Full Count (The Catcher Series Book 1)

by Bri Izzo

  Squishing my eyebrows together, I ask him, “For what?”

  “Making you sick. I didn’t mean to make you dizzy,” he calmly admits.

  “Holy shit, ow,” I whine as my stitches pull. I grab his wrist again to try to transfer the pain over to him. Doesn’t work. Relaxing my eyebrows is the obvious next move, but when I try to relax my face it’s nearly impossible. Why does this stuff keep happening to me?

  Alex and Benny both crane their necks so they can see us after my outburst. A moment later, Skyler goes into coaching mode and demands, “Close your eyes.” It’s easy to obey because I’m used to taking Skyler’s authoritative orders. What I don’t realize is that it allows me to focus on my head massage that’s slowly melting me. “Okay, open them before you fall back and land on the floor,” he laughs, messing up my shoulder-length hair.

  “They’re not bleeding, are they?” I question. They feel cool from being pulled, but I can’t tell if it’s from blood or air.

  “No, you’re beautiful,” he replies, leaning towards me as he pushes the back of my head forward. He can’t kiss me right now. But I totally wouldn’t hate it if he did. However, EVERYONE is watching us.

  “That’s not what I asked,” I chuckle.

  “I don’t care,” he replies with a smirk. And that’s when I realize he’s starting a charade of kissing my forehead. It’s the second time today, and it thaws me both times. He’s so gentle as his lips brush the very top near my hairline, careful not to irritate any of my stitches. Forget anything I told my brother earlier about nothing being able to happen between us. Skyler’s definitely batting a thousand in my book.

  26 Skyler Swanson

  Beth can’t be bothered enough to take her own daughter to get her forehead stitches out three weeks later, so I drive Buzz myself and sit in the room and watch. She bleeds a little from having her skin pinched, but otherwise she’s healing up pretty well. A dark colored line is still very prominent across her forehead, and I wonder if she cares how it looks or how others will act once we go back to school.

  When the nurse brings a hand held mirror to Buzz, my stomach knots. I don’t like that they’re making such a big fucking deal about the scar that Buzz will have for the rest of her life. She’s still gorgeous. Her eyes widen as she sees her reflection and she carefully touches her forehead like it’s a delicate piece of art.

  “Buzz, you’re-” I try to tell her she’s beautiful despite any cosmetic imperfections, but she cuts me off.

  “I look like Frankenstein,” she announces with a small smile like she’s actually happy about her resemblance to a monster. That’s the moment I think she’s actually lost it, but I figure she’s just putting on a brave face like always and it probably hasn’t hit her that this will be on her face forever.

  “Stop. No you don’t,” I argue.

  “Will you help me make a sexy Frankenstein costume for Halloween this year?” she giggles, fully enjoying her new eyebrow moving capabilities. I can’t believe she just fucking asked me that. But props to her for embracing her new scar. All I can do is raise my eyebrows at her in question, and when the silence becomes too much for her, she lowers the mirror in her hands to look at me. “Sky?”

  “If that’s what you want, sweetheart,” I oblige. But I wait for her to break down because I want to be there for her the second it fucking happens.

  The first day of school come fall is her first real test. Alex and Benny don’t have major birthday parties like I always do; they usually choose to just go to the cabin. However, they’re overly protective of Buzz and turn down even that option as well. Instead, we just attend a Cubs game with all of our families, and they’re satisfied with that being their celebration. After Buzz’s accident us kids never went back to the cabin. Luckily, our dads went up to the cabin without us one weekend to clean the boat and store everything away for the winter so Buzz and I wouldn’t have to relive that horrible day the next time we drive up there. It was the first Fourth of July that I can remember that wasn’t spent at the cabin or playing our Annual Sandlot game on the front lawn. We still played it at the park down the street in Hinsdale, but it was a little strange with Buzz on the sidelines watching. She helped our dads light off the fireworks as we played, which incidentally, made her sick. A severe headache and puke couldn’t ruin her favorite day of the year, though. Props to her. I think it helped her to know she’d be sleeping next to me whether we were in her basement or my bedroom. That’s kind of become our routine now. Not sure how our parents are all okay with it; although, I’m still not allowed to sleep in Buzz’s room. I think they’re all okay with it because I’m legitimately taking care of Buzz, not hooking up with her. We haven’t kissed once since the miracle kiss at the park right after she got out of the hospital. I think Beth is just happy she doesn’t have to worry about her kid, which is shitty. Since school starts today, though, Buzz stayed at her house last night, which left me alone with my horrid thoughts of the accident.

