by Kelly Oram
Eric shoots me a sideways look, waiting for me to spit it out. It’s not like me to be so nervous. I mentally kick my chicken butt and strive for a nonchalant shrug when I say, “Do you have any plans for prom?”
He grins. “Yeah. I’m taking Shelly Turner.” He says this like it’s nothing. Like it’s the most casual thing in the world and not the life-ending confession it is.
My thoughts come to a screeching halt. He’s already got a date. I lean forward, and his arm falls off the back of my chair. He moves it back to his own space.
“Shelly Turner?” I ask. We’ve never spoken, but I suddenly hate her.
Eric’s smile widens. “Hot, right?”
“Sure, she’s hot. If you go for the too-perfect, curvy redhead Jessica Rabbit/Scarlett Johansson bombshell look,” I grumble. I can’t help it. I’m battling heartbreak and the green-eyed monster at the same time.
Eric looks at me as if I’m crazy. “Um. Duh. Every guy is into that look.”
I roll my eyes and focus back on the game. The Pirates are up now, and we walk the first batter. Ugh. Our bullpen should take notes from Chicago. (Don’t tell Dad I said that.)
As if the news of Eric and Shelly isn’t bad enough, he has to go and ruin my night even more by saying, “Some of us guys on the team are getting a limo together.”
My mouth falls open, and a new kind of hurt settles in my chest. “Diego and Kev, too?”
Eric frowns at my frown. “Yeah, and a couple of the others.”
I don’t know what to say. My own teammates—my best friends—made plans for prom together, and none of them invited me. That actually hurts worse than Eric having a date. “So what, you all made plans and just didn’t want to invite me?”
I can’t keep the hurt out of my voice. It’s enough to make Eric take his eyes off the game again and gape at me in surprise. “We didn’t think you’d want to go.”
Didn’t think I’d want to go to my own senior prom? Everyone wants to go to their senior prom. “Why not?”
Eric blinks at me a couple more times, and then a small laugh escapes him. “Hastings, come on. You’re not exactly the formal dance type.”
The pain in my chest cuts a little bit deeper, and I have to swallow a lump in my throat. I fold my arms and try not to glare at him. I’m unsuccessful. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shakes his head, still smirking. “You know you’d have to wear a dress, right? And do your hair and your makeup, and wear girly shoes or whatever? And you’d have to dance. Plus, you’d have to find a date. No one goes to prom alone.”
It’s like he has no clue how insulting he’s being. The pain is trying to swallow me whole, but now he’s making me angry, too. Anger is good. I can work with anger. Anger will keep me from doing what I really want to do, which is run away to the bathroom and cry in a toilet stall like a loser until the end of the game.
“You don’t think I could get a date?”
Eric shrugs and goes back to watching the game. “Honestly, I don’t want to think about you dating. Diego was right before. You’re practically a sister to me. I don’t want to see you making out with guys or whatever.”
I scoff, but Eric only smirks at me. “Besides, no guy is good enough for you. I’m going to be as bad as your dad when it comes to guys trying to date you. Diego and Kev will, too. We’re all going to have shotguns. I’m afraid you’re screwed.”
I’m so angry, and I’m hurt, and my heart is breaking, but at the same time a sick part of me is touched. Eric thinks no guys are good enough for me? It’s just sweet enough to keep me from bursting into tears. But when he shoots me a playful smile, I respond with one that’s more of a grimace.
I can’t look at him anymore. I turn all of my focus back on the game and concentrate on not crying. Eric definitely doesn’t return my undying love. A part of me knew this was coming, but that doesn’t mean I was prepared for how much it hurts.
“Hey. Hastings. You okay?”
I slump down in my chair and pull the brim of my baseball cap lower over my eyes. “I’m fine.”
“Are you mad at me?”
I don’t dare look at him, though I can feel his eyes burning a hole in my head. “Why would I be mad at you?” If he doesn’t know, I’m not going to spell it out for him.
“I don’t know, but you seem mad.”
“Well, I’m fine,” I snap. Yeah, that was totally believable.
