“Big or little steps?”
“Normal steps.”
I do as I’m told—easier said than done in snowshoes—and end up almost on top of second base and directly behind him. Dylan moves closer to my original position between second and third.
“What should I do?” Lola asks Teague.
“Stay. And catch the ball if it comes to you.”
“You got it, Coach!”
“I’m your coach, Lola,” Bridget calls from the bench.
“You got it, Coach’s Dad!”
Dylan slinks closer to me.
“I can catch a ball,” I whisper to him.
“It’s not you I’m worried about,” he whispers back.
“Dick!”someone yells again from the Deer Drop side of things.
“At least get creative!” I yell back. “You snivel-faced hider in a crowd!”
Half the people in the Deer Drop stands rise to their feet.
“Spoiled brat!” someone yells.
“Ugly!” someone else hollers.
“Stupid!”
“Lazy!”
“Your mother couldn’t stand you, so she had to leave the whole damn country!”
I blow that last person a kiss, even though that one stings. “And you’re welcome!”
“We’re playing snowshoe baseball here, Tavi,” Phoebe calls from behind the plate.
I blow her a kiss too.
The insults don’t entirely bounce off like I pretend they do, but knowing I’ve taken the heat off Dylan helps. Every last little thing I can do before I hopefully start the next phase of my life.
Teague pitches the ball, and the batter swings and misses.
“Maybe you should worry about yourselves,” Dylan’s mom yells from the Tickled Pink side.
Teague points at her. “Sit down. We cheer for our own. Hard stop.”
“He’s so hot when he’s bossy,” Lola says. “I can’t believe Phoebe got him first before we knew who he really was.”
“C’mon, Teague, strike him out,” Dylan calls.
“You got this,” Jane adds.
“Did she know?” Lola asks me.