  I call Buzz at 6:30 a.m. the first morning of her sophomore year, my junior. “McCallum wants to talk to us before first period. Are you ready that I can pick you up right now?” He sent me a text late last night, and I accidentally responded to it at two in the morning when I woke up from a nightmare of Buzz drowning.

  “Ugh… you’re lucky I’m not high maintenance,” she grunts and starts to make shuffling noises like she’s just starting to get ready for school.

  “Be there in five,” I warn her.

  The hallways feel like it’s still summer break when Buzz and I arrive at 6:45 a.m. since they’re empty, a calm before the storm of students scurry around them in a few hours. We walk to the athletic office and find Coach McCallum sitting at his desk drinking coffee.

  “Swanson, good to see you,” he greets me as we exchange a cordial handshake. Then he looks at Buzz like she’s the toughest person in the world, like she didn’t almost die over the summer. I’m thankful that he isn’t trying to baby her about it though; she doesn’t want anyone to treat her differently after what happened. “Bianca, how are you feeling?” he asks as all three of us sit down in our respective chairs. She looks tough with her scar completely exposed below her hair and a neon yellow shirt that says, “Watch out,” like she’s a giant construction warning sign.

  “Okay. I’m just going to see how the first week goes. Take it slow,” she explains with a strong presence. I’m so damn proud of her for the way she’s handling everything. She could let this accident ruin her, but she’s taking the high road. I never hear her complain about going to physical therapy or any other doctors or therapists. It has to be frustrating to hang out with more doctors than friends over the summer, but she keeps a smile on her face every day as she improves her strength, physically and mentally.

  “Have the doctors said anything about softball?” he wonders cautiously. He doesn’t want to make it about the game, but come on, she’s his best pitcher; of course he’s curious.

  “I should be fine by spring. I’ll just need a special extra padded helmet and hat when I’m pitching. I hope that’s okay,” she worriedly tells him.

  “Of course. Whatever you need,” he agrees. “Skyler, you’re going to keep working with her during the off season?” His fatherly look is comforting in knowing I still have my job as her personal pitching coach. When I nod he adds, “Okay, so then the real reason I brought you two in here…” Buzz and I exchange a knowing glance. We’ve had this conversation with everyone close to us; I just never thought it would be with her head coach. “I can’t exactly have one of our pitching coaches dating one of our pitchers.”

  “We’re not dating,” we chorus, which doesn’t help our case. Sitting straighter in my chair, I inform him, “I was her pitching coach last year and was there when her accident happened. We aren’t dating, but we are a packaged deal. We’re best friends, and I’m helping her through her recovery.” I’m afraid to look at Buzz, scared of her reaction to my declaration. She easily would still play softball if I
wasn’t her pitching coach. I’d make her if it came down to it. But fuck, I want to be there for her again.

  “You’re not dating?” he puzzles. I’m not sure who told him that we were, but he’s obviously really confused about the situation. Welcome to the club.

  “No,” we answer in unison again.

  “Well… then we don’t have an issue,” McCallum thinks aloud.

  As we walk out of his office and into the hallway, Buzz whispers to me, “Well that was awkward.”

  “No shit,” I agree.

  “Packaged deal?” she repeats my words from inside his office. Shit.

  “Just an empty threat,” I tell her, casually shrugging it off.

