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“Sebastian,” Coach calls from the other end of the locker room. “If you want to talk to the guys, now’s the time.”
I push past my teammates, most of them staring with interest thanks to the announcement, and stand next to Coach Martin by the door. When I told him my decision a couple days ago, he was quiet for a long time—longer, even, than Dad—before embracing me and telling me that he wished me luck. Now, he claps my back as he smiles at me. He wanted to make sure I had a chance to address the team on my own terms before Zoe posts the letter.
I take a deep breath. The royal purple and dark wood of the locker room has always been a warm, safe cave to me. The Reds locker room felt like that too; in my haziest memories, I can remember the excitement of being let loose in the room. My father would swing me over his shoulders if I got too nosy about the other lockers, tickling me until we both dissolved into laughter.
I take off my cap, run my hand through my hair, and clear my throat.
“Last game of the season,” I say.
The guys nod, murmuring to each other. My heart squeezes with love. I’m going to miss everyone, even the guys who are a pain in the ass, like Ozzy. By walking away, I’m giving up the practices and training sessions, the road trips and home games. The slammed locker doors and broken bats, but also the celebrations, all of us chanting and making up handshakes.
“It’s also my last game.” My gaze lingers on Hunter and Rafael. Hunter smiles at me, and Rafael gives me a thumbs up. “I’m withdrawing from the draft, and I’m going to graduate after next semester, so this is officially my last baseball game ever.”
The guys break into conversation, talking over each other.
Coach raises his hand, and the noise dies down slowly. “Let him finish.”
“I want to thank everyone,” I say. “Thank you for being the best teammates a guy could ask for. Thank you, Coach, for all your guidance. I’ve loved playing with you all, and I’m sorry it’s over, but this is what’s right for me.”
“Tell them all what you’re doing next,” Hunter calls out.
I shake my head, smiling. “Maybe after the game. Let’s go and do this fucking thing, yeah? Let’s end the season strong. We might’ve missed the playoffs, but we can set the tone for next season right here and now. I’m hanging up my glove, but I’m still a Royal.”
“Bring it in,” Rafael shouts. “Royals on three, Seb leading!”
We gather in the center of the room, putting our hands together. I miss this already, but in the way you miss an old friend. The memories are bittersweet. You wonder what might have been while still being grateful for what you had.
Across the circle, Ozzy gives me a nod. “I’ll miss seeing you in the majors, Callahan.”
I nod back. “Good luck, man. I’ll be waiting to hear your name on draft day.”
I lead the countdown for my team one last time.
62
MIA
I’ve never been sograteful to finish a presentation.
When I’m finally finished answering all the questions the audience had, I walk off the stage with legs so rubbery, I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it to the hallway. I handled everything they threw at me—especially Robert Meier, who I swear asked more questions than anyone else combined—but honestly, the debate itself was nothing compared to knowing my family was watching it all unfold.
I tried my best not to look at them, but it was hard. I was aware of their presence in an impossible-to-ignore way. There wasn’t a literal spotlight on me, but it felt like it.
I’m barely out of the auditorium when they burst through the doors, all of them, talking over each other like a flock of seagulls. Dad has a bouquet of sherbet-colored zinnias in his arms, tied together with a black ribbon. Penny finds me first, tackling me in a hug so tight I can’t breathe, but I just squeeze her back. I wish I could hide here all day, face buried in her hair. Anything to avoid whatever’s going to happen when my family catches up to me.
“Wow,” she whispers. “You’re a fucking genius.”
I half-laugh, half-sob. The adrenaline coursing through me eases, leaving me bone tired. “How… how are they here? What’s going on?”
“Mia,” I hear my mother say. “What did you do to your hair?”
“It’s much better this way,” Nana says. “I hated it long.”
“Nana!” Giana scolds.
“She looks more grown up,” Nana says decisively. “That’s a good thing.”
I laugh again, wetly, and pull away from Penny. “Did you do this?”
