Page 26 of The Way We Swing

“I think we can win today,” Gavin said, shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

“Tanner and I watched the other team play. I’m sure you can handle them,” Easton said.

I looked over at him and watched as he sipped his orange juice.

“Were they any good?” Gavin asked.

“They were okay,” Easton said. “What’d you think, Tan?”

I gulped, shocked that he was talking to me. I paused, then said, “You guys will crush them.”

The conversation continued until our plates were empty. Following Easton’s lead, I acted like nothing had happened—as if he hadn’t told me his deepest secret, as if we hadn’t kissed.

What was going on in his head? He clearly wasn’t spiraling like I was. How was he so good at hiding this? Practice?

Or did he feel nothing, dismissing it as nighttime craziness?

How did I bring up what had happened? When? Should I?

“Go change,” I said to Gavin when we got back to the room, “we’ve got fifteen minutes to get to the Durango.”

But before Gavin could move, Easton said, “Flip me your keys. My bag’s packed.”

I tossed them on the bed, and he was out of the room before we had to be alone. His eyes hadn’t even flicked toward me when he’d left.

The drive to the field was quick, but not as quick as Easton getting out of the car. We grabbed our chairs out of the trunk as Gavin grabbed his bag.

Easton and I walked wordlessly toward the field as Gavin joined his team. Easton led us toward the first baseline and threw his rocker down five feet from the bleachers—far enough away that we could talk to each other above thebleachers’ noise but close enough to them that we couldn’tactuallytalk.

I put my seat down next to his and looked at the batting cage. “Do you want to go hit?”

I followed his eyes over to the area and realized there was nobody within twenty feet of it. “Let’s take today off from hitting,” he said.

My body tightened at his answer. He’d never once said no to that question.

“I’m sorry, Easton,” I blurted before I could stop myself.

“No. Not now,” he said. His eyes left me as I sat next to him. “Can I get ten bucks for some sunflower seeds and Gatorade?”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out some of the money Mom and Dad had given us for the weekend. I handed him a twenty. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t trust myself.

Sadness engulfed me as he walked away—definitely literally, but maybe figuratively, too. Was he just waiting out the weekend until he could get rid of me? I picked up my phone, put it back down, and picked it up again, unable to figure out what to do with my hands.

His body language gave nothing away, but I was sure mine did.

While he was on the trip to the concession stand, I decided I’d ignore the bomb that had gone off last night as well as the one I felt sitting in my stomach.

Gavin and company won their first game on Sunday and were now in a heated battle in the title game. Both teams were clearly out of pitching, and the scoreboard was showing it. Gavin’s team was down 11-10 going into the bottom of the last inning.

“Not going to be a fun ride home if they lose,” I said to Easton.

When he had returned with seeds and a red Gatorade for me—my favorite—the conversation had flowed easily, especially once the games began.

My internal conversations continued, but baseball served as the perfect distraction.

Easton flicked a sunflower seed into his mouth. “They’ll need to rally. When’s Gavin up?”

“Fifth. Need two guys to reach for him to get up again.”