by Kelly Oram
I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes. My joints pop and crack from sleeping at the counter. “Hi, Dad.”
My greeting is less than enthusiastic. Dad eyes me and warily asks, “Everything okay?”
I don’t have the energy to get into it. I don’t even feel like crying. I’m just done. I’m numb. Still, I don’t lie to my dad. Ever. “No,” I admit. “I’m not really okay.”
I start pulling the million bobby pins out of my hair. Dad watches me place several on the counter before he speaks again. “Was it Jace?”
He speaks slowly, as if he’s scared of my answer. He probably is. He’s never had to deal with boy issues or dating or broken hearts. It’s as new of territory for him as it is for me. In this, at least, I can appease him. “No. It wasn’t Jace. Jace was great tonight. Dinner by the river was awesome, and the dance was really fun. He was a perfect gentleman the whole time.”
My voice definitely contradicts my words, so I can’t blame Dad when he frowns. But I don’t feel like hashing it out. Not tonight. Tonight I’m too tired.
Dad’s not a stupid man. He watches me pull my hairpins out one after another and says, “So it’s Eric.”
My heart squeezes in my chest at just hearing his name. My eyes finally gloss over. I meet Dad’s waiting gaze, and my stomach churns. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I mumble, and look away from him. I can’t remember the last time I couldn’t look my father in the eye. That only makes me feel worse.
I start yanking the pins out of my hair harder until one gets so tangled it won’t come out. Dad waits a long minute before he sighs. He walks around the kitchen island and takes the tangled bobby pin out of my fingers. “Let me.”
He starts pulling the pins out of my hair for me, and finally a couple of stray tears well up in my eyes and track down my cheeks. I love my dad. I love him so much. He’s not pressing me. I said I don’t want to talk about it, so he’s not talking about it. But he’s still here for me. Still doing everything he can to make me feel loved. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asks quietly.
I swallow back a sob, but I can’t hold in my sniffle. “You’re already doing it.”
We fall into silence while he works. When he finally pulls the last of my locks free, he gives my hair a shake, looking for any stray pins that might be hiding. “I think that’s it,” he says, stepping back. I turn around to face him, sure that my makeup is all smudged. He ignores it. “Want to watch a movie? We can pop some popcorn. We only have that no flavor crap, but we can cheat just this once and melt some butter over it.”
He’s pulling out the big guns. He knows how much I love buttered popcorn. But I can’t give him the reaction he’s hoping for. Not tonight. I shake my head, and his face falls. “Sorry, Dad. I’m not really up for that right now. It’s getting late anyway. I should get some sleep. Big game tomorrow.”
He forces a smile at me, though I can tell he’s not happy. The worry lines in his forehead are prominent, and I recognize the look of him wanting to say something but holding back. I escape him before the dam breaks and he forces me to sit down and spill my guts. “Goodnight, Dad. See you in the morning.”
. . . . .
My sleep is fitful at best. By the time I roll out of bed when my alarm goes off at ten, I’m already exhausted. It’s going to be a long day, and I’ve only got the most important game of my life coming up.
After a quick shower, I throw my hair back into a ponytail and head downstairs for breakfast. I hear the noise before I see the commotion. My kitchen is filled with a sea of blue and gold. There are a good twenty people crowded around the dining table, decked out in Roosevelt Ravens gear, ponytail ribbons, and face paint, making glittery handmade posters.
I sneak past what I recognize to be the cheerleading squad and make my way to the small group of guys huddled around the island, eating what looks like whole-wheat pancakes and fruit salad. Leila and Rachel are at the stove, wearing aprons and holding spatulas. “What’s all this?” I ask, taking the open seat between Jace and Reynolds. Diego and Kevin are chowing down, and I’m shocked to see Cabrera and Springer as well.
“Hey! There she is!” Leila chirps.
Rachel pushes a plate with a large pancake on it toward me. “Hungry?”
“Thanks.” I reach for the syrup, doing a secret happy dance when I see it’s the good stuff and not the sugar-free kind. “Seriously, what is all this?”
