by Jordan Ford
I’m still too confused by my fumbling behavior to form a reply. Instead I lob the ball back to Kingston as the unbidden thought I entertained for a microsecond earlier today comes back to me.
What if?
What if I was useless at baseball?
What if I didn’t make the team?
That would certainly free up my time.
Dad would hate it.
He’d be mad.
It’s so not worth it.
But hey, he was the one who dragged me away from my team and moved me to California. I never asked to leave. It’s not my fault that I’m having to adjust to a new team halfway through my senior year.
Kingston throws me the ball and I catch it easily, without even thinking about it.
I stop.
Gazing down at the ball in my hand, I stare at the red stitching—the little lines holding this thing together, forcing the material to be a ball whether it wants to be or not.
“Hey! You going to throw it back?” Kingston shouts at me while the other two snicker.
I yank it out of my mitt and do a half-ass throw across the field. With no power it lands short and all three guys are now shaking their heads at me.
They’re right to think I won’t play this season. With throws like that, I don’t deserve to play.
With throws like that, I will seriously not make it through the trial period Coach Keenan has set up for us.
Not make it through.
My heart starts beating out of time.
I’d have time to learn guitar if I wasn’t coming to baseball practices and games. Not to mention gym workouts, batting cages, baseball study, and academic study squished into all the spare spaces.
Dad will never go for it, though.
He won’t let me get permanently benched or kicked off a team.
But if I play badly enough he won’t have a choice.
Shit, if I’m going to do that, I may as well just tell him the truth.
Dad, I want to learn guitar, and this really hot guy at school has offered to teach me. For free! I’m not sure how I’ll fit it into my already overstuffed schedule, but you won’t mind if I skip a few practices and forget about morning workouts, right?
I snicker and shake my head.
He’ll never go for it. Throwing in the fact that it’s free will make no difference.
The only way I’m going to learn guitar is if I keep it a secret.
And the only way I’ll actually have time to be able to pursue this little secret is if I pretend to be a totally crap baseball player.
I’ll get kicked off the team and suddenly hours of free time will open up before me.
The small hope in my chest flutters and then just as quickly, it dies.
It doesn’t sit right.
I can’t lie to my family.
It’s wrong.
But telling them the truth doesn’t seem any easier.
Aw, shit. It’s just not worth it.
I’ve got less than six months until I graduate. Maybe when I hit college and don’t have Dad breathing down my neck, I can pursue guitar then.
Although I highly doubt any guitar teacher could be more attractive than Cairo Hale.
Clenching my jaw, I focus back on practice, once again dropping a ball that I could have so easily caught.
I just couldn’t see it past the image of Cairo floating in my brain.
“Hey, Max. You okay?” Maddie raises her chin at me when I turn to spot her near the mound.
Shit. She must have just seen me drop that catch.
“All good,” I call back, raising the ball in the air before powering it back to Kingston.
He catches it with a look of surprise before giving me a confused frown.
I close my eyes with a sigh, using the edge of the mitt to scratch my forehead. It’s a good way of hiding my face.
What the hell am I doing right now?
I need to sort out my shit.
I need to forget about Cairo Hale and guitar lessons.
6
Cairo
CAIRO
The walls of the garage vibrate as we pump out “1985” by Bowling for Soup. It’s kind of old school but we like it anyway. It’s one of Austin’s favorites and since practice is basically over, we’re ending with some fun.
I grin as I step up to the mic and launch into the second verse. Latifa bops next to me on the bass and then harmonizes with me on the chorus.
Man, I love this feeling.
The music throbs through me. Roman’s beat is sick as I launch into my solo. It’d be great to have another guitar to back me up at this point, but we’ve yet to find the right person. It’d probably help if we held auditions, but none of us have really pushed for it. I guess we’re cautious about bringing anyone new into the band. It can really mess with dynamics if you choose the wrong person.
When Roman first joined it was dicey. But I really wanted to help him out after everything he’d been through. He was living with us anyway, and until that point my dad had been drumming for us. He insisted Roman fill in for him during a few practices, and then in Dad’s subtle way he just backed right off.
And Velocity became a real thing.
We all launch in for the final chorus, Austin singing the extra backlines while Latifa and I holler out the final chorus.
Latifa laughs into the mic, high on the buzz of playing.
I grin at her, then spin and raise my eyebrows at Roman. He offers me his standard half smile. The guy doesn’t like flashing his slightly crooked teeth. They’re really not that bad, but he’s kind of self-conscious about it.
“So, good practice, guys.” I take my guitar off and nestle it into the stand. “Anyone want to make changes to the set?”
“Nah, I think it’s good.” Latifa bobs her head and takes a seat on the threadbare couch by the fridge.
“We’re not ending with ‘1985’ though, are we?” Roman gives me a skeptical frown as he opens the fridge and pulls out a root beer. I raise my hand and he throws me a can before offering one to Austin and Latifa.
We’re soon sitting in a circle, slurping and arguing about which song to finish with.