  As we continue towards the staircase to the cafeteria where everyone always hangs out before first period, I hear the hustle and bustle of the new school year beginning with our classmates pouring into the hallways. “Hey,” I stop Buzz before she takes the first step up. Her eyes widen up at me with innocence and worry even though I know she’s trying to deny it. Today could be rough for her with everyone staring and talking despite her attempt of distracting from her face by wearing a warning sign as a shirt. I look at her exposed forehead displaying her intense scar, then back at her eyes, and ask her, “You ready?”

  “Yeah,” she nods, but I feel the nervousness throughout her entire body and voice.

  “You don’t have to bullshit me,” I remind her.

  “I’m not,” she argues, adjusting her messenger bag on her shoulder. Since we are still secluded from everyone, I place a quick kiss on her forehead for moral support. To be honest I just wanted to fucking kiss her. Sue me.

  When we walk up the stairs to enter the cafeteria, about half of the people who pass us do a double take to check out Buzz’s shirt and possibly her scar, too. At first I’m proud of her for not paying them any attention and continuing her stride, but then I realize she hasn’t seen them. I nonchalantly glare at everyone looking at her, but she doesn’t notice that either. Her eyes fall onto Chase Morgan and his friends sitting at a table. I know because she stops walking abruptly, and I run into her backside. If she had a normal backpack I would’ve ran right into that, but luckily she has a messenger bag, so it’s her actual back that brings me to a halt. This is definitely too intimate for school, but I don’t fucking care.

  “Buzz, you’re okay,” I encourage her in a quiet voice. When she doesn’t say anything, I place my hand on her shoulder and suggest, “Let’s just go.”

  Sitting with our usual crew makes Buzz act more like herself, but as people walk by she’s starting to notice them looking more at her forehead than her shirt, causing her to bow down to try to hide it.

  “I have Spanish first period. I can’t even speak English this early,” Tiffany complains as she reads her schedule.

  “Cállate,” Benny shouts at her while laughing.

  “You shut up!” Tiff yells, slapping him on the arm.

  “See? You’ll be fine,” he teases his little sister.

  “B, what did McCallum want?” Alex asks Buzz from across the table.

  She isn’t paying attention, so he nudges her to gain her attention. “Sorry,” she slowly shakes her head to come back. I’m pretty sure she’s still staring at Chase. “He just wanted to know how I was doing.”

  “With Skyler, too?” he wonders, but he isn’t angry or accusatory. It’s the first time since we were ten that he didn’t cringe when he thought of us together.

  “He just wanted to make sure Sky was going to work with me in the off-season,” she explains. She thankfully leaves out the second half of our conversation with Coach Mac.

  “You are, right?” he questions me. He knows this requires us to be together. He’s either dumb or finally throwing in his towel.

  “Yeah, for sure,” I confirm.

  The first day of school fucking drags. Actually every day of school drags, but it’s hour after boring hour of hearing about people’s summer vacations. I manage to not have lunch at the same time as anyone in our crew, so I send Alex and Benny both texts to have them make sure Buzz eats something substantial. When the final bell of the day sounds, I wait for Buzz at her locker down the sophomores’ hallway.

  “Are you lost? This was your hallway last year,” she snickers, unscrambling her locker combination to put some books away.

  “Wow. Was your first day that bad?” I joke. The hallway is crowded, so I don’t expect a legitimate answer from her yet. I notice her hair is still perfectly straightened and off her face tucked behind her ears. For some reason I was pondering all day whether or not she was going to do something to hide her scar after all the people paying attention to her. But she’s stronger than that, and I need to forget about it; I’m just as bad as everyone around her even though all summer I never saw it. I guess I’m just worried that a bigger audience might get to her.

  “No. It was fine,” she answers, closing her locker. It may or may not slam, but I’m too busy trying to keep up with Buzz’s quick stride. All I can think is why is she running away from me?

  “Buzz, wait up,” I call after her, and when I catch up I sling my arm around her shoulder. We’re headed outside to the parking lot with a stampede of our classmates, but I ignore everyone and just zone in on her. “Hey, talk to me,” I demand. She doesn’t try to sneak away from me; in fact, it’s almost as if she leans into me.

