Out of My League

by Sarah Sutton

  “Going to be furious,” I finished, already knowing. And he’d have the right to be, but he knew about the cheating. As team captain, how could he not? He knew what he was getting into. That wasn’t my fault. “I don’t have a choice, Edith.”

  She started sorting through my hair again, picking up another piece and winding it around the tool. Gathering my courage, I lifted only my gaze to the mirror, finding the disappointment on her expression. All the denial and anger burst like a balloon in my chest and I felt bad—bad for lying, bad for scheming, and bad for keeping my mouth shut. But there was no other option.

  “We all have choices,” Edith eventually said, not doing a thing to soothe my conscience. “Some just have bigger consequences than others.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Independence Day gifted both of my parents time off of work, and they decided it would be in the spirit of the holiday to make a big family breakfast.

  And it was bizarre.

  Now that they’d decided to get a divorce, it was seemingly time to do parent things. Like grounding me and making family breakfast. What was next, a family vacation?

  Quite honestly, when Dad came to my room to ask “bacon or sausage,” it really almost seemed like things were back to the way they’d been. To life before starting high school; to life before we grew apart.

  When I got downstairs, I saw that Mom had papers sprawled out in front of her at the kitchen table, sorting through them. Dad stood at the stove, stirring what looked like scrambled eggs in the pan. He still wore his pajama bottoms, the hems coming up above his ankles

  Despite their separation announcement, neither one of them had packed up their things. They even still slept in the same room, unless one of them snuck onto the couch in the middle of the night.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  Mom glanced up from the papers, smiling. “Morning, Sophia.”

  “What are you working on?”

  Dad scraped the pan of eggs onto a large plate, voice peevish. “Divorce paperwork.”

  This time, I kept my mouth shut, and even mustered a somber expression. Good behavior.

  “Do you really need to do that now, Amber?” Dad went on, not turning. “And at the kitchen table?”

  “The lawyer needs them by the seventeenth and it’s better to get things done early.” She continued to trace the paper with her pen, reading the lines.

  The ceramic plates slammed down on the breakfast bar, and Dad stepped away from them. “You should eat before it gets cold.”

  Mom acted like she hadn’t even heard him, sorting through the paperwork with her ears turned off. Dad pretended like she had listened to him, moving to make a plate of his own food.

  The doorbell chimed as I reached for a plate, startling Mom from her focused state. “I’ll get it,” she said, finish the line she’d been reading before standing. “It’s probably Mariana. We’re going out on her pontoon for the day. Isn’t that fun?”

  It really irritated me that my mom could have plans and I couldn’t. Good behavior.

  As I turned to start loading my plate with bacon, I noticed that Mom stood at the edge of the hallway, her words hanging in the air while her eyes were on Dad. With his back turned, he hadn’t seen her look. She opened her mouth to speak but disappeared off toward the front door.

  I sat next to Dad, readjusting my glasses. “Do you have any plans tonight, too?”

  “A few friends from the office are going down to the bay for the fireworks display. I’d invite you, but—” he shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth, “—you’re grounded.”

  “About that,” I said slowly, carefully cutting into my waffle. “I was going to ask—”

  “No, you can’t get off early.” He looked at me like he knew where that question was going, which he did. I guess it was pretty transparent. “I’m sorry. I’m trusting you’ll stay home the whole night.”

  I deflated. “Yeah, yeah.” I was too much of a goody-two-shoes to sneak out, and he knew it.

  “Sophia,” Mom called from the direction of the front door, voice oddly cheerful. “You’ve got a visitor.”

  Edith again? She’d left after she curled my hair yesterday, pretending like she wasn’t hard-core judging me. I was surprised she’d given up on the cold shoulder so soon, and quite honestly, I wasn’t sure I was ready to give up mine.

  But I walked into the hallway, with a clear view of the door, and I stopped mid-step. Definitely not Edith.

  Walsh Hunter stood in the middle of my meager entryway, hands in the pockets of his jeans, glancing around. And I stared at him with bedhead, no makeup, and my glasses on. Though my hair was still slightly curled from last night, I hadn’t brushed it this morning, and it was a tangled rat’s nest, all knotted in the back.

