Me.
Mom thought I should be free to pursue baseball, and she dreamed big—in her mind, I’d be in the Major Leagues by the time I was twenty. Dad fought back and said she was “babying” me and giving me “false hope”. That he wassick of this family not being realistic. That I needed to focus on my education and do something profitable with my time. Then that turned to Mom somehow taking it personally, and the arguments always shifted off of me onto her career, something about how this wasn’t the life they’d planned and . . . yeah.
I was always living one step away from my parents splitting up.
“I just—Sorry.” It was my turn to apologize.
Brielle’s expression softened. I looked away because she was studying me now, and I had a feeling she was someone I wouldn’t be able to hide the truth from for long.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah.” I managed to pull myself together. I reached for the book.Pride and Prejudice. “Yeah, I’m good.”
She hesitated.
I was turning the pages of the book so I didn’t have to look at her.
I could feel Brielle’s eyes on me.
“I know I sort of got you into this mess,” she said quietly. “But, I would like to be friends.”
I lifted my eyes. I could tell that she knew I was holding something back from her. But it really wasn’t any of her business. I think she knew that too, because she didn’t press for more.
Friends?
For some reason, I remembered taking her hand earlier that day, when Phoebe was interrogating us for the school newspaper. Brielle’s hand had been warm, and she held mine as though she meant to. She hadn’t seemed embarrassed or even nervous. When I slid my fingers through hers, it was weird—I’d actually felt more confident.
So yeah. Friends would be a good place to start.
Especially since I was new at school, I was under pressure with tryouts coming up, had two dysfunctional parents, and was a disappointment to my dad.
“Yeah,” I nodded, and our eyes connected. “Friends. I’d like that, Shortstop.”
“Why would Coach want to see me?” I shot Reece a look over the table at the fast food restaurant we frequented for lunch. It was only two blocks from the high school and had way better food.
“I dunno.” Reece was mowing down a hamburger. “Probably something to do with tryouts next week.”
“I want to make the team,” I stated. If I was honest, I kind of felt like things were imploding even worse than when my parents told me were moving here in the first place.
“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Reece dipped three fries into his ketchup. “We’ve never had a strong catcher—not like you anyway. And Dameon—who played last year—broke his arm skiing over Christmas break. So, considering he had to have surgery and they put two pins in it, he’s out.”
“Dude,” I muttered. Any ball player’s worst nightmare was an injury that took him out for a season. I was glad to know competition wasn’t stiff, but not at the cost of Dameon’s broken arm.
“So,” Reece said as he chewed his fries, “who knows why Coach wants to see you. Probably just to talk.”
Just to talk.
That turned out to be a joke.
Coach Priestly was a nice guy. He was taller than me, with gray hair and a mustache. Reece had said Coach had played in the Minors before he’d been injured. Another injury. That’d be just my luck.
“Ready for tryouts next week?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” I nodded. I added the “sir” part because I thought Coach reminded me somewhat of Brielle’s dad, and I knew Mr. Walters liked the element of respect.
“Call me Coach,” Coach Priestly waved me off. He sat on the corner of a desk in the athletics department office and crossed his arms over his chest. I wanted to sit down, but I didn’t. I kinda felt it’d be rude. “So, I’ve heard you’re a pretty passionate player, Mason.”
I nodded. I didn’t really know what else to say.
