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“But you want to.” When I don’t immediately contradict her, she smiles, pleased, as if she just extracted a confession from me. She might be set on a future in event planning, but maybe she should consider law instead. She could be a real-life Elle Woods. “It’s okay to admit you want to.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Love.”
I roll my eyes.
“You can’t work all the time.”
The first time we talked, I figured that this was better than confiding in Penny, but now I’m not sure. Izzy’s tenaciousness knows no bounds. “I can if I’m serious about preparing for this symposium.”
She groans, slumping down in her chair. It looks like she’s in her office; framed covers of bridal magazines line the wall behind her. If I had to help someone plan weddings all day, I would lose my shit.
“You’re no fun,” she says. “No one is going to think you’re irrevocably in love if you go to one baseball game and cheer for him. Just don’t wear his jersey.”
Even if I didn’t wear his jersey, my presence would be just like walking into the kitchen at two in the morning. An invasion of a space that I don’t belong in, even if it hurts to admit. I can’t taunt him—or myself—with things we can’t have.
“Maybe,” I say, mostly because it’s easier to agree with her. I guess I could, technically, pretend that I’m just a fan of McKee’s baseball team. She makes everything sound so easy—and for her, most thingsareeasy. I’m probably being uncharitable, but since when was something difficult for Izzy Callahan?
“No maybes, only firm commitments,” she says with a grin. “I’m going to come to this game with you, Cooper and Penny can come if they’re back from their road trip by then, and we’ll pregame because I like baseball better when I’m toasted. It’s going to beawesome.”
24
SEBASTIAN
“So, what’s up?”Hunter says as he throws the ball in my direction. “You’re together now?”
I catch the ball in my glove and fire it back to him. With me in left field, Hunter takes center, and Levine, a senior with nice accuracy, handles right field. We work well as a unit of three, honed over a couple seasons playing together. Communication is important for every position, but the outfield is its own space, and we need to be aware of each other to make plays, back each other up when necessary, and avoid stepping on each other’s toes.
My very first game at McKee, I chased a fly ball but forgot to call it, and Hunter and I—both wide-eyed freshmen—went down in a heap. The sting didn’t come from the three runs scored or the accidental elbow to the stomach that Hunter gave me, but the exasperated look the pitcher, a senior who was clearly already done with that year’s crop of freshmen, gave us.
Haven’t made that mistake again, but I still think about it way too often. I had a dream about it once, but then it morphed into my run-of-the-mill nightmare.
Hunter takes a couple steps back, lengthening the distance between the two of us. Coach Martin decided to use today’s double practice to simulate a game first, then wrap things up by analyzing film. We’ve been tossing the ball back and forth, waiting for the pitcher to warm up so we can start the game.
We talk a lot when we’re playing catch, but the further away he gets, the louder our voices will need to be to keep the conversation going. It’s one thing to tell Hunter about what’s going on with Mia, but I’d rather not broadcast it to the whole team. Plenty of the guys don’t know who she is and, honestly, don’t care much, but her name will make Rafael, at third base, perk up. Julio, too, from where he’s stretched out at first.
I watch as he fields a ground ball, fires it across the diamond to Raf, and then scoops up a nice toss by the pitcher. Coach Martin is seeing if one of the rookie pitchers, back from injury, has his stuff again. If not—well, this might be a rough half inning, once we get going.
I catch the pop up that Hunter lobs my way. The sun is bright in the middle of the sky, but my sunglasses keep away the glare. “It’s complicated.”
“What is this, Facebook circa 2013?”
I shrug. “It’s accurate.”
Hunter spits, readjusting his cap. I wait until he’s finished before throwing the ball back to him. He catches it neatly, then jogs over to me. His hand settles on my shoulder. “You know you don’t have to go along with what she wants.”
“It’s what I want.”
“What you wanted was a nice dinner. Candles and shit.”
I pluck the ball from his glove. “Come on. Coach sees us slacking off, he’ll give us the look.”
Hunter doesn’t step back, though. He glances at the diamond, then at me, squinting despite the baseball cap. “How did it even happen?”
“She’s been staying with me.” I toss the ball into the air and catch it bare-handed, since Hunter refuses to step back for a proper game of catch. “She’ll keep staying with me, now. It’s a quiet place for her to work.”
“It’s not your responsibility to give her that.”
