“People do fall in love. People do belong to each other, because that’s the only chance anybody’s got for real happiness.”
—Breakfast at Tiffany’s
Wes
“Easy.”
Woody popped up from his squat behind the plate and threw back the ten balls that’d been in the dirt beside him as Ross said, “Don’t give up accuracy for speed.”
What the hell was that, Wesley?
I caught each ball and dropped them by my feet, wiping my forehead with the back of my arm. “Okay.”
“You got this, Bennett.” Woody dropped back down and held out his glove. “Let’s go.”
“Let’s go.” I Aipped the ball, running my index 1nger along the seam before taking a deep breath to clear my head.
Because even though my dad was dead—it’d been two years since he’d had the heart attack in his La-Z-Boy in front of the Cubs/Mets game on TV—every time I pitched, he was right there with me.
I heard his voice with every bullpen I threw.
Occasionally I heard him when I was doing well, but mostly he spoke to me when I was struggling. Which really messed with my ability to power through
because even though his voice was saying things like throw ’em the gas and basically growling about how crappy I was pitching, it made me miss him.
So much.
Which was nuts, right? How did it make me miss him when it reminded me of what a psycho he’d been about baseball?
“Wes?” Ross looked at me with raised eyebrows.
Fuck.
“On it,” I said before winding up and letting loose with another fastball. “Better,” he said as Woody dropped the ball he’d caught and held out his
glove to catch another.
Better, but you need to throw harder, kid. Throw ’em the gas and quit being soft.
“Shut up,” I said under my breath as I threw hard, relishing the loud smack of the ball hitting Woody’s glove.
“Okay,” Ross said, taking oP his baseball cap and putting it on again.
I grabbed another ball, refusing to let his voice into my head. I threw a curve this time, watching it drop over the plate. It was perfect, hell yes, and then I heard it.
Liz’s voice, laughing.
Was I seriously hearing her voice now too?
“Another one just like that,” Woody said, tossing the ball to his right.
I grabbed another ball, inhaled through my nose, and let loose with a killer fastball, hell yes.
“Let’s gooo,” Eli yelled from behind me, which meant the shortstops were here for their practice. I was about to throw another one when I heard him say, “Did you guys get that curve on camera?”
I turned my head and—holy damn—there was Liz.
And her boyfriend.
Clark and his man-bun were 1lming my pitching again, which bugged the piss out of me as I stared into his video camera and wondered if he could see the annoyance in my eyes. I knew I was going to have to get used to random people with cameras popping up to 1lm for social media, but something about him being there felt intrusive.
Irritating as hell.
You have my girl—isn’t that enough?
Liz was standing on a step stool near Eli, wearing shorts, a Bruins basketball T-shirt, and a pair of blue high-top Converse with little smiley faces all over them. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, her eyes were covered with Ray-Bans, and she was looking down, messing with something on the long-lensed camera in her hands.
Hands with perfectly trimmed blue-and-yellow 1ngernails.
God, she’s beautiful.
I hadn’t seen her since my accidental (sort of but not really) buzz-by on the scooter last week. AJ said she’d been around, 1lming at his BP and in1elders practice, but I’d somehow managed to miss her until now.
“Nice balk, Bennett,” Ross barked, and I forced my attention back to pitching as he muttered, “Pay attention.”
Dammit.
I was good at shutting everything out so I 1nished strong, but I didn’t like the way it felt. I used to love when Liz went to my high school games because for someone who didn’t enjoy sports, she got into it. She wore my alternate jersey to every game (with a Aowery little skirt, of course) and yelled things like you got this, Bennett, even though she didn’t know dick about baseball.
And she had the most incredible feedback. I love the way you look like you want to kill the batter when you release the ball. Did you know you spin the ball before every pitch? I made a list of walk-up songs you should use in college.
I could still remember the list, because it was all songs she didn’t personally enjoy but that she felt “worked” for the situation. I took my responsibility very seriously and chose number 1ve, which made her happy because it was her favorite as well (even though she said she’d never forgive Kanye for what he’d done).
“DNA.”—Kendrick Lamar
“Trophies”—Young Money
“Step into a World”—KRS-One “Welcome to the Jungle”—Guns N’ Roses “Power”—Kanye West
But now I felt unsettled by her presence. Because what did she even see now when she watched me?
The asshole she hated?
Some random freshman pitcher who was struggling with consistency? Her annoying childhood next-door neighbor?