Austin wants “1985,” which I thought we were just messing around with today. Roman’s gunning for “Thunder” by Imagine Dragons, whereas I’d quite like to end with “Dance, Dance” by Fall Out Boy.
Latifa’s playing Switzerland today. I catch her eye, silently asking for a little backup, but she just smirks and wiggles her black eyebrows at me.
“Traitor,” I mouth.
She laughs and makes a face.
“What’s so funny?” Austin asks, but he doesn’t have a chance to answer because his phone dings.
I glance at him while he checks his text.
“Yes!” He pumps his hand in the air.
Roman sits forward. “What?”
“We got an audition!”
Latifa jumps off the couch. “For the summer rock festival?”
“Oh yeah, baby!”
“No freaking way!” Latifa screams. “When? Where? How?”
Austin raises his hand to calm everyone down, then launches into his explanation about how he heard about the festival and did some digging. A club in Brazenwood is hosting auditions at the end of April.
“That’s not much time,” Latifa murmurs.
I make a scoffing noise. “That’s like three months away. It’s plenty of time. We’ll be sweet.”
“Which club?” Roman’s eyebrows flicker.
Austin looks at his phone. “Escapar.” He glances at me and then back to Roman. “Is…uh, that cool, man? I mean, can you go to that place?”
Roman scratches the back of his neck. “I haven’t heard of it before. It must be new in the last nine months or so. I wonder if someone’s converted that old warehouse on the outskirts of town.”
“You mean dodgy-skirts of town?” Latifa raises her eyebrows, concern clear on her face. “It’s not linked to the Mancinis, is it?”
>
“They don’t hang out in Brazenwood. It’s not their turf. That’s Mendez territory.”
“But they’ve got connections. Nick Mancini used to mess around in that area. You told me yourself.”
“Yeah, I saw him around before he killed that guy and got arrested. But it’s never been a Mancini area. I’ve told you my theory, that he was working for someone else on the side. He was jacking that car for a different boss. Things went wrong and he ended up shooting the driver. The Mancinis aren’t stupid. They know how far they can go, and they know when to pull back and keep their noses clean. There’s no way Enzo Mancini would have ordered his nephew to steal that car. It’s not his style. If Nick hadn’t been convicted and sent to prison, I bet his uncle Enzo would have made him pay for going behind his back.” His face bunches with what I can only assume is a memory of paying for breaking the rules. From what he’s told me, those beatings were pretty damn harsh.
My eyes narrow as I gaze at my friend. “You used to deal in Brazenwood, didn’t you? Are you sure some of your old connections aren’t linked to this club?”
He winces and pinches his bottom lip. “I don’t see why they would be. It’s not their style to host auditions for a summer rock festival.”
“Yeah, but they could see it as an opportunity to push some major product. What if you see someone you don’t want to?”
Roman runs a hand through his curls, obviously frustrated.
Latifa winces. “We don’t have to go if it’s going to compromise you, Rome. It’s not worth it.”
“I’ll keep a low profile. And it’s for a rock festival audition. They’re not going to risk doing something stupid. The place will be packed. There’ll be media there. It’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” I raise my eyebrows at him then look at the rest of the band. “We don’t have to do this.”
“Are you kidding me?” Roman snaps. “We’re doing this! My past is not screwing you guys over. We’re going to that club, and we’re going to play the best we’ve ever played, all right?”
“It’s cool, guys.” Austin holds up his phone. “According to this internet article, the club opened up a few months ago and is owned by Tomas Santiago. They’re hosting the auditions to try and generate some public interest.”
“I don’t know any Santiagos.” An unconscious smile crests Roman’s face.
I grin back at him and then look to Latifa, who’s obviously still wary.
Roman reaches out, gently brushing his hand down her arm. “It’ll be fine, Tifa. I promise. No trouble.”
She purses her full lips, then finally nods. “All right. Let’s do this. I’m voting for extra practices. Let’s start tomorrow morning.”
I hiss before I can stop myself.
“What?” Latifa frowns at me. “We’re going to have to work our asses off for this.”
“Oh yeah, I know. I agree. I’m totally—”
“Then what’s the problem?” She puts her hand on her hip and gives me a pointed glare.
“I just have…something on tomorrow morning…ish.” I look to the ceiling.
“Seriously?” Latifa throws her head back and lets out a groan. “You want to go to the preseason baseball game, don’t you?”
“I…”
“The girl hasn’t spoken to you in two weeks!” Latifa holds up two fingers. “She’s barely looked at you since you offered to teach her guitar.”
I hate that she’s right. Every time I’ve looked in Max’s direction, she’s made a point of ignoring me or turning the other way. It’s kind of sucked.
“Actually, that’s not true,” Austin mumbles. “If we’re talking about that Max chick, she’s always checking him out.”
Really?
I glance at Austin, trying to keep my expression neutral while my brain tells me yet again that I’m right about this girl.
“Whatever.” Latifa glares at him. “My point is, there has been no actual contact, which tells me that she doesn’t actually want to learn guitar from you. I’m pretty sure she wants you to leave her alone!”
“Well, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t.” I shrug.
