by Ginger Scott
“Looks like the guys are still going,” Taryn says, and at first, I’m not sure what she means. A few girls in front of us push down their windows and whistle out toward the field, and I turn to look out mine, seeing Kyle now on the mound.
“He must be closing,” I say to Taryn, gesturing to our friend.
“TK is so fucking hot in those pants,” she responds, not even hearing me. I laugh because…yeah, of course, that’s what she notices.
We climb from the bus, and Taryn, Shelby, and I walk toward the bleachers for the baseball field, dumping our stuff on the ground and climbing up to the seats in the back. We had maybe a dozen fans watching our game, but the baseball team attracts at least a hundred every game. I get it; I’d be here too, if I didn’t have a game of my own to play.
Kyle is throwing hard, and the score is four to three—us. My dad is in his lucky spot, crouched down in the catcher’s position at the front of the dugout, hands moving quickly from his ear to his nose to his knee. He’s giving the catcher signs. If I wanted to ruin his day, I could walk over to the other dugout bleachers and call them all out. They’d know every pitch Kyle was about to throw.
But I wouldn’t do that to Kyle. And this is Levi’s first game catching, so I wouldn’t want to screw him over either. If I’m being honest, there’s also still a small part of the little girl I used to be deep down inside of me—and she likes to see her daddy win…even if I won’t be acknowledged in the celebration.
It’s the first batter of the last inning; Kyle lets one slide into the zone, and the batter rips a line drive to TK. He handles it easily though for the out, and Taryn squeals like a Pee Wee football cheerleader.
“Wow, if you’re gonna do that, I’m watching from over here,” I say, pointing to the other end of the dugout where the bleachers end. She rolls her eyes at me and continues to jump up and down.
I leave her with Shelby, but not because I’m embarrassed. I recognized Wes’s form almost immediately, his body leaning in the corner against the fencing of the dugout wall. I’m dying to know how he did. I’m also dying to put myself between the view of him and the front row of the bleachers taken up by his giggling fan club. I walk in front of them on purpose, and I take special care to give McKenna a tight smile as I pass by.
“Still hoping Daddy will let you play with the boys, Josselyn?” She immediately breaks out into laughter with her friends.
My blood pressure rises from her taunt, but I check it quickly, spinning on my heels to walk backward and look at her. “I can play with these boys anytime I want, McKenna,” I say, and I move to turn back, feeling satisfied.
“Not every boy, you can’t. Why don’t you ask Wes about the beach this weekend?” she says.
The whispers and snickering pick up quickly, but I don’t let myself turn around again. If I weren’t already almost to the corner of the dugout wall, I’d go back to my original seat. But I don’t want McKenna to have any power, to know that her words matter to me. They shouldn’t, but they do.
“Hey,” Wes’s voice comes out raspy. “I was hoping you guys would get back in time. I made it six innings. I gave up a home run, though. Seems they can still see my changeup.”
“Ah, so now we’re admitting it’s a changeup and not a slider, are we?” I say, linking my fingers through the small bit of chain-link fencing between us. I can still feel McKenna’s eyes on me, and I hate that I’m letting her get to me.
“I admit nothing,” Wes says, wincing when he shifts his weight and moves the ice pack around his arm. “I threw you a slider. You just hit that too.”
His lip curves on one side as his head tilts up just enough that I can see his eyes under his hat. Even the red-and-white South High Toro uniform looks perfect on this boy.
“Looks like Kyle’s taking care of business, though,” I say, resting my head against the fence. We both look out to the mound to see Kyle strike out the second batter. They’re one out away from a win—Wes’s first win.
“Honestly, I think he’s better than me. He should have started,” Wes says, not looking back at me for a reaction. He didn’t say that just to be nice. He said that because he meant it.
“He’s not,” I say, waiting Wes out until he finally meets my eyes. He stares at me with a serious look, not believing me. “Really, my dad wouldn’t do you any favors just to make you feel welcome because you’re new or whatever. My dad plays to win—no matter what.”
After a few seconds, Wes nods in agreement and slowly takes the ice pack from his arm, hissing as if it’s painful.
