And now heat’s creeping upmyface.
For the most part, I’m tuned in to the game tonight. But I’m aware there’s a sign in the Deer Drop stands, held up by a former Tickled Pinker, calling meTickled Pink Dicklan. Andrew barely missed getting on base at the top of the inning, and he cut across the diamond on his way back to the Deer Drop bench just so he could take a dig at my “desperation for fake fame.” And Tavi and Lola both told me to ignore the dude in the jeans and oxford shirt lurking at the edge of the bleachers closest to our dugout.
“Keep them interested bynottalking,” Tavi said.
“Oh, I know that reporter, and he’s slimy,” Lola said.
So what are Jane and Tavi whispering about now?
Are they whispering about me?
Are they—I catch reference to the wordbeer, and duh.