Eric sits back with a glare. “Geez. Relax. I honestly didn’t think you’d want to go. But if you do, then find a date and come with us. You know you’re invited. You don’t have to get all huffy about it.”
I grind my teeth. At this point, it’s better to not engage. “Yeah, sure, whatever. I’ll let you know.”
That seems to appease Eric, and he goes back to the game while I sit and stew and agonize in silence. My life will never be the same again. I just want to go home where I can sneak a pint of Ben & Jerry’s into my bedroom and cry my eyes out over some cheesy teen rom-com on Netflix. It’s a good night for The DUFF. I totally feel Bianca’s pain.
At least I waited until the eighth inning. I only have to sit through one more before I can go home. And hey, even a one-to-nothing snoozefest is still a Pirates win. So at least something went right today.
I barely eat or sleep the rest of the weekend. How can I, after Eric crushed me? I’m flat-out exhausted by the time Monday morning rolls around, and I fall back to sleep after I shut off my alarm. Dad realizes I slept in and wakes me up soon enough that I get to school just as the bell rings. But I didn’t get a shower or breakfast, and I barely scoot into my first hour without earning detention.
I slump down into my chair only to face the curious stares of my tablemates, who also happen to be my teammates. I’m not a social person. Eric, Diego, and Kevin are my only friends. The only other people I even know in this school are my teammates. Luckily, I have three of them in my chemistry class, so I didn’t get paired with a bunch of strangers all year. Right now, I kind of wish I did, because as soon as Mrs. Kendrick explains the day’s lab and lets us get to work, the guys start in on me with a million questions.
At first, I don’t know what their problem is. They don’t usually pay me much attention. I’m part of the group, but I don’t talk much, and they don’t try to make me. I’m not shy, just really introverted, and it’s easy to sit back and let Reynolds, Cabrera, and Springer do all the chatting.
I’m not sure why they’re all staring at me this morning, but they seem to be waiting for something. Reynolds grins at me and then starts the conversation off with “You look like crap, Hastings.”
I roll my eyes but smile, too. I like Reynolds. Mark Reynolds is a utility outfielder and the team goofball. His teasing is always all in good fun. Aside from Eric, Diego, and Kevin, Mark and his best friend, Jace King, are the only guys who really make an effort to talk to me. But Jace is the team captain. He probably feels obligated to include me, and I’m sure he encourages Mark to do the same. No one else bothers.
It’s not that the team doesn’t like me—at least, I don’t think it’s not—we’re just not close. A) I’m a girl. The guys are used to me now, but it can still be weird sometimes when they fart or make jokes about girls and stuff, and B) Since I mostly keep to myself, the guys on the team are friendly with me, but we’re not friends. Not really. More like acquaintances. We don’t hang out outside of team stuff.
I want to argue with Mark about the state of my appearance, but I do have dark circles under my eyes, and I’m a frazzled mess this morning. He’s right. I look like crap. “Just what every girl wants to hear, Reynolds. Thanks. For your information, I didn’t sleep last night.”
There’s a heavy pause that I don’t understand.
“Bad night?” Reynolds asks, probing for something. All three of them watch me intently again. It’s so weird.
“Yeah, I guess,” I admit.
Then Springer shocks me so much I nearly fall out of my chair. “Tough breakup,
huh? You okay?”
“Breakup?” I honestly have no clue what he’s talking about.
Cabrera elbows him, but Springer’s got chronic foot-in-mouth disease and never knows when to shut up. “You and Sullivan. He’s going to prom with Shelly Turner. The whole team’s trying to figure out who dumped who.”
Mark kicks Springer under the table. “Dude. Shut up. That’s rude.”
Springer’s face turns red, and he grimaces at me. “Sorry.”
It takes me a moment to process what he said, because it feels like it came out of left field. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that they all assumed Eric and I were a couple. We’re always together. But I am surprised. We’ve never held hands or kissed or done any of the things couples do. I’m also shocked that the team has been talking about us. I wouldn’t have thought they cared so much. Eric is just like me—part of the team but somehow still separate. I guess we kind of live in our own little bubble. “Um.” My face feels like it’s on fire. I shake my head and try to get my brain started again. “Eric and I aren’t…I mean, we’ve never…we’re best friends, but…”
Now it’s their turn to look shocked. “You weren’t dating?” Springer asks. “Seriously?”