“You get hurt?” I ask.
“Nah. I could probably throw tomorrow. Honestly? I always hate the icing down shit we have to do. Cold hurts way worse,” he says through a light laugh, standing and tossing his ice pack in the cooler. He pulls on his sweatshirt, and I let myself admire the way he runs his fingers through his messy hair before putting his hat back on.
“You ever really throw out your shoulder or elbow—and I bet you won’t think the ice is so bad,” I say, thinking how I should probably heed my own advice. I never ice my muscles, for the same reason Wes hates doing it. Cold sucks.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he says, stepping up on the bench and sitting on the seat back, bringing himself closer to me.
I glance back at his fan row on the bleachers, and only McKenna is watching. She’s pretending not to. I recognize it, because that’s how I look at Wes—while pretending not to.
“So…your fan over there mentioned something about taking you to the beach?” My stomach hurts the second I let the poor excuse for fishing for information leave my mouth. Since the moment she mentioned it, my mind worked for a natural way to ask Wes about it, to find out if it’s a date with her or anything remotely like she wants me to believe it is. I feel stupid asking, and I’m scared to find out his response.
“Oh, yeah…” he says, standing and not finishing his answer. I’m hanging on his words, but he’s on his feet against the other side of the dugout, watching, because the other team’s big hitter just hit a fly ball deep to right field. Our fielder is tracking it, all the way to the fence, and at the last minute, he lifts himself up, reaching over the top and snagging the ball out of the air.
“Hell yeah!” Wes shouts, pumping his fist in the air and running from the dugout, piling with the rest of his team and lifting Kyle up in a bear hug. It’s the most animated I’ve ever seen Wes Stokes. He’s also celebrating Kyle, giving him full credit. I have a feeling though, he had more to do with that win. Six innings is a lot.
The team moves back toward the dugout, and I stand in my place feeling more awkward and out-of-place by the second. I’d join Shelby and Taryn, but they’re already walking down the bleachers toward me—along with McKenna and her friends.
In all of the chaos of social circles colliding, I’ve somehow missed my father stepping into the dugout, and when I turn back expecting to see Wes, I’m a little surprised to see his tired face staring back at me. He has a toothpick in his mouth, a thing he does at school because he can’t chew tobacco here. The king of all hypocrites, he chastises me for picking up smoking yet spends a minor fortune on Skoal.
“You win?” he asks.
“No. Regina Foles pitched. Most of the team couldn’t hit her,” I say, my eyes staring at the worn toothpick, splinters actually coming apart where the wood meets my father’s teeth. He must have been stressed.
“You hit her?” he asks, pulling the pick from his mouth and tossing it on the ground. I’m a little surprised by his interest in my game, so it takes me a second or two to answer.
“Yeah,” I say, and when I meet his eyes, for a brief second there, I see pride.
“Good, you shouldn’t let speed scare you at the plate,” he says, giving his attention over to TK and Levi when they come in and threaten to dump the cooler of ice water over his head. “Now I know you’re not gonna dump that on me after only one game, right? You make it to the end, win us a pennant, then you can start liftin
g coolers. Any sooner, and you’ll be spending some serious time out here running bases.”
TK flashes a look at me quickly, and I nod once with a tight-lipped smile to confirm my father isn’t kidding. He’s never kidding when it comes to winning.
“Sorry sir,” TK says, setting the cooler down and turning his focus to picking up his gear and cleaning out the dugout.
“Punk little shits win one game and they think they’ve got something to celebrate,” my father says at me, his eyes out at the parking lot beyond my shoulder. I don’t respond. He’s not asking for one. His opinion and method for winning is something he’s always right about.
“I went three for three,” I say instead, not sure why I felt the need to prove myself to him, but for the first time in a long time, I wanted to tell him about my game. His eyes snap to mine quickly, but his expression remains flat.
“You should. You hit any over?” he asks.
“One,” I say, my hands flexing at the memory of the crack of the ball against my bat before it sailed over the fence. I start to smile, when my dad cuts our conversation short.
“You can do better,” he says, patting his hand against the brick of the dugout. With that, he grabs his clipboard from the nail on the wall and walks out across the field back to his office.