She wasn’t by the bullpen anymore when I grabbed my stuP; she and her giant had moved over to 1lm the shortstops from the third base line. Which is good, I reminded myself as my eyes sought out that shimmery red ponytail. I don’t need the distraction.
Because watching them work together, now that I knew they were dating and living together, was just too much. No amount of mental toughness could keep me focused when that was happening in my line of sight.
I was all about getting closer to her, but I wanted nothing to do with close proximity to them.
A couple of hours later, I found myself dealing with it again. “For the love of God, why are they here?” I asked, sitting down next to Mickey and unzipping my backpack, watching as Liz squatted in front of the table where Wade and AJ were studying, her camera in front of her face.
Her boyfriend was on the other side of the room, recording Eli and Luke as they studied—invading my space with their presence.
“Dude.” Mick looked at me like I was a dick. “You don’t like Buxxie and Clark?”
Mick had gotten so hammered at Liz’s party that he seemed to have missed or forgotten the news that Liz and I used to date, and I wasn’t about to enlighten him.
It was only a matter of time, with Wade’s big mouth, so I’d just let it unfold organically.
Later.
“No, I mean, they’re 1ne,” I said, wanting to laugh at the detached way I’d said the word “1ne,” as if I was talking about the lighting in the study room or
something I had absolutely no opinion on. “But it seems weird they’d be making TikToks about a team study hall. Like, who wants that shit on their feed?”
“Oh, it’s way bigger than that,” he whispered, a smug grin landing on his
face. “They’re doing a whole big content thing about us. Liz and Clark are baseball dedicated now.”
“What?”
“The athletic department,” he said quietly, but I could tell he was excited, “wants to do a preseason series about the baseball team. So those two are going to follow us around, like, all the time until fall ball ends.”
“Talk about a distraction,” I said, taking out my laptop and calmly speaking as if it was no big deal, even though my brain was running in a hundred diPerent directions, jumping up and down and shouting.
Because Liz being around all the time was huge, like a golden opportunity to make some headway with her.
But not with her boyfriend beside her, for God’s sake.
I mean, wasn’t it enough that I’d given her up and walked away? Now I was supposed to spend time with her every day and watch her work closely with Clark?
“Not gonna lie, I won’t mind having Liz around all the time.”
Yeah, that doesn’t help either. I swallowed and didn’t look up as I opened my computer and gave Mick a noncommittal “Yeah?”
There was a smile in his voice when he said, “I don’t know what she was like as a little kid when you knew her, but she’s cool as hell now.”
What was she like? For some reason, my mind immediately ran to that night on the beach two summers ago, the night that was now permanently hardwired in my brain the same way breathing and talking were.
I could still feel that night in my bones, I swear to God.
It was two days after we arrived in LA, and we’d been so geeked-out about living in California that we grabbed a blanket, found a beach where we could make a 1re, and spent hours there that night, doing nothing but being together on the sand.
I could still see the glow of the 1re reAected in her eyes, and I could almost hear the waves and the soft music coming from her Bluetooth speaker.
I remember thinking I had you—
“She was cool,” I said. And she definitely wasn’t always a little kid when I knew her.
“Isn’t that right, Truck Nuts?” Mickey yelled around a laugh. “What’s that?” Wade yelled back from the other side of the room. “I was telling Bennett here that Liz is my hero.”
Wonderful. I was positive Liz was looking our way—and her Clark surely was
too—but I was keeping my head down and pretending I had no idea what was going on outside my laptop.
Wade said, “Just because our girl gave me a garbage nickname doesn’t mean she’s a hero.”
“Says you,” I heard Liz mumble as she kept 1lming.
“Yeah, says you,” Mickey said, grinning. He leaned closer to me and said quietly, “He tried hitting on her last year, and she said he was the human embodiment of plastic truck nuts. Obnoxious and try-hard is what she called him.”
“He didn’t get mad?” I asked, my voice almost a whisper, trying to imagine Liz saying something so ballsy. It seemed way too bold for her.
“How could he when it was her saying it?”
“What do you mean? Because she’s usually so sweet?” I asked, my lips barely moving because I didn’t want her to think I was talking about her.
“No,” he said, squinting like that was ridiculous. “It was pretty on-brand for her, honestly, which was why he couldn’t be mad. She’s like one of the guys— it’d be like you saying it to him.”
Like one of the guys? I could tell he didn’t mean it in a sexist “not like other girls” way, but like he legitimately considered her just some dude he knew.
But Liz was not capable of being “one of the guys.” Was she?
