AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She sighs, gathering up the papers scattered around her and sticking them back into a manila folder. “Let’s schedule a time to go over the readings I gave you before the conference, then get to work.”
After she lets me go, I settle into my workstation, redo my ponytail, and put on my blue light glasses.
I debate it for a moment, but I turn off my phone and shove it into my bag. The world won’t end if I focus and catch up with Sebastian later. He knows that I’m working just as hard as he is, after all. Proving myself to Professor Santoro, to Nonno, to my parents, when I work up the courage to come clean to them—it’s more important than anything else.
I pull up the program and the notes Alice gave me, then dive in.
I can’t imagine my parents watching me work, but I like to think that Nonno bears witness to it, wherever the mystery of the universe called him to, and that he’s proud of me.
41
SEBASTIAN
“I need you to hold still,”the wardrobe assistant, a tall, laser-focused woman named Kat, says. “Just—still, okay? Let me adjust the pants.”
I chew the inside of my mouth as I try to convince myself I’m a statue. Easier said than done. Being at the baseball field brings out a desire to move; ever since we arrived an hour ago, I’ve wanted to take a couple laps around the diamond. I’d sprint from home plate to the warning track in center field, over and over, if it meant avoiding the camera setup I see out of the corner of my eye. One time, around the anniversary of the accident, I was feeling so fucking pissed about it that I mouthed off to my coach, and he made me do sprints from one end of the outfield to the other until I puked. I hated him for it, but the activity helped clear out the thoughts racing through my mind.
I wonder if those are the kinds of stories that Zoe Anders is hoping to get out of me with this interview. If she wants to talk about stats or my game, that’s great, but the rest of it? It’s hard to think to myself, much less say aloud to another person. And that’s without bringing a camera into the mix.
Before I headed out today, Richard called me to check in, and he reminded me of the one thing I need to hold close, above all: this is about my father’s legacy as much as it is about my future. His people have been keeping an eye on all the articles and social media posts and remembrances that have cropped up, especially in the past few months. This interview is an opportunity to put my own words into the world.
“That’s better,” Kat says, taking a step back to confirm. “And you’ll hold the bat over your shoulder in the first shots, that’s perfect.”
Her assistant hands me a baseball bat. The weight of it surprises me; it’s a little longer and heavier than the one I usually use. Like most ball players, I’m particular about my equipment. A bat that doesn’t feel right in my hands will just lead to strikeouts.
“This isn’t my bat,” I say.
“Oh, I know,” Kat says. “We wanted the contrast of the black against the rest of your outfit.”
I glance at Zoe, who glances up from her tablet. “Does that work, Sebastian?”
Zoe Anders looks as put together as she did during our video call; she’s wearing a pair of tailored cream linen pants, a hot pink blouse that flows in all the right places, and—even though we’re standing right next to home plate—expensive, cherry-colored loafers. Apparently,The Sportsmanpays their people well. She’s wearing a necklace as well, chunky, gold, and impossible to ignore. I’m going to have to work to look her in the eyes when we talk.
I want to get Mia a piece of jewelry. I know I’ve given her gifts before, but it would mean something different now that we’re dating. She’d never be caught wearing the monstrosity around Zoe’s neck, but I saw a delicate gold chain with a star pendant the other day, and it reminded me of her.
When I get home later, I’ll order it. I like the thought of her wearing a necklace I gave her. It’ll look pretty with those gold hoops she loves.
“Sebastian?”
“Huh?”
“I said, we’d prefer you to use that bat for these photographs, but if you want your own equipment when we photograph you in the McKee uniform, we can do that.”
“Oh,” I say. “Um, sorry. Sure, whatever.”
“You good?” she says. “There’s a lot to get through today, but let me know if you need a breather.”
I try for a smile as I swing the bat over my shoulder. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” She tilts her head to the side, considering me. “I think he looks great, Kat, but let’s get Eddie’s opinion.”
After a few more minutes of fussing, the photographer, Eddie, officially approves, so we start the shoot. I feel so fucking awkward standing at home plate with the bat over my shoulder that I almost burst out laughing, but I manage to rein it in. It’s mid-morning now, with sunshine drenching everything. I wish I had sunglasses on, but that wouldn’t go with the ‘look.’
The look, by the way, is just how I normally dress. Sneakers, jeans, a t-shirt. Maybe a little nicer than usual, but nothing too fancy. Thank God Cooper decided to visit his teammate Evan instead of tagging along; he’d be losing it trying to hold back laughter. Probably less successfully, too. Part of me does wish that Mia was here. Even if she was in the background, feeling her presence would be enough to take the edge off my nerves. When there’s a lull in the photographing, I send her a selfie, but she doesn’t reply right away.
Eventually, we move to the dugout, and they take a couple more pictures there before Kat sends me off to change into my uniform. Even though it’s what I wear to every home game, the deep purple of the jersey with ‘McKee’ written in white script over the front, she takes her time fussing with it before the next set of photographs.
“One more set,” Eddie promises. “Elbows on your knees, hands over the bat holding it straight down… Perfect.”