“This whole time?” Reynolds asks.
I shake my head.
“Are you gay?” That’s Cabrera. I’m not surprised by his blunt question. Alex Cabrera is the team’s instigator. He doesn’t really have a filter and is always starting fights, both accidentally and on purpose.
I’m embarrassed and a little put out that he asked, but I guess I can’t blame him for wondering. I play a boys’ sport, I wear nothing but jeans and T-shirts, my hair’s always in a ponytail, I don’t own makeup, and I’ve never been in a relationship. I’ve never even been asked out on a date.
All three of them lean in, waiting for my answer. None of them know. I’m not sure how to feel about that. It’s not like how boyish or girlish a person is is always an indicator of their sexual preference, but it hurts a little that none of them can guess. I really don’t need this blow to my ego after last night.
I want to crawl into a hole, but I can’t let them see that the taunting is getting to me. I’d never live it down. “No.” I give him a flat look. “I’m not gay.”
Cabrera holds up his hands in an I’m backing off gesture, Springer is blushing like he’s embarrassed for me, and Reynolds nods absently as if he’s considering my answer and what it might mean. When I shoot him a questioning look, he wipes the scheming look off his face and gives me a smile. “So, if Sullivan’s taking Shelly Turner to prom, who are you going with?”
And I thought the Are you gay? question was embarrassing. At least with that one, neither answer would have made me look dumb. Now I have to tell them that no one has asked me to the dance. (Boy or girl.) Instead, I deflect and turn the question back on him. “Who are you going with?”
For one brief second, I wonder if he’ll ask me. Like maybe that was the reason he looked so contemplative when I said I was straight and then he promptly asked me if I already had a date to prom. But he doesn’t ask. Instead, an adorably proud grin spreads across his face and he puffs out his chest. “I’m taking Rachel Judge.”
It takes me a minute to figure out who he’s talking about. “The cheerleader?”
His grin widens, and he nods enthusiastically. “She’s good friends with Jace’s sister Leila. She hooked me up.”
I nod, impressed. Rachel’s really popular and super pretty. Not that Mark doesn’t deserve a girl like her, but he’s more a class clown than a popular star athlete. Maybe I’m stereotyping, but I assumed the cheerleader would go with one of the football players. “Congratulations,” I tell him, and I mean it. “She’s really pretty.”
“Super hot,” Cabrera agrees. “I’m surprised she agreed to go out with your sorry behind.”
Mark frowns and finally cracks open his textbook. I forgot we’re supposed to be working right now. “Man, shut up,” Mark says. “We’re athletes. We’re about to be state champions, too. We’re every bit as popular as the dumb football team.”
Cabrera snorts and opens his book as well. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”
A shadow falls over our table, and when Mrs. Kendrick clears her throat, I quickly open my book. “Get to work, or you’ll all be finishing this lab during lunch.”
We get busy, and the subject of prom is dropped.
. . . . .
All second hour, I can’t stop thinking about prom. Or, more accurately, how none of the guys included me in their plans. Eric asked Shelly, and both Diego and Kev have dates that I know nothing about. It’s only just starting to hit me that the guys never talk about girls with me or around me. I always thought we told each other everything, but apparently not.
I can’t believe they made their plans and none of them, not once, asked me if I have a date or if I wanted to come with them to dinner or ride in their limo. They asked Mark and Jace to come with them, but none of them thought to ask me. Because I’m not girly enough to like things like prom. Never mind the fact that none of them are “the formal dance type” either, and they’re all excited for prom. Double standard much? Why do they get to like prom, but I can’t?
By third hour, I’m completely fixated on the idea that there’s something wrong with me. That I’m a freak or something. I’m not a guy, but no one can accept me as a girl, either. Eric doesn’t want me. Kev and Diego gag at the idea of having to tell me I look nice. The guys on my team can’t tell if I’m gay or straight.