“You’re telling me that a girl who looks like that,” I said, even quieter than
before, “is thought of as one of the guys.”
He shrugged. “She doesn’t date, doesn’t take any crap, is hilarious, and she’s great at what she does.”
“She’s dating Clark, remember?”
“I still can’t believe that.” He screwed his face together like he didn’t get it. “So I guess she didn’t date until now.”
I did glance over then, and Clark was standing next to her, saying something that was making her smile the smile that I hadn’t seen in so long.
Her undiluted happy smile.
God, that smile.
I stared, frozen, just memorizing the curve of her mouth. I felt more than jealousy as she gifted him that grin—I felt hungry. Desperate. Like he was getting a lavish buPet of something I was starving for. Like he was rolling around in piles of money while I begged for pennies.
Like he’d won the lottery and was making me watch him claim the prize. Her eyes shifted. Found mine.
Shit.
I winked—what the hell are you doing, you tool?—and attempted to go back to studying.
“Waters,” Mickey said, his voice freaking loud. “How’d you get Buxxie to go
out with you?”
Every head in the study hall turned in their direction.
“Are you kidding me?” I heard Eli say from the other side of the room. “Bux and the giant?”
Liz blinked fast, those green eyes looking guilty as her cheeks got instantly pink.
Clark, on the other hand, smiled proudly and put his arm around Liz. “Yes, we’re talking, but kindly mind your own business, okay?”
I hate him. I don’t care that he’s nice. I fucking hate him.
Also, why did he have to hang all over her like that with his giant ape arms?
Give the girl some breathing room.
She couldn’t like it.
I mean, who would want the weight of that ridiculous arm on their shoulders?
“How long has this been going on?” Eli asked, undeterred. “Buxxie?”
“It’s new,” Liz said, shrugging. “Now shut up so I can take pictures of you geniuses studying, okay?”
I used my 1ngerprint to unlock my Mac and clicked into email, trying to get control over the way my gut felt when that Neanderthal started laughing like everything was hilarious. I needed to be studying, not creepily watching Liz as she smiled at someone.
Focus, you jackass.
I was looking for the email from my speech professor about our group project, but the 1rst message I saw was from someone named Lilith Grossman, and the subject was “interview.” I had no idea who that was, but when I opened it, I found out quick.
Anger 1lled my chest as I read the message.
From: Lilith Grossman <[email protected]> Date: September 29 at 4:53 PM
Subject: Interview
To: <[email protected]> Hi Wes,
As you know, the production department will be creating a content series for the baseball program. I believe the coaching staP noti1ed the team of my staP’s all-access pass to all things baseball, and this will also include player interviews for a “meet the team” segment, which we will begin scheduling in the next week.
I wanted to reach out to you personally because, as I’m sure you’re aware, the fans are very excited to have you at UCLA. Not only are you an amazing athlete with a promising career, but your story is one that makes people root for you.
Please let your coaches know your availability. We’re excited to chat with you, and I can’t wait to dive into this and create a really beautiful story about life, loss, and carrying on.
Best, Lil
Lilith Grossman
Creative Content Producer
I felt like I’d been punched in the chest as I read it again.
Life, loss, and carrying on?
Was this Lilith person serious?
She wanted me to open up about my “incredible story”? As I stared at my computer screen, a wave of anger surged through me. It was one thing to tolerate a bit of privacy invasion when the whole team was going through it, but if she expected me to include my dad’s death in my intro just to boost her ratings, she was out of her mind.
The audacity.
“Screw that,” I muttered under my breath.
“Huh?” Mickey looked up briefly, still focused on his work.
I clenched my teeth, trying to keep my cool. I was exhausted from everyone turning my life into some idealized story arc: boy has it all, loses it, fights back, and wins again. End of story.
But my reality was far from that fairy tale. It was more like: boy screws up, family loses everything, boy breaks someone’s heart along the way, has nowhere else to go, hits rock bottom, fights to get back. But staying back? That was the question that haunted me.
What if I got hurt? What if my arm gave out, and I lost my scholarship before graduating? D1 sports were ruthless; I’d learned that the hard way. One bad season, one better pitcher, and my spot would vanish. The coaches might act like we were all family, but if I slipped up, they’d cut me loose in a second.
“Nothing.” I clicked into the search window, typing in my professor’s name. Sure, the athletic department might require us to let Liz and her boyfriend film, but there was no way they’d make me dig into everything that happened with my dad. Not a chance.
