Page 69 of The Way We Swing

He held it up. “It’s about the first former MLB player to come out. Billy Bean. Not the one you’re thinking about who works for the A’s. He’s gone now, but he worked for the league for years. Figured it might help me understand what you’re dealing with.”

I picked up a bunch of grass and threw it at his face. “Thanks, Ricky.”

He smiled, brushing it off like it was nothing. He was wrong.

CHAPTER 25

The next four days felt like they were being dragged across the calendar. There was still school. And practice. But none of it mattered. Monday lived in the center of my chest, and everything else just circled around it.

Coach flat-out refused to drive three hours on a bus the day of the game, so he badgered the school district until they chartered buses and booked us a hotel for Sunday night.

I crashed fast when we got there. It was the first good sleep I’d had all week. So, when a hand squeezed my shoulder, it took me a second to find the surface of consciousness.

12:15 a.m.

Easton stood over me, shifting from foot to foot like he had to pee. His smile was empty. Something was wrong.

I threw on a hoodie and shoes, careful not to wake anyone else in my room, and we avoided words until we were in the hallway. It was cold and still, with a quiet that made you lower your voice even when you didn’t need to.

“What’s up, Easton?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“So…you woke me up the night before the state title game?”

“You’re who I wanted to talk to,” he said.

He nudged open the door to the stairwell. I followed. The air there was colder, damper. The railing was slick beneath my fingers.

“How’d you get into my room?” I asked.

“Gavin gave me his key card after checking in. Said he figured I’d want it.”

I snorted. “He’s such a turd.”

“He was right, though.”

“What’d you want to talk about, then?”

“I don’t know.”

I sighed. “Just to be clear. The night before the most important game we’ve ever played, you woke me up to talk but have no idea what to say.”

“I guess,” Easton said. “Maybe we should just go for a run. Burn off energy.”

“Dude.”

“You can go back to bed.”

“Yeah, right. Like that’s happening now.”

We stretched in the lobby. When we opened the hotel’s front door, I adjusted my shirt as a quick breeze stuck it to my chest.

We took off the second we got outside, running stride for stride like we had so many times before. We jogged for a mile before we found ourselves at a park. I tapped Easton on the shoulder and slowed to a walk. Our breathing was steady—we hadn’t pushed ourselves, but the cold air had restricted our lungs.

“Why do we always end up in parks?” I said. There was little light here, and it was tough to make out any of the equipment. But we found a set of swings, and the metal was rough against my hands as we sat. I pushed my feet backwards and put my body in motion.

“I thought it’d be a good throwback,” Easton said.