“He just meant you’re our best player, that’s all,” Taryn says, immediately going into make-Joss-feel-better mode.
“No he didn’t,” I sigh. “He meant I’m not good enough. It’s fine. Whatever.”
Before I get too deep in my pity party, Kyle comes around the wall, wrapping one arm around my stomach and swinging me up over his shoulder, spinning me a few times.
“I’m gonna throw up, dude. Don’t!” I yell through my laughter. Kyle and I haven’t talked for a couple days, and when he sets me down, the tension I feel when I look at him is heavy. Before it’s too strong to handle though, I register the dark bruising around his eye, and suddenly all of my anxiety is replaced with worry for my friend.
“Kyle, oh my god!” I say, reaching a hand up to his face. He catches it in his own and shakes his head.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he says, pulling his cap from his head and running his arm across his forehead. He drops my hand and puts his hat back on with both hands before bringing his face square with mine again. The bruise looks fresh, and I wonder if it happened during the game.
“Did you take a line drive or something? I thought you only pitched the last inning?” I’m trying to reach for him, and he’s still backing away, when all three Stokes brothers walk up to join us.
“Wes hit him in the locker room, right before the game,” Levi says, a giant grin on his face at getting to be the one to tattle on his brother.
Boys.
“He…hit you?” I ask, my gaze bouncing between Wes and Kyle. They both look sheepish—lips pursed, and shoulders raised.
“He sure did. Kyle was late to the field because of it, and coach made him run down to the canal and back before the game,” TK says.
“Yeah, sorry about that man. I didn’t mean for you to be late,” Wes says, his gear at his feet and his glove still on one hand.
Wes pulls his hand free and drops his mitt on the ground, stepping in front of us all and holding a hand out to Kyle. “I’m sorry. That was a cheap shot. We all good now?” he says.
Kyle studies his hand for a few seconds, and I notice his jaw flex in a way that probably only I would recognize. He’s nervous. I’m not sure if he’s afraid Wes is going to hit him again, or if it’s something else entirely, but he’s uneasy about accepting this truce. He does, though, shaking Wes’s hand, his grip tight. Before they part, Kyle grabs Wes’s forearm with his other hand, stopping their shake until Wes looks him in the eye.
“Just so we’re clear here, I know I deserved that. I hear you. Won’t happen again,” Kyle says, this time causing Wes to flinch, his eyes twitching the slightest bit as his tongue pushes at the inside of his cheek. Finally, he blinks and nods at Kyle before glancing to me as he picks up his gear and walks to the locker room.
McKenna and the few other girls who have stayed with her rush to catch up to him, and my eyes go right to her, counting every time she brushes his arm, flips her hair, laughs, and does all of those stereotypical perfect-girl-things that are stereotypical for a reason. I wish I knew what Wes thought of it…of her.
“You gonna tell me what that was all about?” I say to Kyle, my eyes still on my crush a hundred yards in front of us.
Crush. I have a crush.
“He told me if I ever put you in harm’s way again, he’ll kill me. And I agreed to let him,” Kyle says, bringing my eyes to him instantly. Kyle doesn’t add anything more, instead, just looking at me for long seconds while I stare back at him wide-eyed and afraid. Finally, he laughs out a breath to himself, then bends down to pick up his things, grabbing mine too.
“What’s funny?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest while we walk—until I realize exactly how it looks when I’m pouting. I release my hold and instead move my thumbs to my back pockets, splitting my attention between Wes in front of me and Kyle beside me.
“Nothing’s funny, Joss. This isn’t funny at all,” he says, his eyes straight ahead. “I just realized that I’m never going to get you to look at me like you look at him. What’s worse is I’m totally okay with it. Wes…he’s the kind of guy you deserve. And maybe I just love you enough to want you to have it all. Fuckin’ hurts though; not gonna lie about that.”
I slow my pace at his words until eventually I stop. Kyle makes it a dozen or so feet ahead of me before stopping and exhaling, the weight of both of our bags sagging his shoulders. He never turns toward me, but tilts his face to the sky so I can hear his words.
