Yes. Yes, it does.
The best part of being a baseball player is having your own theme song play as you walk up to bat. I’vealwayswanted one. Something that’d automatically start rolling whenever I enter a room, letting everybody know thatI’m Zoe Brennan, and I’m about to kick some ass.
I wouldn’t have chosen “Let It Go” from theFrozensoundtrack, yet that’s what’s playing as our ragtag team of Bluebell employees and friends saunters onto the field, dressed in matching tie-dye shirts from the gift shop and acan-fuckin’-doattitude. Teddy’s in front with the Bluetooth speaker, running slightly ahead so that Tristan can’t tackle him and change it to “Bad Blood” by Taylor Swift and Kendrick Lamar.
I glance over at Laine, and she smiles. Her glasses have been tucked away for the day, and she’s sporting a smear of yellow paint across each cheekbone, like the eye black football players wear to reduce glare, but less useful since Teddy insisted we go full rainbow.
After all, how often do you have an all-queer field day team?
Our grand entrance turns heads, and soon a mob of children is singing along to the wildly complex anthem Teddy’s chosen for us. It feels good to slap their little palms as we jog toward the contestants’ area, and when Rachel sees us from the stage, straight-up delightful. She lookspissed, and a rich, sultry satisfaction blooms in my chest.
Laine leans in, her warm breath tickling my ear. “Go on and say it.”
“Say what?” I turn my head, halting when I realize any farther would bring us lip to lip.
Laine’s eyes twinkle. “That I’m a genius for signing us up.”
I shrug coyly. “That remains to be seen.” My eyes drift back to the stage, where Mayor Esposito stands straight-backed in a royal blue skirt suit next to Rachel. If I manage to get the mayor alone to deliver my pitch for hosting the showcase, I’ll call Laine anything she wants.
Rachel hits the mic in a rapid, woodpecker attack,thwick-thwick-thwick, until we take our places among the other contestants. A too-big grin transforms her expression from murderous to psychopathic. “Welcome to Blue Ridge’s favorite field day festival”—she throws that grenade at me before her gaze travels across the crowds—“in honor of everybody’s favorite mayor, Flor Esposito!” She lifts her hands in a dainty little clap, like exerting too much noise might be considered masculine. That’s Rachel in a nutshell, though—deeply self-conscious, restrained, butvicious.
“Team captains, please report to the sign-in desk to get your squad’s schedule of events and remember,” Rachel says, her dark eyes glittering beneath the rim of her faux-aged mauve baseball hat, “have fun!”
Tristan shudders. “Why did that feel like a threat?”
We nominate Laine as our captain, and when she returns with our team’s schedule, she’s grinning.
I raise an eyebrow. “What have you done?”
Laine shrugs. “Oh, nothing. Just made sure that our team is competing against Rachel’s in every challenge. We’re gonna kick some Woods ass.” Our team erupts into cheers.
“Now, now,” I say, raising both hands. “Rachel’s right—”
Booing ensues.
“—wearehere to have fun, but also corner the mayor so she can’t hide from me anymore. Winning is optional.”
Laine laughs and pats my back. “Right. Sure.Anyway, we’ve got to play to our strengths if we’re going to sweep this thing—which ismandatory. Teddy, I hear you’re the Peloton champ of Appalachia?”
“These hips hinge like a nutcracker, baby.” Teddy slaps his thighs. Everybody’s eyes flick to Diego, out of concern or morbid curiosity or some mix of both, but he’s too busy beaming at his husband to notice.
Laine nods as if that settles things. “Great. Nutcracker, you’re on the tricycle race. Tristan, Diego, and I will take tug-of-war.”
My brow furrows. “Hey! I’m strong.” It’s a stretch, but I can’t take Laine’s truthful assessments without putting up a fight. “Ish.”
Diego smiles kindly at me. “Honey, you arm-wrestled Bowie and lost.”
“He’s two!” My eyes bug out with indignation. “What was I supposed to do, smack a toddler down?”
“Yes,” Teddy, Diego, and Laine say in unison.
“At least, for today.” Laine grins. “But don’t worry, you’re doing the balloon race, and that requires no toddler fighting.”
I don’t know what the balloon race entails, but I’m relieved it’s not the human wheelbarrow. Halfhearted protests aside, my workout routine consists of removing corks and zipping up my own dresses. But luckily, Laine’s decided she and Teddy will do the human wheelbarrow, whichbasically requires someone driving you by the ankles while you attempt an extended plank.No, thank you.The only plank I can do is the pirate kind.
Someone sounds an air horn, and the teams scatter to their respective events. The mayor immediately disappears from the stage, and my lips form a thin line.
“Look alive, Brennan!” Laine yells from up ahead, and I straighten immediately in response to the stern coach vibes she’s putting off. First up for the Eager BV-ers is the tricycle race. Teddy’s a small-statured man, but even he looks huge on the shiny blue trike, knees flared wide on either side of him like he’s on the world’s squattiest potty. The race begins with a loudAhhoooga!, and the children competing stream forward, leaving the awkward adults cursing in their dusty wake, Teddy included. Representing the Woods Winners (real clever, Rachel) is Chance’s daughter, Darla, who just turned six and has definitely inherited the family’s competitive streak. With a bloodthirsty grin, she pedals her trike squealing around the track. Teddy looks ready, willing, and able to take out the gaggle of children flanking him on all sides, but luckily Darla screeches across the finish line before mistakes are made. Despite being Gulliver on a Lilliputian vehicle, Teddy comes in second.
