I wave half-heartedly at the crowd forming around the makeshift throwing range. More arrive every minute, as if someone announced the main event is about to start. Mom’s handy work, no doubt.
Five hoops hang in a row, each smaller than the previous, with tennis balls stacked in a bucket nearby.
Each participant will throw five balls, trying to make it through the hoops. With this town’s baseball obsession, this is the most popular competition at the festival—and for some reason, the prize for first place was always a kiss from a young bachelorette.
Whoever came up with this rule had to be an old geezer, desperate to relive his young stallion days. That’s why I never volunteered. What year is this anyway? The 1950s?
I eavesdrop on the guys up front, who look at me with lustful eyes.Gross. On closer inspection, every man gathered here ogles me like I’m the entree for tonight’s dinner—and they all look hungry. Some even lick their lips.
Lord, help me.
My nerves keep winding with each passing second as more people turn up, some spectators but mostly participants. It’s as if the recent headlines have made me desirable in the worst way possible—due to notoriety. Logan is rubbing off on me.
Where is he, anyway? My eyes skim over the crowd. Good, he’s nowhere to be seen. At least he has the good sense of not risking being seen.
Even my students have gathered with their parents. They wave at me, and I smile, returning the gesture while trying not to look like I’m being held hostage.
“Oh no,” I say under my breath as Mr. Collins—the sweet but slightly too friendly diner regular whose predatory wink give me the creeps every time I see it—waddles up with his ball in hand.
“Can’t wait for that kiss, Maisie,” he says, and my skin crawls like ants have taken up residence on my body.
“Likewise, Mr. Collins.” Could I sound any less enthusiastic?
Next up is Mr. Dutton, the science teacher who keeps asking if I’d like to “co-sponsor” the school dance committee. I tense immediately.
Please miss. Please miss.
If there’s any justice in the universe, his aim will be terrible.
To my disbelief, Mr. Collins is weirdly athletic, and lands four out of five shots. That puts him in the lead, which makes me nauseous. I would consider him only if he was the last man on the planet and the fate of humanity rested on my ability to procreate.
One by one, all the participants try their luck. The smaller hoops prove to be a challenge as most of them can’t get past the third one. I wish someone would score above Mr. Collins, though. I’d rather kiss anyone else.
But it doesn’t look like my prayers will be answered today. The announcer is about to declare Mr. Collins the winner when I seehimamble toward the starting line.
Logan—cap low, sunglasses on, coughing in his hand to ward off a few onlookers who try to make out who he is. My breath catches in my throat.
At this point, I’d rather have him reveal his identity and cause a commotion than to suffer Mr. Collins.
He nods at the announcer, who says, “Last contestant of the day!”
Logan takes his position, his back to everyone else. Silence falls all around as he concentrates. One ball in. Then the second. He makes short work of the third hoop.
My hands come together in a prayer. If he makes the fourth, we will have a tie breaker.
He takes longer with this one. I bite my lower lip in anticipation. Then he throws, and I watch the ball travel through the air in a deep arch before it goes through the fourth hoop without touching the rim.
I throw my head back in relief, exhaling deeply, but the crowd doesn’t cheer yet—he’s got one more to go.
For this last throw, he’s much more relaxed. The ball goes up and—
Unreal. Five hoops in a row.
The crowd claps and cheers, his disguise holding despite the attention. My students jump up and down, clearly impressed by this mysterious stranger’s skill.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer calls out, “we have a winner!” He turns to Logan. “Young man, you may come up to claim your prize.”
My heart picks up pace as Logan climbs the stairs like a victorious gladiator, drops onto the chair beside me, and offers that devastatingly charming smile.