  “In the car,” she insists somberly. What the fuck happened? I think as I squeeze her shoulder. She disguises her actual mood to everyone else incredibly well with a fake smile, and I fucking hate it. It’s going to kill her to continually bottle everything up inside of her. But I’m glad she plans on opening up to me in private. At least that has to help her a little bit. We get to my Jeep, and I throw our backpacks in the backseat, and she props her feet up on the dashboard like she owns it.

  “B-” I begin, but she cuts me off.

  “Drive first,” she orders. Even though I’m dying to know what’s going on with her, I comply with her request. She’s the boss. The sooner I start driving, the sooner she’ll talk. Getting out of the parking lot is kind of a joke, but it’s also to be expected since classes just let out. Luckily Buzz doesn’t wait for us to leave campus before she starts talking since no one is walking by us anymore. “How was your day?” she asks me, but I see right through her. She just wants me to flip it back on her.

  “Boring as fuck,” I tell her. “How was yours?”

  “Oh, wonderful,” she snarls. Tapping her fingers on the window, she elaborates, “I had to tell the story of what happened seven times today. Luckily the study hall aid didn’t ask, or it would’ve been eight. Telling the story led to pity stares in awkward silence, and I just want to go home where I can be ignored and alone.”

  Buzz is very well liked in our town and high school, so it doesn’t surprise me that everyone is curious and concerned in her classes. No one dares to make fun of her for her scar; she would seriously kick their asses. But she would probably prefer that to the pity stares she receives. She hates being the center of attention, especially for sympathy. I’m curious if Chase said anything to her, but I’m not about to bring up the douchefuck and make her even more upset.

  I want to comfort her and take her mind off of school and everyone around her, so I offer, “I’m sorry. Do you want to hang out tonight? We can play catch or watch a movie.”

  “I have homework,” she states bluntly. It’s the first day, so I know she’s lying, but I won’t force her to do anything.

  “Fine,” I drop the subject, equally as irritated as her. “Are you gonna go with Alex tomorrow morning?” The only real reason I picked her up this morning was to talk to McCallum. With the way she just brushed me off I figure that she wants to fucking go with her brother.

  Guess not.

  She finally turns her head in my direction. I feel a tugging in my chest when I see embarrassment and sadness in her eyes, two rare emotions from this tough girl. “Um,” she mumbles and suddenly loses all o
f her confidence in her eyes, like I’m somehow denying her.

  I refuse to be like Chase fucking Morgan and suck the confidence out of this beautiful, daring girl. “I can pick you up, B; it’s not a problem,” I point out.

  “I just heard Rex say that he was picking up Leah, and there’s nothing worse than being a third wheel with those two,” she explains.

  “I’ll get you,” I settle it.

  Leave it to everyone at Central to make a big fucking deal about me and Buzz arriving to school together. The first day no one saw us, but the second day everyone apparently fucking does. I pick her up late because I want to sleep in a little longer than the day before, and, my God, the whole fucking cafeteria almost goes silent when we walk through the doors. My favorite fucking part of our entrance is that Buzz is modeling her new prized shirt that reads, “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.” She literally bought the shirt in five different colors online, and after her first day of stares yesterday, I think it’s more than appropriate. And it’s fucking hilarious. Like normal, I stop at our table of friends to talk with them before the bell rings to go to first period, but Buzz walks past us down the hallway towards her locker. She’s out of sight in twenty seconds. What she doesn’t realize is that it makes everyone in the cafeteria think she’s mad at me, which is worse than them assuming we’re together. Ugh, high school.

  At the end of the day I meander down the sophomores’ hallway again to wait for Buzz. When she approaches her locker and starts on her lock combination, she doesn’t look at me, but she says monotonically, “People can see us.”

  “Like I fucking care,” I snap, leaning against her neighbor’s locker. “Let them take our picture.” I watch her emerald eyes try to avoid me, and I watch them fail. Three times in thirty seconds she looks at me while she’s fucking with things in her locker. I have no idea why all of a sudden she cares what everyone thinks about her; she never fucking cared before. I’m not about to let her push me away again. “How was your second day?” I ask nicely, trying to urge her out of her mood.