“Are you that desperate for another girlfriend that you’re going to start stalking now?”
My forehead bunches with a frown. “Going to a baseball game is not stalking her. It’s…supporting her.”
“Bullshit,” she mutters.
“You should just hook up with Bess.” Austin grins at me. “That girl’s been wanting into your pants for—
“I’m not into Bess! How many times do we have to have this conversation?”
Austin raises his hands. “I’m just saying. If you want a girlfriend, then she’s an easy solution.”
“Why do you guys think I am obsessed with having a girlfriend?” I spread my arms wide.
“Because you always have one,” Roman states the obvious.
I roll my eyes and wish I had a decent comeback.
I don’t.
Because he’s right.
Working my jaw to the side, I tuck my hair behind my ear and change the subject. “Aren’t you guys just a little curious? This is the first time girls have ever played ball for the Pitbulls. It’s a big deal.”
“That is not why you wanna go.” Latifa gives me a deadpan stare. “Just admit it, you have the hots for Max.”
“It’s not like that.” I shake my head. “I don’t want to score her as my girlfriend, I swear. She just intrigues me. I want to work her out.”
They all look me over like I’m telling a fast one.
I stare back, trying to make it clear that this has nothing to do with romance and everything to do with the fact that this girl is denying herself something she obviously wants.
I let out a sharp huff. “She wants to play guitar, okay? You didn’t see her face when she was checking out my Stratocaster. You weren’t there when I offered her lessons! She wants in, I’m telling you. But she said no. Listed off a bunch of lame excuses like she was afraid to say yes. I want to help her.”
“She’s not your charity case, Cai.” Latifa frowns at me. “If she wants to learn guitar, she’ll find a way to learn. Maybe she just didn’t want to say yes to you.”
“You’re not hearing me. She wanted to say yes.”
“So why’d she say no?” Austin pushes the bleached bangs off his face.
I point at him. “Exactly. Why’d she say no?”
Roman’s face bunches with confusion. “Okay. So, how is watching her play baseball going to help you figure that out?”
Spinning the ring on my finger, I look down at my scuffed boots. “If she looks like she’s having the time of her life, then maybe I read her wrong. But I’ve got a feeling that when I watch her play tomorrow, I’m gonna see that she’s just going through the motions, because that’s what she’s always done. She doesn’t play ball because she’s passionate about it. She plays it because she’s good at it.”
“Not according to my brother. Kingston told me she plays sloppy and probably won’t even get off the bench tomorrow.”
My face puckers with confusion. “For real?”
Austin nods. “Apparently her dad talked her up to be this amazing player, but she hasn’t shown anyone anything yet. I don’t think the girls are cut out for this. If we go tomorrow, we’re probably just going to see them humiliate themselves.”
“Well, in that case, I’m in.” Latifa gives us a wicked smirk.
Roman laughs and high-fives her. “Count me in.”
I internally groan, but I can’t exactly tell them not to come.
I have to go to that game tomorrow. It’ll be the perfect chance to really study Max without coming across like a creeper. All my attempts at trying to talk to her over the past couple of weeks have led to one dead end after another.
Maybe Latifa’s right. Maybe she doesn’t want to learn guitar after all.
Maybe she’s not some chick trapped and longing to get out.
But what if I’m right?
/> What if I’m the guy that can awaken some buried passion inside her?
A passion for music.
I can’t just turn my back on this. Not until I’m satisfied that Max Barlow is a baseball freak, and I read her all wrong.
7
Max
MAX
Okay, so my big decision to sort out my shit and stop thinking about Cairo’s offer has been an epic fail.
My brain knows what it should be doing, but my body’s been stubbornly ignoring it.
I’ve been playing like shit for two weeks solid. Bad batting, crappy fielding. I’m surprised Coach even let me put on a uniform this morning.
I don’t deserve to be included in this game.
But I will be, because this is my final test. Coach is going to play all three Barlow girls and either prove my Dad wrong…or right.
I glance into the busy stands and spot my parents right away. They’re sitting two rows down from Velocity.
Velocity!
The entire band came.
I have no idea why.
I force my eyes off Cairo and study my dad again. He whispers something in Mom’s ear and she smiles. It’s a rare spontaneous one—so beautiful and carefree. We don’t get to see those very often. Not since Dad announced we were moving to Armitage. She claims she wanted to come here because sticking together as a family is the most important thing in the world. But I call bullshit.
She may want to support her man, but she wants to be here as much as Maddie does.
Which is like not at all.
I wasn’t too thrown by the move. Sure, Armitage isn’t the prettiest town in the world, and I don’t love sharing a room with Mads again, but that’s only a couple of negatives.
It’s weird. I thought I’d be more gutted about leaving Columbus, but maybe deep down underneath all my bullshit, it was a way out.
Since arriving in this town, the thought of playing ball has been like sour milk in my mouth. Maybe this big move across the country has opened some kind of Pandora’s box that I never knew existed inside of me.
Back in Columbus, I would have been sitting on the bench, bobbing my knee, psyched to get out there and make my daddy proud.
