by Sarah Sutton
I clung to my mother for the first time in years. I’d been praying for a day like this to come for a long time, where she’d take me into her arms again, kiss the top of my head, and tell me that everything would be all right. Give me motherly advice. Never had I ever needed it more than I did right now, and she was happy to oblige.
She had good intentions over the years, her and Dad both. They wanted me to have space, to make my own decisions—they never meant to push me away. In their eyes, they were giving me freedom to be who I needed to be, even though I needed them.
Knowing all that now made the heavy weight in my chest somewhat more bearable, a pressure I never realized until it rolled away and the oxygen poured into my lungs. “I screwed everything up,” I told her, my words barely distinct as they mashed together. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. “I’ve been so selfish all summer. I let the one guy who actually understood me slip through my fingers.”
Walsh was the one person who made me feel like me. When I was with him, I forgot how quiet or nerdy or shy I am. I just felt like me. He was someone who saw me for what I was—a nerd who loved quality time, who rolled her eyes at silly things, who was goal-oriented to a fault. He helped me find strengths in those qualities, ones that for so long I thought made me weird or boring. And I’d gone and thrown that away.
The second I started falling for Walsh, I should’ve thrown out the article. But I hadn’t. I continued because, for some reason, I thought my needs were bigger than Walsh’s. And they weren’t. Bashing the baseball team was low, and not at all the type of writing that my heart longed for. And what was the point in doing what I loved when it ripped away someone else’s dreams?
Especially when they involved the boy I cared about.
I could see now how hypocritical I truly was. I couldn’t be mad at him for doing the exact same thing I’d been doing. His actions were no more despicable than my own. I knew I was doing the wrong thing, and I did it anyway.
Edith had been right about everything, and I’d been too selfish to realize it until it was too late.
“We all make mistakes,” Mom replied softly, reading my mind and tucking my hair behind my ear lightly. “But they only stay mistakes if you don’t try to make them right.”
“I doubt he’ll ever forgive me,” I told her.
“Walsh seemed like the understanding sort when he was over here, Sophia. You should talk to him. A simple apology could go a long way.”
An apology. The idea seemed so small, useless. I’d threatened to end his baseball career—if he’d done that to me and my writing, I don’t know what I would’ve done.
No, he deserved a grand gesture. A gesture that would’ve touched his heart.
Something like an electrical shock coursed through me, and I pulled back, eyes wide. “Mom. Can you drive me to the store?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The morning of the final baseball game, it rained. Giant, fat raindrops that somehow felt like they were the clouds’ way of mocking my predicament.
Except there was no wallowing in the Wallace household. No, there was only doing.
“Here.” Dad came up to me with a white trash bag in his hand, flapping it wide to open it up. “Put it in here and it’ll protect it from the rain.”
I curved the edge of the wide poster board so that it easily slid into the plastic, fingers shaking. “Thanks, Dad.”
“That was very thoughtful, Richard,” Mom said from where she leaned against the stairwell, hand absently on her belly. Shiba sat on the stair that was level with Mom’s knee, joining the conversation as well. “Are you sure you don’t want us to drive you?”
“Thanks, but my ride should be here any minute.”
I checked my phone to note the time, my stomach somersaulting. It’d been two days since showing up on Walsh’s doorstep, and there’d only been radio silence since. No texts, no phone calls, no nothing.
Dad glanced in Mom’s direction and then back to me. “And you don’t want us to come?”
I couldn’t hide my smile at the supportive words. “I know you wanted to go to one of his games, but I think I’ve got to do this myself.”
No, I needed to do this myself. As much as the idea completely terrified me, I had to do this myself.
“Well, your mom and I will be here if you need us,” Dad said, walking over to Mom and picking up her hand. “Probably making dinner. Loaded potato soup?”
“No, I was thinking—” Mom stopped, looking up into Dad’s eyes. She took in a little breath, but not like the reset breaths she used to take, the long and exaggerated inhale. It was slower and more contented. She gave a small smile. “Actually, loaded potato soup sounds good.”
The past conversation with Mom came back to me, where she said in therapy they were taught to make sacrifices. Over the past two days of being at home, I noticed them putting small practices into place. Volunteering to take out the trash, Dad coming home from work a little earlier, Mom sticking around in the mornings to have breakfast before going to the studio. They weren’t perfect. There was still a long way to go for all of us. But these were all steps in the right direction.
And it would be much different sooner or later. This time next year, a baby’s cries and laughs would fill these walls. Which was crazy, crazy, crazy to think about.
A car horn honked from the driveway, reawakening my nerves. “Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need luck,” Mom said, reaching out to squeeze my shoulder. “Just be yourself.”
Be myself. Sophia Vanessa Wallace, journalist. Sophia Vanessa Wallace, writer. Sophia Vanessa Wallace. Just be yourself. And more importantly, I needed to be honest.
