Page 58 of I Saw You First

I snort. “Of me?”

“No, of me.”

Yes, Felix is one of Dad’s favorites, and I’m sure that had something to do with how quickly he was promoted out of the stores to district level, but this almost sounds like he’s threatening me.

But no, that can’t be right. Can it?

He makes a low sound, mmmhmmm, and then says, “I’m just saying, do what you can to keep Abbey happy, okay?”

Before I can even think of how to respond to that, he claps me on the back. “Good talk, my friend. You know what to do.”

I have no fucking clue.

Early Saturday morning, I arrive at Lakeland Park to help Austin, the nonprofit director, and Andre with Fall Fest setup.

“Dude,” Andre says, “I can’t believe they’re making me emcee Battle of the Bands. I suck at shit like that.”

I huff out a laugh. “Whatever. You can BS your way through any situation.”

“Dude,” he says again. “You gotta do it for me. I’m already sweating.”

“You’re sweating because those speakers were heavy. No way. I’m grilling brats and hot dogs today, and then I’m going to hit a few homers. How’s Kelsey?”

He blows out a breath. “She’s been super sick. All those books and ‘experts’ who say that morning sickness only lasts the first three months? Bullshit, man. And it’s not just in the morning. It’s all day long.”

“Is she coming today?”

“No way. Can you picture her puking in a port-a-potty?”

“I can’t picture her even looking at a port-a-potty. I saw your interview in TC Weekly.”

“Oh, yeah, whoop-de-do. The dude from the paper. Brian? Ryan? Complete moron. Man, what, do they let anyone write for a newspaper these days?”

I wonder if Abbey knows that guy. She never talks about her job there.

“He had someone with him, an assistant writer—I think her name was Laura. Anyway, he was such an ass to this poor girl⁠—”

“Woman,” I interrupt. “If she’s old enough to be an assistant writer at TC Weekly, she’s a woman, not a girl.”

“You sound like Kels. Anyway, enough about that stupid article,” he says. “Let’s get these lights up.”

Grilling hot dogs and brats turns out to be the best job for me—I fall into a groove, no one bothers me, and I can hear the bands. Sam, Adriana, their daughter Sammi in her stroller, and Charming, Sam’s League buddy, come to the concession stand. Charming’s sixteen, with an impressive knowledge of the chronology and artists of Death Row Records. He comes into the store a couple times a month. He developed an immediate crush on Abbey when she knew all about the East Coast-West Coast hip hop rivalry. Who wouldn’t?

“Sexy apron.” Sam shoves a twenty into the tip jar. I slyly give him the finger.

“We’re gonna smoke you today!” Charming says.

“You wish,” I tell him.

From my vantage point at the grill, I have a clear view of the entrance to the park, so I see when my League buddy arrives with his mom. This is the third year I’ve been paired with Liam Cutter, a smartass with copper hair, pale skin, a million freckles, and his right leg in a brace. Thirteen surgeries in as many years haven’t stopped him from playing baseball or his true love, sled hockey, and he’s got his sights set on making it to the Paralympics someday.

“Wilsy!” Liam high-fives me. “Are there mini donuts? I was told there would be mini donuts.”

“Of course.” I direct him to a stand near the stage. “Don’t get so hopped up on sugar that you can’t hit the ball!”

I check the time. Abbey gets off work in less than half an hour. A few minutes later, my grandparents and Howard walk through the gate. Howie’s decked out in a Minnesota Twins ball cap and his signed Harmon Killebrew jersey.

“You good to cover my break?” I ask Jeremy, who’s buddied up with Gil, another athlete, at the condiment station, which means Jeremy’s doing next to nothing while Gil happily refills napkins and packets of ketchup and mustard.