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“What?”
“Why would my dad tell a player not to swing?” I ask. “Isn’t the whole point trying to hit the ball with the bat?”
Jaron sighs and turns to face me. “Baseball is more intricate than that. It’s not just simple, hit the ball, run the bases, hit the ball, run the bases. The coach needs to have strategy too.”
Jaron continues to explain the why’s and how’s of baseball to me. I understand better now. I think. Maybe.
The crowd around us moans and begins yelling. Jaron jumps to his feet, his eyes darting around frantically.
“What just happened?” he asks.
“Derek got out.” One of his friends says, filling him in on the play.
I glance over at Stephanie. I would think she’s asleep, except her eyes are open. They look glazed over. Her face is smooshed against the fist she’s leaning on. I laugh a little andpoke my finger into her half-open, droopy mouth. She sputters and drops her hand. She sits up and looks at me with wide eyes.
“What’d you do that for?” she asks.
“You looked dead,” I say, laughing. “I just wanted to be sure you were still breathing.”
“I wish I was dead,” she mumbles.
I laugh again. “Why are you so tired? Oh wait, could it be that you were talking to someone until three in the morning?”
Stephanie rubs her eyes and stretches. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Come on, Steph, I tried calling you last night to come and rescue me from the parentals. You didn’t text me back till almost 3:00am. Spill the tea.
Stephanie pumps her fist in the air. “Go sports!” she calls.
“Quit changing the subject,” I say. “I know I’m your only friend. Tell me who you were talking to?”
“Ouch,” Stephanie says. She smiles but doesn’t offer any explanation.
“Okay, see what he just did there?” Jaron asks, pointing to the field.
“No,” I squeak, turning my attention back to him.
Jaron points over my shoulder. I nod even though I only understand parts of what he’s saying. He smells so good; my brain is intoxicated by his cologne. Stephanie catches my eye and her eyebrows dance up and down. She begins kissing her hand, pretending to make out with it.
“Stop,” I mouth.
She cackles. “I’m going to get a drink,” she says, standing.
As soon as she’s gone, Jaron leans down. His lips brush against my ear. Chills dance up my back and into my hair.
“I think Stephanie wants us to make out,” he whispers. I glance at him and he winks.
I slap my forehead with my palm. “You saw that, huh?”
Jaron laughs loudly. “She’s not exactly subtle.”
“Stephanie never is,” I laugh with him.
“Oh no! No! Come on!”
Jaron is so close, his yelling rings in my ear. “Sorry,” he says, covering my ear with his hand. “I can’t believe coach made Ryan the shortstop. He’s killing me out there.”
“Is that what you usually play?” I ask.
