“Meet my sister.” Reece shoved the girl with his shoulder. “Brielle. Brielle, this is Brooks Mason.”
“I’m the new kid,” I added with a half-smile. I was trying to make her feel more comfortable. Apparently, that didn’t work.
Brielle Walters didn’t even blush. She just went pale. Like, snow was darker than she was.
“Are you okay?” I couldn’t help but ask.
This time, Reece threw his arm over his sister’s shoulders. “She’s fine. She’s just shy.”
Something sparked in her eyes then as she diverted her attention to Reece.
Irritation?
Annoyance?
Desperation?
All three?
I wasn’t sure. All I knew was I was already getting bored trying to figure her out, not to mention I was going to be late for class. “Guess I’ll see you both around.” I gave them a wave and moved down the hall.
“Yo, Brooks!” Reece’s voice caught me and I spun on my heel to give him my attention.
He was still half-draped over his sister, and she was still staring at me like that bluegill.
Gilly.
Dang it.
Now I’d nicknamed her. Fish Girl Gilly.Thatcould never get out. My mom would throw a fit.
How disrespectful to a young woman, Brooks Michael Mason.
But was it? I mean, if she looks like a fish and acts like a fish . . .
“Brooks?” Reece snapped his fingers in the air, then shifted his attention from me to Brielle and then back to me. “There’s an open gym tomorrow after school. Coach is going to run us through some throwing drills and stuff. Nothing formal. Anyone can come, but if you’re planning to try out next month, you’ll want to show up.”
“Nice.” I nodded. Now I was getting somewhere. “When’s try-outs here?”
“Probably the same as what you’re used to in Minnesota.” Reece had removed his arm from his sister’s shoulders, but she had yet to close her mouth, and I thought—at least I could pretty much swear—she hadn’t blinked yet.Reece continued. “We focus on conditioning and prep this month, and then late spring there’s tryouts. You’ll want to be ready if you want to make the team.”
“I’ll be ready.” I was already ready. I was itching for the season to start, and I didn’t doubt I’d make the team, so much as I was worried I wouldn’t be a starting catcher. That would suck. I’d always been in the starting line-up, but who knew who typically held that position here.
With a wave at Reece and at “Fish Girl Gilly”—I’d already forgotten her real name—I headed to class. Well, really, it was just a study hall, and I was glad for that. I wanted to get some work done, so when I got home, I didn’t have to think about homework and could focus on my throwing program that my old coach in Minnesota and I had come up with. I needed to stay sharp in the off-season, and it wasn’t easy when the world was insulated with twenty-some inches of snow.
The teacher overseeing the study hall had her face buried in a novel. I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume it was prep work for Lit class. But considering the book had a spaceship and an alien lady on the cover, I doubted it was.
I had just sat down when I caught a whiff of oranges. Or lemons. Or both? I also heard a muffledoh crapbefore a pile of textbooks slid to the floor at my feet. One of them landed on my toe. I bent to pick it up and collided with something solid.
I bit my tongue so I didn’t say anything worthy of dishwashing and ignored the sharp pain of cracking my head against hers.
Hers.
Fish Girl Gilly.
There she was. Next to me in study hall, with all her books laying on the floor, her mouth wide open—again—and green eyes that actually gave me the feeling she was a little bit terrified.
Of me?