“Don’t feel bad. I’ll get over it,” he says, glancing just enough to the side that I can see the ache in his eyes. “Now come on, let me take your ass home.”
I catch up to my friend and help him load our things in his father’s truck. I wave to Taryn in the distance, letting her know I have a ride and that she can take TK in her car. Levi and Wes are just pulling away from the lot, McKenna between them in the cab of their truck, and the other girls cackling in the bed. I don’t really know any of those girls, but I hate them.
“Your dad let you use his truck, huh?” I say, wanting to just pretend things are normal, that they could be normal, after the words Kyle just said.
“Yeah…sorta,” Kyle sighs, starting the engine and finally twisting to look at me. He’s forcing a smile, but his eyes tell the true story. They look heartbroken. “He’s buying a new one, but I have to work off the debt on this. Looks like you and I will both be taking on shifts at Jungle Gym.”
I smile at the thought of working there with Kyle, even though it feels different now than how it would have before. “Really? You call in a favor with Taryn too?” I ask.
“Yep,” he says, eyebrows raised as he turns his attention back to the front, putting the truck in reverse and pulling out of our spot. “We might have a few shifts together. But I’m the lucky early-morning snack-bar guy. I get to make all those awesome boiled hotdogs and fill those cups of processed cheese at five every morning before I haul my ass to school.”
“I might be a little jealous,” I laugh, clicking my belt and putting my feet up on his dashboard so I can untie my cleats.
“I thought you might be. I know how you like shitty-ass nacho cheese,” he says, feigning serious. Neither of us ever breaks into a laugh, but we both know we’re kidding. It’s almost normal between us, even though deep down, it will probably never quite be normal again.
Eight
I stuck to riding with Taryn for the rest of the week. I also stayed on my own ball field, avoiding venturing over to the baseball side during practice and after games. It kept me away from Wes, and it kept me away from the uncomfortable feeling that now accompanies being near Kyle. Most importantly, I avoided the entire nightmare that is standing between Wes and Kyle while McKe
nna looks on.
I smoked a cigarette this morning with Taryn on our way to school. I blame all of this girl drama. I’m back to zero days of no smoking in a row. I might just chalk today up to a total loss and smoke one on the way home too. I’m walking, because riding with Kyle just stresses me out too much now, and Taryn took off to her empty house with TK.
My father passes me in his car, never once slowing down as he pulls out of the faculty lot in front of me. There’s no way he doesn’t see me. I’m the reason the crosswalk is blinking. Of course, he ignores the YIELD and blows through the stop anyhow.
It was Friday, light practice, and we were done by four, which apparently is why the beach plan was hatched. I heard about it, but I haven’t been formally invited. All of my friends are either going or have plans on their own, so it looks like I could have started my job at the Jungle Gym tonight—like Mike, the boss, originally asked.
There’s forty bucks missed out on.
Wes and Levi drove out before my father left. They turned right out of the lot, toward the main highway, which means they’re going to Pismo along with everyone else. I will be walking home to the left, to the home I used to sprint to as a kid—the place I couldn’t wait to be. Now it’s just the place my dad stores his liquor and I go to sleep when I don’t have anywhere else to go.
“Are you seriously moping?” Kyle’s voice breaks into my pity party, and I cringe because I’m going to have to talk to him—and yes, I was in fact moping.
“I’m just tired,” I say, shrugging.
“You’re a shitty liar. Get your ass in my truck. I’ll go pick up Conner and Layla, and I’ll drop you off at your house so you can change,” he says, reaching across the long seat to push the passenger door open. I just look inside without moving.
“Change for what?” I ask, knowing what, but putting off excuses as long as possible because…well…I need to think of one.
“Don’t play that with me. You can bullshit other people all you want, Joss, but you and I both know you’re pissed about McKenna, and the beach, and you want to be there. This act is just your front because you’re pissed Wes didn’t ask you. But you know what? It wasn’t Wes’s thing. This whole bonfire idea was McKenna’s…and she doesn’t want you there, which is exactly why you should go. So can we cut through ten minutes of you lying to me and pretending like you’re not going to end up there tonight anyway and just get moving?”
