Page 11 of The Way We Swing

Grandpa pointed at Ricky with a shaky finger. “You talk too much.”

Easton cracked, finally smiling. His eyes weren’t, though.

After we ate the sandwiches, we said goodbye to his grandparents. Easton quietly told them he loved them before we left and walked to my car.

I dropped Ricky off at his house; he had long since outgrown spending every summer night at my place. He said he preferred his own bed.

Easton and I sat in the car, country music blaring from the radio, both of us lost in thought. As we pulled up near my house, Easton broke the silence. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“My grandparents. They’re embarrassing,” he said. His eyes were on his shoes.

“They were fine,” I said. “They’re normal grandparents. I have some of my own, even.”

A smile crept across Easton’s face before he could stop it, and it even seemed to reach his eyes this time.

I put the car in park, keeping my eyes on the steering wheel. “You know you’re good to come here whenever you want, right? Mom and Dad pretty much have an open-door policy in the summer, as long as you follow their rules.”

“Cool.” His mouth opened slightly and closed again. He glanced at me, then shifted his gaze to the floor, words forming and fading behind those hazel eyes.

We stepped out of the car. Laughter floated from the backyard—Zach and Gavin must have been home from their practices.

Easton stood there, eyes flicking toward the sound.

I didn’t say anything, just waited. Our bodies both leaned on the hood of the car. Our hands were inches apart, my fingers itching to move closer, but I wouldn’t let them.

After a second, he started walking with his bag strung over his shoulder, slowly and quietly, like he wasn’t sure if he belonged here and was trying to give himself permission to move forward.

He hesitated again at our steps—not for long, just a half second longer than he needed to—and I realized something. He’d been holding back since I’d met him and was tired of pretending he had it all together.

That confidence was still there, but when we’d met his grandparents, I’d seen it slip for a second. Just enough to let a little of the real Easton—the part he tried to hide—slip into the open.

CHAPTER 4

We were two weeks into summer, and Easton seemed to be getting more comfortable in our routine. We were locked into a rhythm: workouts in the morning, a clean-clothes run for Easton, back to my house for swimming and hitting, then practice. Repeat.

Right now, it was just Easton, Gavin, and me in the cage. Zach had gotten a text when we were in the pool and left without telling us where he was going. I assumed it had something to do with a girl he was embarrassed to tell us about. Ricky had left, too, saying he was sick of watching us hit.

Gavin lobbed a ball into the bucket and wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. “I want to learn how to hit left-handed,” he said, squinting into the sun.

We moved under the net in silence, bending to scoop up balls scattered like white rocks across the dry grass. The heat pressed down heavily in that way that made your skin feel too small. Gavin’s shirt lay balled up and forgotten on the ground, and sweat traced shiny paths down his torso, gathering at the waistband of his shorts.

“How are you gonna pull that off?” I asked. I attempted to toss a ball into the bucket from five feet away, but it rimmed out. There was a reason I wasn’t a basketball player.

“Easton’s going to teach me while you pitch.” Gavin said this like it was obvious.

I looked at Easton, and he shrugged. “Why not?” he asked. “Let’s see your stance.”

Gavin grabbed his bat and stepped to the plate. He was a mess.

Easton looked at me with those dimples showing. He turned back to Gavin. “Drop the bat and relax. Now, get into your stance as if you are right-handed.”

Gavin got into his normal stance. His weight was more balanced and at ease. More athletic.

“Perfect. Now move your hips and shoulders slightly forward,” Easton said, grabbing Gavin’s shoulders and moving them. He stepped in front of Gavin and said, “Now move your hands from here to here.” He grabbed Gavin’s wrists and moved them from his right shoulder to his left. Gavin was now in a perfectly mirrored position of his right-handed swing.

“Swing,” Easton said.