  My heart stopped beating for a moment.

  Walsh’s eyes finally settled onto mine, and his lips broke into a bright grin. He pretended that he didn’t notice my pajamas, my knotty hair, or my glasses. No, that smile ignored all of that and only focused on me. No hesitation.

  “Hey,” he greeted, sounding just as cheerful as Mom. “I just wanted to stop by for a little bit and keep you company. If that’s all right with you, Mrs. Wallace. I don’t want to intrude on a holiday.”

  Mom seemed charmed by him, though, his random appearance immediately welcome. “That’s perfectly fine. Come on in. We were just getting breakfast set. What did you say your name was again?”

  “Walsh,” he answered, readily offering his hand. “Walsh Hunter.”

  “A friend from school?”

  Walsh took great pleasure in speaking his next words; that much was obvious from his expression. “Sophie’s boyfriend, actually.”

  Am I having a heart attack?

  Dad spoke then, right behind me. “I thought you were dating that other bonehead.”

  Maybe it’s a stroke.

  “Steve?” Mom suggested unhelpfully.

  “I thought it was Silvan.”

  I’m definitely dying.

  My tongue started to work again, but the words sounded far away. “His name is Scott, and we broke up.”

  “Good.” Dad shook his head. “I never liked him.”

  Unsurprisingly, Walsh chuckled. “Yeah, he’s a stick in the mud.”

  Okay, ha-ha, that was enough communal conversation. That was enough of Walsh being around my parents, too. I wasn’t going to give him any chance to see more of their weirdness, to hate them as much as Scott had.

  I grabbed for Walsh’s wrist. “We’re going upstairs.”

  But Dad wasn’t sold, holding a hand out. “Now hold on, young lady. You haven’t eaten your breakfast, and I think we need to know a bit more about Walsh here before we let him go up to your room.”

  Well, you see, when Scott dumped me, Walsh told everyone that we had a secret love affair. Funny story, now we’re pretending to be dating because Walsh was sticking up for me, but I’m using it to my advantage so I can dig up information for my article, which will save my writing career. Ta-da!

  Walsh interlocked his fingers with mine, giving them a warm squeeze. “You definitely need to eat breakfast,” he told me, sounding like a concerned boyfriend. Points to him. “It’s the most important meal of the day, you know.”

  If my brain hadn’t been short-circuiting, I might’ve rolled my eyes.

  Even though my nerves were chewing apart my insides, I forced myself to sit back down at my plate of food and resume cutting up my waffle like everything was fine. Like Walsh Hunter wasn’t in my house, wasn’t bearing witness to my horrific hairdo, and wasn’t sitting at the seat beside me. Dad must’ve taken care of his plate. “Can I get you anything, Walsh? Would you like a waffle?”

  Walsh pressed his hands on the countertop, and I just stared at them. For some reason, I couldn’t help but wonder what they looked like holding a pencil, poising to write. “I actually just ate. But…do I smell coffee?”

  “Would you like milk or sugar?” Mom asked, happy to s
erve our guest.

  The whole exchange was bizarre to witness. Aliens. I blamed aliens.

  I was really on a different planet. Or in an entirely different universe. With Scott, this situation had been completely different. Mom and Dad hadn’t put on their best behavior for Scott. I’d brought him home the first time, and they just continued to argue over me trying to make introductions. “They seem…crazy,” he’d told me, right in front of them. They hadn’t even noticed.

  I pushed a forkful of my waffle into my mouth, and it was slightly soggy from sitting in the syrup.

  “How long have you two been dating?” Mom asked, standing by the counter opposite of us. She seemed almost enchanted by Walsh’s appearance, at the idea of her daughter dating someone who didn’t look at them with judgey eyes.

  Dad set a coffee mug in front of Walsh, careful not to slosh any liquid out since he’d filled it to the brim.

  Walsh took a long sip, and it took me a moment to realize it was on purpose. He wanted me to answer. “Oh, uh, about two weeks.”

