Page 50
Later that day, we squeezed out a 3–2 win against the Burlington Bobcats. Since I pitched the opening game, Cameron pitched this time around. He had the nastiest curveball I’d ever seen, but after several innings, he started throwing grapefruits, so Tom was brought in to finish.
A misty rain fell on the drive home, which meant the rickety-ass bus the Crowleys “gifted” us now smelled like wet dog on top of sweat and chips.
My phone beeped an alert from inside my duffle by my feet. And my stomach did a weird flip as I read the message.
Unknown: Thanks for the bag.
Unknown: I can’t believe you kept them after all these years.
I fell back against my seat. Holy shit. She got my note and actually used my number.
I smiled and started typing a response back when Ben’s head popped over the seat. “Who you texting?” he asked.
“No one.” I clicked off the screen. “Just Nana. Wanted to tell her and Granddad about that win.”
He smacked my shoulder. “Did you hear the Cardinals lost? Ha! That stadium is ours. We should totally punk them again and rub their noses in it.”
My eye twitched. “Why do you hate them so much?”
He scoffed. “Why don’t you?”
Because maybe I’ve been wrong about them all these years. Maybe they’re not all the same.
“I don’t have to be from here to know what it’s like. People like that swoop in and take whatever or whoever they want…”
And we’re back to Erin again.
Ben leaned back in his seat as a heavier rain slapped against the bus’s windows. “Did you see Eliza’s Rolex? It’s gold. Real gold.”
“So what?” Mom had lots of gold jewelry from Dad. Plus, lots of kids had fancy watches. Just not kids like me. Which was fine. Because I had a watch that worked. Sort of.
Ben showed me his phone screen. “Dude, watches like hers cost close to twenty grand.”
I pulled the screen closer. “Holy shit.”
“Exactly.” He sat back in his seat. “So the big question is: Why does a girl who wears that much money on her wrist choose to drive a beat-up old Jeep?”
I opened my mouth to argue, Because she is more than just money. But Ben had a point. It was hard to argue against twenty fucking grand.
And how did he know Eliza drove an old Jeep?
Was he keeping tabs on her?
If so, did he know I rode in the back of that Jeep a couple of nights ago?
“They’re just a bunch of rich people runnin’ all over everyone. Getting scholarships to top schools even though they could afford it.” He hit his fist against the foggy window, hard. “Wake up and smell the hay, Fulton. Good guys like us never get to the top by playing fair.”
Chapter Thirteen
Eliza
“All the world’s a stage…”
—William Shakespeare, As You Like It
Summer may not have been my favorite season, but it was a solid second, thanks to the Fairfield Carnival that always came at the end of June. Rides, games, and amazing food—I adored all of it. But what I loved most of all was the way blurred neon colors from the rides spun and twirled, looking like Christmas lights when you lay under a tree.
Tonight, Lauryn and I worked an early shift at the Lyric’s booth, where we sold cups of my grandmother’s famous lemonade and snickerdoodle cookies as well as some beaded bracelets made by the cast and crew. Grandma had always had a booth at the carnival and gave everything to a local charity, church, or the theater. Every summer since she passed, I had asked the Lyric to keep the booth going in her honor. It felt good to finally be on the other side of the table working for a place that brought her so much joy, but I found myself wishing that she stood next to me, that she could tell me if I got the recipes right or notice how I fanned out the paper napkins the same way she would when she hosted tea parties.