As much as I hate it, they’re all right. I’m not a normal girl. I’ve never considered myself a tomboy. Not really. It’s not that I don’t like girly things. I’m just surrounded by guys all the time. My mom died when I was six. I was raised by my single dad, his baseball team, and my grandfather. I’ve never learned how to be a girl. I’ve never had anyone to show me.
A soft “Hey, Charlie” startles me from my thoughts.
Jace King slides into the desk beside mine. He’s the only other member of the team in this class, and he always sits beside me. I try to muster up a smile for him, because I like him. Besides Eric, Kev, and Diego, Jace is my favorite member of the team. He’s really talented. Second best batting average on the team behind mine, and he’s fast. Most stolen bases in the whole division. He plays shortstop, and he’s really good at it. He’s the only guy on the team with a shot at playing collegiate ball besides Eric and the only one who takes the game as seriously as both Eric and me. And he’s a really good captain. He’s always so thoughtful and nice. He genuinely cares for every member of the team. I admire him.
As if he can tell something’s not right, his smile slips from his face and his brows crinkle with concern. I murmur a quick “hey” back, then turn away from him and start doodling in my notebook. I don’t want him to ask me what’s wrong. I don’t feel like talking about it.
I’m trying so hard to avoid him that I hear him speak to me, but the words don’t register. My aversion to being rude kicks in, and I force myself to pay attention to him. “Sorry, what?”
Surprisingly, his cheeks turn a little pink and he starts fidgeting. He has to clear his throat before he repeats himself. “I said I saw you on TV on Saturday.”
On TV? What?
“You were at the baseball game with Sullivan Saturday night,” he prompts. “They showed you on the broadcast. They were talking about us being in the running for the state finals. Your dad told the story of how you became a catcher because you played catch with him so much that the better you got at catching the ball, the harder he started throwing to you. He said your position was inevitable.”
“Oh. Right.” Duh. “He tells that story at least once every season. I keep saying he needs new material.”
I fall quiet again and go back to my doodling. Him bringing up the game Saturday night only reminds me of Eric. I’m such an idiot. How did I ever think I had a shot with him?
“Hey…so I was thinking… If you like
going to the games, maybe we should go some time. You know…together?”
Of course Eric asked someone else to prom. He thinks of me like a sister. You knew that, Charlie. That’s why you weren’t surprised. Wait. Jace is talking to me again. What did he ask? Crap. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
Jace grimaces, and I feel bad. I’m hardly good at conversation right now. He looks like he wants to run away from me, but then he squares his shoulders and forces a smile onto his suddenly determined face. “I asked if you’d like to go to a game with me sometime. I can’t afford seats behind home plate or anything, but the nosebleeds are still fun, right?”
I blink once. Then twice. Did he just ask me out? Did Jace King just ask me out? I’m shocked. Frozen. Stunned. Dumbfounded. Astonished. Bewildered. All the other synonyms for surprised. I stare at him, unable to speak while my mouth opens and closes like a fish.
Jace is way out of my league. He’s gorgeous, first of all. Six-two with wavy blond hair that he keeps styled just a little messy. Or maybe the slightly messy look is natural. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to stress too much about his hair. He’s a really laid back guy. He has deep chocolate-brown eyes. But, like, dark chocolate. The good stuff. And his smile… His smile is like sunshine. It lights up his whole face and makes you feel all warm inside.
On top of his good looks, he’s smart, talented, a great leader, easygoing, nice, thoughtful, and genuine. What in the world is he doing asking me on a date? Is it a date? Or is he asking me as a friend? Are we even friends? Does he consider me a friend? I wouldn’t have thought so. He’s never invited me to do anything with him before. No one has. Is this a pity invite because he believes I’m so depressed over my “breakup” with Eric?
He’s looking at me, waiting for an answer, and I still haven’t spoken. I force my voice into action, and what comes out of my mouth is, “You’re asking me to go to a baseball game with you?”
