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Ben jumped in and closed his door. “You good?”
“Yeah, why?” I pulled away from the house.
“Dunno. You seem distracted.”
Distracted? More like stressed the fuck out.
He would be too, if his granddad recruited him and most of his friends to win back a stadium from the family who practically owned the entire town.
“I’m good.” I pulled off the main road onto a dirt one that would take me toward the creek, a good shortcut for home.
“Okay.” Ben put his window down and propped his arm on the door. “Because we both know you need a better showing this season. Can’t afford to repeat last June.”
I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I know.”
“We’re all baseball this summer.”
I tucked Eliza’s mask into my door. “All baseball.”
Chapter Three
Eliza
“Great theater is about challenging how we think and encouraging us to fantasize about a world we aspire to.”
—Willem Dafoe
Of course Reed Fulton had to be here this summer, of all summers.
A warm breeze blew across my face, lifting the flyaways off my forehead. Normally, standing on the balcony listening to crickets trilling in the grass brought me peace, but not tonight.
It’s like I was twelve again, when he took my favorite set of pearls and draped them on Marvin the Bookworm, a big statue outside the local library, and totally ruined their luster. Or like the time he jumped out from Ms. Loretta’s hydrangea bushes when I was balancing library books on my head. The books toppled over and into a muddy puddle, and all my piggy-bank money went to the library for damages.
“Eliza!” Lauryn called from behind.
I plucked and twirled one of the feathers from my costume before peering over my shoulder through the open door of my bedroom. “What’s up?”
“You coming in anytime soon?”
“Probably not.”
She groaned. “Come inside or I’ll eat all these chips myself.”
Truth: Lauryn was super terrified of heights and almost passed out the one time she visited me in the light booth. She wouldn’t step foot onto my balcony even if I dared her to.
The light in the apartment above our garage turned on. TJ must’ve just gotten home. When he stayed with us for the summers, it always added drama, but at least he wasn’t in my house all the time. With a full kitchen, bathroom, and a place to park his motorcycle in the garage below him, he’d hopefully keep to himself like usual.
Lauryn threw a chip at my head. “The bag’s already half empty.”
“Of course it is.” I dropped the feather and watched it sway back and forth like a pendulum before it changed course, twirling and tumbling to a tune only it could hear.
Must be nice to float wherever you wanted. To come and go as you pleased.
I wouldn’t know. Crowleys never floated. We steered.
I passed Lauryn and walked back into my room, its walls covered with posters of old plays and movie quotes, before slumping onto my bed and grabbing my favorite pillow.
Lauryn pored over the bulletin board above my desk, covered with tickets, college brochures, and old photos. After popping a Dorito in her mouth, she wiped her fingers on her T-shirt and unpinned a picture of my grandmother, who beamed as she held a spoon over her head in victory—one of many against the Fultons in the annual Battle of the Bolognese.
