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After a good twenty minutes going through clothes on the hangers, then the clothes in the little drawer I had in the back of the closet, and then through the totes I had stacked in the closet where I kept all my Christmas decorations, I was nearly ready to quit and just not go at all. At some point, I had put on clothes in pieces, slipping on a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. Fluffy, oversized novelty socks fulfilled their dual role as slippers as well, and I looked like someone who was a carton of ice cream away from becoming a sad, crazy cat lady. Just without the cats.
I felt silly taking so much time to figure out what to wear. It was just a baseball game. It wasn’t like he was going to see me in the crowd and we were going to have some big romantic comedy movie moment. That wasn’t how real life worked.
Except, of course, that was exactly how Tamara and I had decided it worked last night. Which was why my dining room table was covered in poster boards, markers, and a shocking amount of glitter.
I looked at the sign on top, the one that we had made and declared ‘adequate on all counts’ as if we were judges, and then fell asleep immediately after. The glitter was covering each letter, but for how hammered we were, it was surprisingly legible. I put that down to my artistic skills in painting backdrops.
“Murdock High Loves Graham Miller,” I muttered, reading the sign. “She’s going to make me bring that thing.”
Shaking my head, I went into the kitchen and got a glass of water. I was going to have to hydrate, since I was pretty sure the only thing getting me through that game was going to be a couple more beers.
When Dale and Steven, our other two besties, arrived a few hours later, Tamara was up and ready, already with a glass of wine in her hand. Settling on a pair of tight jeans and a crop top, I looked enough like I was trying to get attention without overtly showing off all of my parts that I agreed to it.
“Damn, woman,” Dale said, one hand over his chest. “This Graham boy is going to have a fit when he sees you.”
“He’s not going to see me,” I said. Both Dale’s and Steven’s eyes rose above me and behind, and they smiled.
“I doubt that,” Steven said.
I turned to see Tamara, wearing her bright pink tank top with the word ‘Juicy’ across the front in yellow, holding the neon sign we had made. I sighed.
“All right, let’s get this over with,” I said.
Our ride to the stadium was uneventful but chaotic, as the subway always was. It was one aspect I still hadn’t really gotten used to. All my life in Murdock, having a car was an essential part of one’s being and lifestyle. But in New York, having a car was more of a hassle than it was worth. The subway was the easiest way to get around town.
We got to the stadium a little after six and found our seats. They were right behind home plate, just a couple of rows up. As I sat down, I realized that it was going to be in direct sight of the mound. If he could pick me out, he was definitely going to be able to see me. Sign or no sign.
Dale and Steven were predictably eager to see Graham. Neither of them had known who he was before Tamara told them during one of our weekly pizza and bad TV nights, but they were in love with the drama of it all. When they saw a picture of him on their phones, Steven had gone on about him so much that Dale threatened to break up with him on the spot if he didn’t cut it out. Then he proceeded to do the exact same thing an hour later. They eventually settled that they would live vicariously through me when Graham inevitably took me to bed after the game.
I had rolled my eyes hard at that one, but they seemed pretty convinced.
“So if a person strikes out, what’s to stop them from running to first anyway? Can you steal first?” Steven asked, tossing a handful of peanuts into his mouth.
“Of course, they can,” Dale said, crossing his legs and pushing his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose. “But don’t you see how far it is? They would get tagged immediately.”
“That’s… not exactly true,” I said. “You can’t steal first unless you’ve already struck out and the catcher loses the ball.”
“What?” Tamara asked. “But if you strike out, you’re out, right?”
“Kind of. Hush, the game is about to start,” I said.
The Expos took the field and all frivolity stopped.
The sign was shoved into my hands, and Tamara on one side of me and Dale on the other picked me up under my arms to get me to stand.
“It’s your time, girl,” Dale said.
Reluctantly, I went with it and held the sign aloft as I watched Graham take the mound. He looked incredible in his uniform, and he started throwing warm-up pitches to the catcher. I waved the sign a few times, hoping that if I looked like I was getting into the spirit of it, I could drop it and sit down again.
6
GRAHAM
Getting a reception like the one I was getting when the PA announced my name in Yankee Stadium was something I never took for granted. It pumped me up and reminded me that not only was this what I had always wanted to do, going back to being a little kid in my backyard, but what’s more, I wasgoodat it. One of the best, in fact.
My contract was coming up, and with free agency looming, I was one of the hottest properties in the game. The Yankees were known for making big offers, outbidding everyone else if need be to get the players they wanted, and in many ways I felt like today’s game might be an audition. If I was impressive on the mound today, I might just pitch my way to a couple hundred million dollars in the offseason.
At twenty-seven, I wasn’t one of the young guns, commanding the ballooning contracts that might make them billionaires before their career was done. It took me a little while to work my way up from the minor leagues, and when I finally reached the majors, my service time was kept low so they could control my salary as long as they could. I didn’t blame them. Baseball was a business too.
