Wonder if June’s doing the same with how much she’s not complaining about being our equipment manager. And how much effort she’s putting into building up every kid on the team regardless of their skill or gender or orientation.
Does she look at them like they’re her competition to get on the team in the spring, and she’s worried they’ll hate her if she’s not nice to them now?
Or is she one of those people naturally gifted at building up everyone around her, no matter the potential cost to herself?
Does she play because she loves it, or does she play because she wants to be the next Mia Hamm or Megan Rapinoe? I don’t know if she feels like part of the team or if she feels like everyone else is taking pity on the new girl.
But I know if I, a grown adult, sometimes feel like I can’t do enough to fit in, it’s a million times worse for kids.
Teenage years are complicated, and if I were her, I’d be wondering.
And if she’s like half the kids in my classes and cares more about what her mom thinks than she lets on, then she’s probably not okay.
Her mom missed the game and isn’t reachable.
And from everything I was told and everything I’ve seen with my own two eyes this past month, Maisey should’ve been there.
Shit.
I should’ve called Kory and sent him over to check on her.
“Are you excited about your mom’s plans for the ranch?” Opal asks June.
Another shrug. And she’s still staring out the window.
“Ah. So you’re still a captive in your own life?”
I shoot my aunt a look.
“Can’t solve things if you don’t face them, Snuggybottoms.”
“Can we get to the ranch and make sure Maisey didn’t fall through the floor of the bunkhouse or something before we ask June to go through all the reasons she hates her mother right now?” I mutter.
But not quietly enough.
June shoots straight up in her seat. “You think my mom hurt herself?”
“Oh, sweetie, no,” Opal says as I turn into the long driveway to the house. I pass my comfortable gatehouse and give the truck a little more gas. “I’m sure she got tied up with something completely safe and lost track of time.”
“But the bear—” June cuts herself off with a gasp as Earl himself races across the driveway in front of us.
And I do meanraces.
Haven’t seen him move that fast since a truck of berries turned over a little way up the road and he heard a crew was on the way to clean it up.
Not that I think Earl can understand English, but I’m telling you, that’s how it happened.
I press my foot heavier onto the pedal and navigate the bumps in the dirt driveway like I still come up the drive every day, and within moments, the stone-front, high-gabled ranch house with its covered porch and rejuvenated flower beds comes into view.
She planted wildflowers.
Tony used to get so pissed at his own black thumb, but Maisey has a thriving wildflower garden.
“Oh my God,Mom,” June gasps.
I slam on the brakes, barely getting my truck stopped before she lunges for her door and tumbles out of the back of the extended cab.
And then I almost forget to set the brake before I leap out myself.
