I flatten my lips, shoving my hands into my sweats pockets. “What smile?”
“The gone-for smile I just filmed.” Zona waves her phone with a wicked grin.
A moment of panic lurches before I realize it doesn’t matter that she filmed me. Zona films me all the time without me knowing.
“I was thinking about all the delicious foods I’ll get to eat when you’re the head chef of some fancy restaurant.”
Zona lets her phone flop onto the couch. “Okay, smitten kitten, keep pretending you’re not thinking about her.”
“I was thinking about baseball.”
My sister laughs, shaking her head before picking up her phone again.
“Was this you?” She pushes the screen under my nose, open to a news article about an unknown bearded man donating hundreds of dollars on grocery store gift cards.
“Why would that be me?”
Zona scoffs as I stare at the chilly beach beyond the windows that wrap this room. We had pleasant weather for last night’s game, but it’s still early spring in Virginia. Mother Nature can bask you in a sunny, flower-filled day one moment and then throw a frosty rainstorm at you the next.
“If you keep doing this Robin Hood routine, you’re going to get caught. Why don’t you donate to charities like a normal celebrity?”
“You already know I do that.”
Zona shakes her head. “Friedrich and I are concerned. He told me you had him drop off a cashier’s check for fifty thousand dollars to some cashier before you left camp. Fifty thousand dollars, Tenny!”
A grin blooms over my face, thinking of how that money will help Beckett’s family. Maybe he’ll even be able to quit his job and get the chance to just be a kid.
“I get that gift-giving is your love language, but”—Zona pauses like what she’s about to say is painful—“I don’t want you to get taken advantage of.”
I cross my arms, turning my gaze back to the ocean. It’s windy outside, making whitecaps dot the expansive ocean. Frothy sea foam tumbles up the beach with each crashing wave.
“That won’t happen.”
“If people find out, you’ll be hounded, and your softie heart will want to help everyone.”
I shift my shoulders, uncomfortable with Zona’s praise. I’m used to her calling me gross, or annoying, or my preferred moniker: The Worst Brother in Existence.
“Since when do you and Friedrich talk?”
Zona bats her eyes. “Freddie and I gossip about you while you’re playing baseball all day every day.”
Unease sprints down my back. “But you just talk, right? You don’t”—I swallow hard—“kiss or anything?”
My sister throws a pillow at my head. “Ew! No! He’s, like, forty.”
“He’s forty-five,” I say, swatting it away. “And I don’t know what freaky stuff you’re into.”
Zona beans me with the last of her fluffy ammunition. “You really need to focus on your love life and stay out of mine.”
“You mean yournon-existentlove life because you’re not allowed to date untilyou’re Friedrich’s age.”
“You’re impossible.” She stands, holding out the remote. “Here. I know you want to watch yourself on TV, you attention hog. I’m going to get ready to meet up with friends.”
“Female friends only,” I call as she stalks into the kitchen.
A little snicker leaves my lips when Zona growls, stomping out of the room.
I change the channel, watching the intro toDiamond Breakdownbefore listening to the recaps from other teams. When the coverage shifts to the Waves stadium, I grin. This has become a secret indulgence of mine. I’m not spending nearly as much time with Alex as I’d like, and getting to watch her interviews—be they with me or anyone else—has become the highlight of my day. Nestling deeper into the plush couch, I set the remote on my chest.