“Your dad called me this morning and said you might need a little extra cheer to get you in the right mood for the big game,” Leila says, scooping a spoonful of fruit onto my plate. She spreads her arms wide to encompass the whole group of people in my kitchen. “So I brought you cheer.”
“And I brought a few teammates for moral support,” Jace adds.
I look over the handful of my teammates, and my face falls a little. As if they can read my mind, they all shake their heads. “We called him and left messages,” Kevin says. “He’s got his phone shut off.”
“He’s being an idiot, Charlie, but he’ll come around,” Diego adds, meeting my gaze with a steady, determined look. “You know he will.”
I swallow down a thick lump of doubt and nod, trying to make myself believe his words. “He’ll come around. He has to.”
Embarrassed that the room has gone quiet, I clear my throat and smirk at my teammates. “I’m surprised you guys got up early for this.”
The guys all grin. “Are you kidding?” Reynolds asks. “Jace said cheerleaders and free food. How could we resist?”
“We are a little disappointed that the cheer skirts didn’t make it, though,” Cabrera adds.
I swear the entire cheer team rolls their eyes at our first baseman. “Sorry,” Mia says, and despite Cabrera’s tactless statement, she sounds sincere. “We would have, but we gave the uniforms back at the end of our season. This is an unofficial cheer event, but we’ll still cheer our hearts out for you.”
Suddenly I’m all choked up for a different reason. I’m touched that all of these people came here to support me. As I scan the faces, I finally notice my dad sitting at the table, painting posters with the handful of male cheerleaders, grinning like he’s having the time of his life. I shake my head and chuckle. I shouldn’t be surprised he’d go all out this morning. “Is this the entire cheer team?”
“Every last one of us,” Mia says proudly. “A cheer emergency is a cheer emergency, after all.”
“Plus, you may not be the football team, but you’re still Ravens,” Stacie says. “Ravens support one another.”
“We’re excited to cheer on the baseball team for once,” Rachel agrees, nodding like she’s a bobblehead doll. “You guys deserve it. You’re about to be state champs!”
This earns an enthusiastic cheer, complete with whistling and clapping from everyone. I’m bummed about Eric, but I can’t help the smile that starts to spread across my face. This is just so nice. “Thank you all so much,” I say, and no matter how hard I try to stop myself, my eyes gloss over and my voice cracks with emotion.
“Whoa, Hastings,” Kevin says, looking somewhat horrified to see me emoting. “Are you crying?”
Before I can deny it, he and Diego grin at each other. I know what they’re going to say before they say it. I’ve only made them watch A League of Their Own a bazillion times in our lives. Sure enough, they both do their best Tom Hanks impressions. “There’s no crying in baseball!”
A half-hysterical laugh bubbles up out of my chest while everyone in the room cracks up. But it does the trick, and I manage to get ahold of myself. Thankfully, my voice is back to normal when I say, “Seriously, though, you guys. This is amazing. Thank you all for coming.”
“Happy to do it,” a cute male cheerleader says. He gives me the grin of a co-conspirator. “We freaks have to support one another.”
I’d feel bad about the freak comment if it came from anyone other than Nick Moody. He was the first guy to join the cheer squad in Roosevelt High history. He spent the majority
of the season being the only guy on a team full of girls. If anyone knows how I feel, it’s him.
“Freaks, schmeaks,” Cassidy says, shoving Nick in the shoulder. “Us girls have to stick together.”
She holds up a big poster that has my number on it and says You Go, Girl! Another girl whose name I can’t remember holds up one that says Charlie For MVP! And a girl who looks like her twin has a sign that says Charlie For President! That one makes me giggle, which, in turn, makes Jace wrap his arms around me and whisper, “What did I tell you about the giggling?”
I elbow him when he kisses my neck because, yeah, my dad is right there. And no matter how much he likes Jace, he’s now got his eyes narrowed on him. I give him a sheepish shrug and go back to eating my pancakes. As I’m rinsing my plate, Dad stands up and says, “All right, caravan leaves in five minutes. The boys and Charlie have a bus to catch.”
The team has to ride the bus to all away games—State Championships included—so we all head over to the school where the bus is waiting. Most of the team is already there. The cheer team climbs out of their cars and does this weird spirit tunnel thing for us as we get on the bus. It’s strange, but it puts a smile on my face. I’m the last of our group to board the bus after getting big hugs and good-lucks from Leila and the rest of the girls.