  That earned me angry eyes from Dad. “You never mentioned him, Sophia.”

  “I know. My bad.”

  “She’s been so busy,” Walsh said, reaching over and patting my arm. “When she’s not with me, she’s so busy with her article, aren’t you?”

  “Article?” Mom glanced to me. “What article?”

  I sliced the side of my fork through my waffle, tearing a small piece from the circle. Even though everyone’s eyes were on me, I didn’t want to meet any of them. I didn’t want anything to do with the curiosity in Mom’s gaze, the curiosity in Dad’s, or whatever was in Walsh’s gaze. Pity? Confusion? I didn’t even want to know. “My Back to School article for the fall. I’m writing it on baseball.”

  “Baseball,” Dad mused. “Strange topic for you to pick, Sophia.”

  “I may have influenced her a little bit,” Walsh said. “I’m on the team and thought it could be fun—free publicity and all.”

  I pushed my plate away. It held less than half my waffle and only two pieces of bacon. “Thanks for breakfast.”

  Walsh stood up after me, although more hesitantly, grabbing his mug of coffee. “Wait, are you sure you’re done? I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “You didn’t,” Mom assured.

  “Definitely not.” Dad had moved closer to Mom as we were talking, and he was now leaning right next to her against the counter. She glanced up at him, seeming to notice their proximity as soon as I did. “I can take care of your plate.”

  Another parental gesture that made me a little wigged out. Did Walsh just draw out everybody’s good side? I grabbed him again, not wanting the spell to be broken. “Thanks. We’ll be up in my room.”

  “Keep your door open,” Dad warned, as if reading a line from a play.

  When we got to the stairs, Walsh smiled down at Shiba, who sat atop the second step. Her tail lobbed lazily against the railing. “You said you had a cat, but didn’t say she was a Persian cat.”

  I frowned at her. “She has a bit of a temper.”

  Shiba meowed as she leaned against his outstretched hand, protesting my words.

  “See?”

  “Why are we rushing to your room?” Walsh asked once we reached the landing, concerning himself with steadying his mug. “I mean, I can appreciate your enthusiasm, but I’m just not that kind of guy, Sophie. I mean, your parents are home.”

  Oh. My. Gosh. I made sure to keep my jaw clamped shut in fear of it falling to the floor, taking a moment to compose myself in front of my closed door before I turned to face him. “Can you give me a second?”

  Walsh raised a teasing eyebrow. “Have to make sure your undies are picked up?”

  This time, my jaw did drop open. “No, I—just—stay.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I grasped the door handle, opening it just enough that I could slip inside, and then I shut the door in his face. Thankfully, no undies were on the floor, but several pairs of shorts and a few shirts were, and I shoved them all into my hamper. The sheets across my bed were crumpled from how I’d left them this morning, and I hurried to maneuver them into a somewhat made position. There wasn’t anything I could do about the butterflies painted on my walls, faded from the years. They weren’t going anywhere.

  I hurried back to the door, pulling in a reset breath so I didn’t seem so winded. Without preamble, I pulled the door open.

  Blue-green eyes lifted to mine, innocent and curious, but something about them caused my insides to shift. Like a tidal wave, I found it hard to draw in a breath, and it had nothing to do with me rushing to clean up my room. It was definitely just the sight of him standing in my hallway. That was so beyond weird.

  Those eyes immediately went to the giant red and black butterflies painted on the wall, and amusement overpowered his gaze. “Don’t,” I said.

  “Don’t what?” Walsh walked into my room, over to my desk to where one purple butterfly was. “They’re cute.”

  “They’re horrendously embarrassing.”

  A lopsided grin peeked at me over the rim of his mug. “I like them. Makes me think I should paint butterflies on my wall.” He picked up papers that sat on the desk, fanning them out. It took me a second too long to react. “Hey, is this the famous article?”

  “Don’t!” My heart and I lurched at the same time, and I lunged forward, practically tearing the papers from his fingers. The papers crinkled together, and I pressed them against my chest. I knew what was on these papers—all the bullet points I’d scribbled on the baseball team. Walsh’s confession was on this paper. “I—it’s not finished. I don’t want you to read it until it’s finished.”

