lose, I’ll take back my tux and cancel your wrist corsage.”
“You ordered me a wrist corsage?” I said, dubious.
“And a white limo,” he said, his eyes hopeful.
I took my biology book and left Weston standing at my locker alone. As I walked to class, something close to nausea set in while I choked back the debilitating mix of emotions swirling inside me.
THE TONE BUZZED ONCE AND THEN AGAIN. My hand felt sweaty against the cell phone in my hand as the BMW made its way to the baseball field.
“Hi, sweetie,” Julianne said when she answered.
“I’m…I’m driving to the baseball field. Weston’s last game is tonight.”
“Oh?” she said without judgment.
Her lack of surprise surprised me. “He asked me to come. He also reminded me that I promised to go to prom with him.”
“This is beginning to make more sense,” she said, trying to sound positive. “As a mother, I’m not sure I’m okay with coercion.”
“Tell me to come home.”
“You don’t want to go to the game?”
“No. But yes. But no.”
Her breath blew into the phone. “Can I come?”
“To the game?”
“Yes. Your Sam is here. I bet he’d like to go to Weston’s last game too.”
“Um…yes. Yes. Please come.” At least I would have someone to sit with.
“On our way in ten,” she said. “See you soon.”
I set the phone in the cup holder and turned the wheel to the right, into the baseball field’s parking lot. It was already full, with vehicles overflowing into the grass belonging to the fairgrounds to the north. A white, newer, high school bus that read CHISOLM LONGHORNS was parked on the south end of the parking lot, empty. People were still filing in to the gate, but by the scoreboard, I could see that the game had already started.
When I walked in, Weston just happened to be walking from somewhere near the dugout to home plate with a bat in his hand and a maroon helmet on his head. He looked up into the stands for a moment and then looked down to his cleats, tapping the bat against his left foot.
He took a step and glanced back one more time, seeing me walk in. He jogged to the fence, sticking his fingers through the holes and hanging on with a wide smile and relief in his eyes.
“Erin!”
I pulled my mouth to the side, my emotions torn between being embarrassed by the attention and being flattered by his reaction.
“Get going, Gates!” Coach Langdon barked.
He looked back to his coach, to me, and then jogged to his position. I watched him as I climbed the steps. He let the first ball go by.
“Strike!” the umpire called, holding his fist in the air. The crowd booed.
Weston leaned forward and twisted his hands around the grip of the bat. The pitcher hurled the ball at him, and Weston swung. The ball met the bat with a crack and then launched, low and straight, right past the shortstop, and bounced into left field, sending the outfielders sprinting.
The crowd cheered while Weston ran to and reached first base. He kissed his index and middle finger and held it in my direction.
“Erin!” Veronica called with a smile. She waved me over, and I sat with her on the fourth row, to the left of home plate.
Julianne and Sam joined us less than an inning later, sitting on each side of me. None of them had a clue how much was riding on this game, and I began to feel guilty about putting that extra pressure on Weston.
The first two innings, the Blackwell Maroons were up, but the next two were plagued with mistakes, and we were four runs down. I could see the frustration on Weston’s face, and he began yelling cheers and jeers to his teammates from the dugout and the pitcher’s mound.
Once he pitched the ball, and it came straight back at him. He ducked, and it went straight into the second baseman’s mitt. The crowd let out a collective ooh .
“Lord, that was close,” Veronica said, putting her hand on her chest.
“The pitchers should really have to wear helmets too,” Sam said.
Weston coughed
“You ordered me a wrist corsage?” I said, dubious.
“And a white limo,” he said, his eyes hopeful.
I took my biology book and left Weston standing at my locker alone. As I walked to class, something close to nausea set in while I choked back the debilitating mix of emotions swirling inside me.
THE TONE BUZZED ONCE AND THEN AGAIN. My hand felt sweaty against the cell phone in my hand as the BMW made its way to the baseball field.
“Hi, sweetie,” Julianne said when she answered.
“I’m…I’m driving to the baseball field. Weston’s last game is tonight.”
“Oh?” she said without judgment.
Her lack of surprise surprised me. “He asked me to come. He also reminded me that I promised to go to prom with him.”
“This is beginning to make more sense,” she said, trying to sound positive. “As a mother, I’m not sure I’m okay with coercion.”
“Tell me to come home.”
“You don’t want to go to the game?”
“No. But yes. But no.”
Her breath blew into the phone. “Can I come?”
“To the game?”
“Yes. Your Sam is here. I bet he’d like to go to Weston’s last game too.”
“Um…yes. Yes. Please come.” At least I would have someone to sit with.
“On our way in ten,” she said. “See you soon.”
I set the phone in the cup holder and turned the wheel to the right, into the baseball field’s parking lot. It was already full, with vehicles overflowing into the grass belonging to the fairgrounds to the north. A white, newer, high school bus that read CHISOLM LONGHORNS was parked on the south end of the parking lot, empty. People were still filing in to the gate, but by the scoreboard, I could see that the game had already started.
When I walked in, Weston just happened to be walking from somewhere near the dugout to home plate with a bat in his hand and a maroon helmet on his head. He looked up into the stands for a moment and then looked down to his cleats, tapping the bat against his left foot.
He took a step and glanced back one more time, seeing me walk in. He jogged to the fence, sticking his fingers through the holes and hanging on with a wide smile and relief in his eyes.
“Erin!”
I pulled my mouth to the side, my emotions torn between being embarrassed by the attention and being flattered by his reaction.
“Get going, Gates!” Coach Langdon barked.
He looked back to his coach, to me, and then jogged to his position. I watched him as I climbed the steps. He let the first ball go by.
“Strike!” the umpire called, holding his fist in the air. The crowd booed.
Weston leaned forward and twisted his hands around the grip of the bat. The pitcher hurled the ball at him, and Weston swung. The ball met the bat with a crack and then launched, low and straight, right past the shortstop, and bounced into left field, sending the outfielders sprinting.
The crowd cheered while Weston ran to and reached first base. He kissed his index and middle finger and held it in my direction.
“Erin!” Veronica called with a smile. She waved me over, and I sat with her on the fourth row, to the left of home plate.
Julianne and Sam joined us less than an inning later, sitting on each side of me. None of them had a clue how much was riding on this game, and I began to feel guilty about putting that extra pressure on Weston.
The first two innings, the Blackwell Maroons were up, but the next two were plagued with mistakes, and we were four runs down. I could see the frustration on Weston’s face, and he began yelling cheers and jeers to his teammates from the dugout and the pitcher’s mound.
Once he pitched the ball, and it came straight back at him. He ducked, and it went straight into the second baseman’s mitt. The crowd let out a collective ooh .
“Lord, that was close,” Veronica said, putting her hand on her chest.
“The pitchers should really have to wear helmets too,” Sam said.
Weston coughed
Similar Books