Coach gives me a funny look as he marks me present on his roster. “That’s some entourage you’ve got there, Hastings.”
I have no idea what to say to that, so I grin and shrug. Coach eyes the cheer team and lifts a brow. “You all coming to the game?”
Leila beams a smile at him. “You bet, Coach. Front and center.”
Coach Stanton, as if he simply can’t help it, cracks a grin. “Good. About time you all cheered for the best team at Roosevelt High,” he says, trying to sound gruff, but we can all hear the softness behind it. “Now get out of here, and stop distracting my players.”
As the cheer squad piles into several cars—including my dad’s Escalade—I follow Jace to an empty seat in the middle of the bus. Right before I sit, someone yells, “What was that, Charlie? You turning into a cheerleader on us?”
I scan the busload of baseball players, and my eyes fall on Eric. He’s watching me with a look full of a hundred different emotions. He’s slightly disheveled and has dark circles under his eyes as if he slept as horribly as I did last night. My heart flips in my chest, but I refuse to let him get me down after the effort my other friends all made to cheer me up this morning. I force my gaze away from Eric and zero in on the guy who teased me about being a cheerleader. I give him an obnoxious smile and say, “Sure, why not?” Then I do my best impression of a perky cheerleader, chanting “Go, team, go!” while clapping my hands and then waving my spirit fingers.
There’s a beat of silence, as if I’ve shocked them all into a stupor by playing along, but then they all burst into laughter.
“Yo, Hastings, do us a favor and stick to baseball!”
“Yeah, you suck!”
“My dog cheers better than you!”
My heart warms when they all start ribbing me. I really am part of the whole team now. It may be the last game, but I’m really, truly one of them, and it feels good. I beam a grin at Jace as he plops into an empty seat. He tugs me down next to him, laughing like he understands why I’m so thrilled right now. “Thank you,” I tell him, suddenly overcome with gratitude. “For everything this morning. I really needed it after last night. You may have just saved this game for me.”
Jace’s face softens. “It was more your dad and Leila than me, but I’ll happily take credit if it earns me a kiss.”
I don’t hesitate. I lean forward and give him an enthusiastic kiss. I think the energy of it surprises him because he chuckles, smiling against my lips before he grabs my face and returns the kiss with vigor. His hands slide into my hair, effectively messing up my ponytail.
When the whole team starts whistling and jeering and shouting at us to get a room, we snap apart. My face turns bright red, but Jace smirks. “You’re all just jealous,” he calls out over my shoulder with a laugh. He gives me one last kiss and then tucks the hair that fell out of my ponytail behind my ear. “Sorry about the hair.”
Yeah. He’s so not sorry. And I’m not sorry for what I’m about to make him do. “It’s okay. You can fix it for me by French braiding it.”
He blinks. “What? You mean, right now?”
I smirk and free my hair from my messed up ponytail. I hold the elastic out to him. “Yeah. I was thinking about it this morning, and a braid would be so much better tucked under my catcher’s helmet than a big, lumpy ponytail.”
Jace glances around at all our teammates. “You’d really make me braid your hair in front of the whole team?”
There’s no way I’m letting him get out of this. I grin and shrug. “Your ego can take it.”
Jace cringes.
“Please?” I ask. I may or may not bat my eyelashes and pout at him. (I totally bat my eyelashes and pout at him.)
Jace’s resolve crumbles. He does my favorite headshake/chuckle and motions for me to turn around. “Yay!” I squeal just like Leila. “Thank you!” I give him a quick kiss before turning around. “You’re the best boyfriend ever.”
“You owe me for this,” he warns. “A movie and a swim without my sister this time, and another game in the front row.”
“Next Saturday,” I promise. “You can have the entire day.”
“Okay, that’s worth it.”
Jace digs his fingers into my hair, and when he starts braiding it, it takes a whole two seconds for someone to notice and start teasing him. The whole team gets in on the torture, and they don’t stop until we reach the field where we’re playing. (I still don’t feel bad.)
