Page 7 of The Way We Swing

Easton raised an eyebrow. “I’m actually deeply disturbed. Not sure I can be around you anymore.”

“I bet you two don’t leave each other’s side for the next year,” Zach said. “Let’s play cutthroat.”

“What’s cutthroat?” Easton asked.

I brushed Zach’s comment aside as I explained to Easton how to play a three-player version of pool. Easton struck the cue ball first. Even at pool, his motions were smooth. That described him best—smooth. Every movement was fluid; there was no hesitation in anything he did.

By the time Zach checked out to go watch baseball, Gavin snored on the couch.

“Want to keep playing?” Easton asked.

Did I want to spend time alone with him? “Sure. Rack them.”

While we finished our seventh game (Easton won four, that asshole), Zach had woken up Gavin, and the two of them had gone upstairs to bed. Zach had given Easton the option to crash in his room or on the couch whenever we were done.

“Want to play again?” Finishing the series down a game drove me crazy; I had every intention of beating him in the next two games.

“I’m done for tonight,” Easton said.

“We could play something else?” I asked. I wanted as much time as possible to get to know everything about Easton. He was new and exciting, and every movement he made teased me differently.

“Do you have any video games?” Easton asked.

“We have a PS4. My favorite system, though, is my N64.” I’d bought it at a yard sale when I was ten, and I enjoyed playing it more than any of the newer systems.

“You have an N64? Please tell me you’ve got Mario Kart.”

I grinned, powering it on. The opening screen bloomed across the projector. “Only game worth playing.”

“Dibs on Mario,” Easton said. Mario had always been my go-to, but I kept my mouth shut and picked Luigi.

Silence lingered as we started the first race. I felt Easton next to me as I moved my fingers on the controller, fighting the impulse to look at him or say something dumb. The air conditioner kicked on, humming like it knew we needed more noise.

“You thinking about college yet?” Easton asked.

“A little,” I said. “I want to play baseball somewhere, but I haven’t gotten any offers yet.”

“I’m sure somebody will want you. You’ve got a nice arm for a second baseman,” Easton said.

“Too bad I’ll have to use it at shortstop next year,” I said, shooting a red shell at the back of Easton’s kart.

“No way,” Easton said.

Normally, I got frustrated when somebody intentionally antagonized me. I didn’t think Easton meant any malice by it, though, and I already felt like his only goal was the same as mine. It didn’t actually matter to him if he was at second or at short—he just wanted to play and help us win come spring.

“You know what you’ll go to school for?” Easton asked. We had just finished the first race, with me finishing first and Easton placing third.

“I think I might try to take bird-calling classes.”

Easton looked at me. “What?”

“Yeah, didn’t Zach tell you? I go to bird-calling competitions and stuff when it’s not baseball season.”

“No way that’s true.”

“Sure is. I can do almost any bird.”

“Do a cardinal.”