  He merely chuckled, moving to sit on my windowsill while my heart was still coming down from its adrenaline rush. I slid the papers underneath a few books, letting out a breath. “Touchy, touchy. Don’t mess with Sophie’s writing, good to know.”

  I sat down on my bed, crossing my legs and pulling a pillow to my chest, shaking ever so slightly. That was a close call. From the expression on Walsh’s face, I didn’t think that he’d seen any of the words on the page. He probably couldn’t even read my handwriting.

  “Did I do okay down there?” Walsh asked, almost uneasily, glancing toward the floor. His fingers tapped the mug’s edge uneasily. “I’ve never exactly…met parents before.”

  I never assumed that Walsh Hunter was a ladies’ man, or whatever that was, but his words struck me as odd. “You haven’t?”

  “Not, like, a girlfriend’s parents. Nothing was ever serious enough.”

  Even though I tried, I couldn’t remember Walsh having a girlfriend. Before, I tried not to pay much attention to him in the hallways, but there wasn’t even a faint memory of him holding hands with someone, never heard Edith talking about him being in a relationship.

  “You did great,” I told him, squeezing my pillow tighter. “I think they fell in love with you, actually.”

  Relief was evident, washing over his face and his posture. A genuine reaction.

  “So, what are you doing here, anyway?” I asked. “And don’t give me the parent version.”

  “The what?”

  “You know, what you say to impress parents. Because you were totally schmoozing down there.”

  Walsh sipped at his coffee. “That wasn’t the parent version. It was the actual version. I just wanted to spend time with you.”

  The look I gave him was skeptical, one eyebrow raised, probably a mock of Scott’s look, only not as stern.

  “I mean it, Sophia.”

  He was telling the truth. “Sophia” was the clear indicator. Huh. The idea of someone wanting to spend time with me just because was…nice. It made my insides feel warm. Made me want to smile.

  I tried not to think about it too hard. “What time are you leaving for the bay?”

  Walsh was admiring my butterflies, ignoring my gaze. “Soon. Do they have names?”

  I flopped onto my back, staring at the ce
iling, and the bed bounced with my weight. “My butterflies? Uh, no.”

  “That one looks like a Beatrice. Or Beverly. Definitely a B-name.” Walsh hesitated for a moment, probably taking another drink. “Scott kept asking about you yesterday at practice.”

  As I stared at the ceiling, I found that I couldn’t care less about what Scott asked. Not a single ounce of me seized up at the idea of Scott inquiring about me. Which was definite progress, and I would’ve patted myself on the back if I wasn’t concerned that I moved on so fast. Maybe because I realized how horrible he was for me. But we were both happy with other people now. Or, you know, in my case, happy with other people in a fake way. “Oh?”

  “He just asked if you were happy. Why we started dating. If I really liked you or if I was stringing you along.”

  Now my insides felt a little prickly. And Scott always got mad at Walsh for butting in? “And what did you say?”

  “Yes, you’re happy. We started dating because we just connected.” He blew out a harsh breath. “And I really, really like you.”

  I really, really like you. Those words shouldn’t have made my insides feel even warmer, shouldn’t have made my fingers spasm on my pillow, but they did.

  The space between us quieted for a moment as I thought about what he said, and I traced the air with my fingertips. It didn’t really surprise me that Scott asked about our relationship. If I were Scott, I would’ve been suspicious.

  I wanted to dance and sing ha-ha-ha. Go up to Scott and say, “See, I am good enough! Take that!”

  I heard something clink, and in the next moment, Walsh sat on my bed, lying down alongside me. The bed shifted underneath his weight, causing me to rock toward him. “Told you it would work.”

  My foot nudged his, and I could feel his sock underneath my toes. “Does that mean we break up now? You know, since it worked, and he bought it. No need to draw it for two more weeks.”

  Walsh didn’t look at me. “You want to break up?”

  I snorted at the surprised tone of his voice. “Aw, you almost sounded like a real boyfriend for a second.”

  The smile he offered seemed stiffer than usual.