The game gets off to a rocky start. Greenfield High is in the state championships for a reason. They’re good. Really good. We’re better, but Eric is majorly off his game this morning, and Greenfield is taking every advantage. They already have two runs and a guy on first with no outs. It’s not the worst scenario, but it’s only the third inning. Our defense is good, but that’s a lot of innings to get through unscathed. Things are bound to get by us if Eric keeps letting them hit everything off him.
Eric throws another pitch right over the heart of the plate, and the runner blasts it. Luckily, it’s a straight shot to Jace at shortstop, and he snags it out of the air with an impressive jump. It’s a beautiful play, and I really hope the scouts and coaches in the stands are taking note. Jace deserves to play collegiate ball.
One out down. Two to go. One runner on first. The next two pitches come at me pretty wild, but I manage to stop them. The third is so far outside it gets by me. I jump to my feet to chase after it and catch a break when it bounces right back to me off the backstop. Rivera, our second baseman, knows me well enough to be ready for my throw. I launch it to him, and he scoops it up with just enough time to get the runner out at second. Man, I love this game.
Two outs now, and no base runners. Much better situation. I feel a little better, but when Eric throws three more balls, I can’t take it anymore. I call time and trudge out to the mound. The infielders start to come in, too, but I shake them off. Eric doesn’t need the team to hear me ream him out. “Hey,” I say when I reach Eric. Frustration is radiating off him. It’s the worst meltdown he’s had in years. “As much as I appreciate all the chances you’re giving me to show off for the scouts and coaches, I’d rather you start pitching. What’s going on?”
He shakes his head angrily. “I can’t concentrate.”
“Why not? What’s the problem?”
Eric glares at me, and it all clicks. He’s letting our drama onto the field. I sigh. I’ve only got seconds before the ump comes to break up this mound visit. “Eric, you know better. Yeah, we’re having problems, but that’s off the field. Out here, it doesn’t exist. Right now, it’s you and me like it’s been our whole lives. We’re just playing a game of catch. A really aggressive game of catch.” I grip h
is shoulder and give him a small shake. “We need you. This team needs you. I need you. This is my last game, probably ever. I’d like to go out with a win, and I can’t do that without you.”
Eric swallows and takes a deep breath. Immediately, his nerves start to settle. “That’s it,” I murmur. “You’re Eric freaking Sullivan. You’re about to get drafted. Now start pitching like you deserve it.”
After another slow breath, he meets my eyes and there’s a thank-you in his. He stares at me with an intensity that I’ve only ever seen from him while he’s playing. “I love you, Charlie. More than anyone in the world.”
I’m a little shocked by the timing of the declaration, though the feelings aren’t a surprise. It’s easy to return the sentiment. “I love you, too, Eric. More than anyone, except Dad.” I give him a small smirk. “Now quit with the touch-feely stuff and help me win this game.”
The ump finally arrives, forcing us to break it up. I give Eric one last look. “You’ve got this, Sullivan.”
He smirks back. “Thanks to you, Hastings.”
I run back to home plate, and after slipping my helmet back on, I throw down the sign for him to bring the heat that’s got the pros taking notice of him. When the ball screams toward me straight into my glove, making my hand sting, I grin. He’s back. And that’s very bad news for Greenfield High.
After the game, which we win 6-2—and yours truly hits a three-run homer—Eric is on me before I can even get all my catcher’s gear off. He tackles me in a fierce hug, squeezing me like there’s no tomorrow. I melt into the embrace and squeeze him back. We stand there holding each other there while our team celebrates our victory around us. “Thank you,” Eric whispers in my ear.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper back.
“Me too.”
Our moment is broken up when we’re both doused in ice-cold Gatorade. Jace and Mark are laughing, holding the empty water cooler. I go to hug Jace, but he and Mark tackle me and hoist me up on their shoulders. I laugh as they parade me around like some kind of hero. If ever there was a way to end my baseball career, this is it. I can quit knowing I stuck it out to the end and always played my best. And hey, I’ll be back just as soon as I graduate college. Maybe it won’t be as a player, but I’ll still be a part of the game. They won’t be able to keep me away.
