Page 19 of Under the Influence

I glance around my room, the spare bedroom—it isn’t exactly mine—and note everything I need to do. Starting with the pink walls. Jovie used to use this room and decided to move to the room furthest away from her parents as she got older. Easier to sneak out, I guess. Maybe Lauren will let me paint it.

I slip into one of my band t-shirts, spray a little dry shampoo in my hair, and shrug at myself in the mirror. It’s not like I’m gonna see anyone anyway.

I scan through my iPhone, choose a playlist, and cram my AirPods into my ears. The backyard has become my sanctuary, so I head straight for the patio furniture that I have been sitting in a lot lately. I might’ve just started at Legacy this week, but I’ve been here waiting on my transcripts and hiding out in this backyard for a few weeks. I can’t complain though, because the view is pretty nice. The water, I mean. Out of my window in my dorm in Chicago, it was nothing but concrete and windows as far as you could see. It’s pretty happening there, even at my parent’s house. Which is where I would spend my summers and weekends. Hardly ever a quiet moment in the city.

A brown paper bag sits in the chair, holes cut exactly where the eyes should be, and a note scribbled on the bottom.

The only way you won’t be noticed.

I pick the bag up, glancing up at the house over the fence next door. The white vinyl and black shutters. Carson.

I know that being friends with him is stupid, yet I can’t help but wonder what it would be like. To have someone here that is genuine.

No. I remind myself, thinking back to what Lainey said… He is a Shark.

I just need to keep my head down these next two years, pass my classes, and go off to college somewhere far away. That’s the plan, and I need to stick to it with no distractions. Carson would be a huge distraction.

I pick the bag up, smiling as I place it over my head, plopping down in the chair.

One minute I’m singing along with Halsey, and the next, I’m waking up to a god-awful dinging sound. What the hell is that?

I yawn, prying my eyes open, lifting the bag to glance at the phone in my lap. School must really be getting to me because I’ve slept most of the day away.

The sound continues, and I can’t help but feel relaxed. I know that sound. I’ve heard it all my life. My first word was “ball.” I would recognize the sound of the bat striking the ball anywhere. The difference between the sound of a wooden bat and an aluminum one. The sound takes me where I feel safe. I always wanted to play, but dancing was the main focus. I don’t want to say it was forced because I loved it, but I did enjoy watching my dad. Playing catch with him. Going to the cages. The whole atmosphere of the game.

Hesitant at first but anxious to watch, I walk to the edge of the water, peeking around the side of the fence. I watch Carson through the tiny cut-out holes of this paper bag, feeling a little silly for still wearing it. Each swing is precise and focused, never wavering. The perfect stance. He’s like a robot. The machine stops, and he drops the bat, yanking the helmet off. His hair is matted to his head with sweat, and the gray shirt he’s wearing is drenched.

I bite my lip. Jesus, why does he look so good even when he’s dirty?

His eyes swing up to his back door, a French set connected to a huge patio. Nash walks out, downing a bottle of water, his eyes landing directly on me.

Shit.

I jerk to my side of the fence, turning my back to the wood, my chest heaving. Did he see me?

Of course, he did. Crap. My heart is beating out of my chest, and I place my hand over it like I can control it.

I start to dart back over to my chair when his voice booms at me, turning me around. A voice that isn’t anything like I remember from the last time I saw him in that same batting cage.

“What are you doing, creep?” Nash spits, finishing off his water, tossing the empty bottle at my feet. He is angry, and not anything like I remember.

“I was… well, I was just⁠—”

He holds his hand up, cutting me off, Carson appearing behind him, “Save it. No need to explain. We’re just not into whatever kinky shit you are, although the bag would make it easier to bone you. You know, hiding your face and all.”

I rip the bag from my head, “I would never let you anywhere near me with your dick, bag over my head or not.”

“I’m not usually too selective with where I put it, so if you change your mind, you can get on the waiting list right behind the volleyball team.”

I laugh, stepping away from them, “Poor girls, hope they bring a magnifying glass, maybe even some bleach.”

Carson laughs behind him, his eyes warm and inviting.

Nash pushes past Carson, giving him a hateful look for laughing.

“Thanks for the bag!” I tell Carson, “If nothing else, it’s pretty good Nash repellant.”

He shakes his head, smiling, kicking some dirt before following Nash out of sight.