On the Fence by Kasie West Page B

said. “And phone numbers,” he seemed to add on a whim.
    “No way. You earned thirty minutes . . . and names. I’m Amber.”
    “I’m Dustin,” the first guy said. Dustin had floppy blond hair and a smattering of freckles across his nose. He looked like a guy I played softball with a few years back.
    “Antonia,” she said with a small wave.
    “Savannah.”
    I gave a head nod that I stopped short. “Charlie.”
    Redhead waved. “I’m Luke and . . .”
    He pointed to the guy sitting next to me and was about to say his name when Hot Guy looked straight at me and said, “I’m Evan.” Evan had beautiful olive skin and deep brown eyes.
    “So where are you ladies coming from?” Dustin asked, and I turned my attention away from Evan and back to him.
    “A makeup session,” Amber said at the same time I said, “Work.” I did not want to tell these guys what we’d been doing. I was embarrassed. If I could’ve convinced them we had been playing soccer with that much makeup on, I might’ve.
    “We work with makeup,” Antonia said, covering for me.
    It took a second to realize that these were guys, not my friends. Guys who were trying to pick us up, not ask us if we were interested in a pickup game. They weren’t looking to make fun of me.
    “That’s what I meant,” I said. This brought lots of questions about what exactly we did. My eyes kept drifting to the game on the television as the guys asked the stupidest questions ever. The Cubs were down by one and it was the bottom of the ninth. I groaned when Castillo struck out, leaving only one more chance to score. And everybody knew Borbon was not a clutch hitter. Most people in this area were Giants fans, but we were A’s all the way, which was why I was voting for the Cubs.
    “This is their last chance to score,” Evan said, pointing at the screen. “They have two outs.”
    I almost said “Duh” but bit my tongue. Jerom’s voice echoed through my head: How hard is it to let a guy feel useful every once in a while? So instead I just nodded, because I couldn’t bring myself to say “Please tell me more.” But for some reason he must’ve thought that’s exactly what I meant, because he started explaining the game to me in layman’s terms, saying things like “The guys in the white shirts really need to put that ball over the fence and then they’ll be a shoo-in for the playoffs.” I almost said “Actually, they aren’t anywhere near making the playoffs this year, but at least it will end their three-game losing streak and let them win back a little dignity and some much-needed confidence.” But again, probably not letting him feel useful.
    “There, now the coach is telling the pitcher what to throw.” The camera had focused in on the coach.
    I knew for a fact that Posey, the Giants’ catcher, called the games. And even if the manager was calling the pitch, as many did, he’d be giving the signals to the catcher, not the pitcher. It was killing me not to correct him, but my brothers would’ve been so proud that I didn’t. The inside of my mouth tasted a bit salty from my teeth clenching down on my cheeks, though.
    “You like to watch baseball?” Evan asked.
    “Yeah.”
    “My dad has four season tickets to the A’s. Maybe we could double sometime with one of your friends.”
    I tried to contain the rush of joy that burst in my chest. “Yeah, I have a friend who would love you forever if you took us,” I said, thinking how Braden would owe me big for this. Then it occurred to me, quite suddenly, that Evan probably meant one of my girl friends sitting at the table, not one of my guy friends.
    “Yeah?”
    I crossed my arms in front of me, realizing I had gripped the edge of the table in my excitement. “Um. I mean, yes, I can probably find a friend to come.”
    He grabbed a napkin from the holder. “I guess maybe I should get your number then so I can arrange that.”
    I told him my number and he wrote it down, then tucked it