With the plastic bag tucked underneath my arm, I pulled up the hood on my sweatshirt, covering my hair and keeping my head tucked low. The rain didn’t fall as heavily as it had the other night, diluting to a faint trickle now. Dad pulled open the door for me, and I hurried out into the driveway, finding the familiar navy sedan parked.
I slipped inside, shutting the passenger door behind me and pulling off my hood. “Thanks for coming.”
Edith leaned back against the driver’s seat, watching me closely. She’d pulled her dark hair into a high ponytail, a purple ribbon weaved through it to match the Royals’ team color. She also wore a purple and gold oversized t-shirt, tied into a knot at the front. “Please. I’ll always come when you call.”
“Even when you’re mad at me?”
“You were mad at me too,” she pointed out, hesitating before putting the car into gear. “I should’ve told you about Scott the second I found out.”
“I get it,” I told her, and I did. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if our situations were reversed. Probably encourage you to dump his butt, too.”
Her nose scrunched up a little bit when she smiled, like it always does. “You still love me?”
“Only if you still love me. I should’ve listened to you all along about the article.”
Edith leaned across the armrest that sat between us and wrapped her arms around me, her bracelets jingling loudly. “Yeah, you should’ve, but I forgive you.”
I pinched her in the side, causing her to jerk away, laughing. She settled into her seat and backed out of my driveway, her windshield wipers making a suctioning noise as they swiped across the glass.
“So,” she said, glancing my way as she started down the road. “What’s this super-important mission you’re embarking on again?”
Ah, yes. The super-important mission. “If I talk about it, I might chicken out.”
“Sophia Wallace, the chicken?”
“We both know that’s not a surprise.”
Edith’s lips curved, just a little bit.
“So let’s not talk about me. Let’s talk about you. What’s new with Zach? How’s volleyball training going? Did your dad ever say how his date went?”
She laughed, holding a hand up. “Slow down, hotshot. I can only take one question at a time. Volleyball’s going
good. Tryouts are next week. I’ve been practicing down at the beach with a few girls a couple times a week, and it’s been really helpful.”
“That’s good. I’d offer my help, but I’m not good at volleyball. If you need a target, though, I volunteer.”
“It’s the thought that counts,” Edith said, grinning sideways at me. “Dad’s date went well, I think. He came in a little after you left. He doesn’t talk about that kind of stuff with me much—he says it’s inappropriate—but I think he’s just nervous I’ll disapprove.”
“Do you? Disapprove of him dating?”
Edith flipped on her blinker as she slowed down at a stop sign, her tires squealing as she cut across the pavement. “No, I don’t. I think it’s good for him. It’s been almost a decade since Mom died—he needs someone to keep him company.”
“And…Zach? Did you ever find out if he’s with Celia?”
I watched as Edith tensed, but she tried to shake it off by shifting in her seat. “They’re not together, but they do hang out sometimes, which is probably not a good sign. But Zach and I…we talk here and there. We talk until it’s late sometimes, but the other night was the first time he’s come over. It’s…I don’t…” Edith took a long breath and let it out. Color flooded into her cheeks, and I watched her try to turn her face away to hide it. “We’re just friends.”
My lips curved up a little bit, and I nudged her. “Just friends?”
“Just friends,” she repeated, swatting at my hand. “For now. And that’s okay.”
“For now,” I echoed, crossing my fingers.
This time when she glanced at me, there was a gleam to her eyes. “I mean, who knows what the future holds?”
Edith took the last corner that led to the baseball park up town, slowing down for a flow of pedestrians crossing the street. A lot of them carried fold-up chairs and soda bottles, either wearing Bayview’s colors of purple and gold or the opposing team’s green and white.
But they weren’t walking towards the baseball field—they were walking towards their cars.
“What’s going on?” Edith asked, glancing toward her dashboard. “The game is supposed to start in five minutes. Why is everyone leaving?”
“It couldn’t have been rained out, right?” No way it’d rained that much today. It was just a sprinkle, really.
“I wouldn’t have thought so.” Edith eased her car over to the side of the road, pressing the unlock button. “Go see if you can find out what’s going on. I’m going to go park.”
I held my breath as I pulled my hood back over my head, grabbing my plastic bag and pushing out of Edith’s car. There was a line at the ticket booth, but as I got closer, I realized that the people in line weren’t paying for their tickets. The person behind the counter handed back five-dollar bills to those who stepped up.
Too busy watching the line, I didn’t notice someone cross my path until I ran into them, putting my arms out to catch myself. “I’m so sorry,” I said as I looked up, jerking when I met their eyes. “Mrs. Gao?”
Mrs. Gao smiled as she took a step back, and I realized she held a toddler’s hand. The girl was small, probably two or three, with dark hair and eyes. “Sophia, it’s good to see you,” Mrs. Gao greeted with a small chuckle, reaching up with her other hand to smooth back her hair. “What do you have there?”
My poster board made a sound when I slapped it close to my stomach, the plastic bag crinkling. “Something for a friend. What are you doing here? Aren’t you boycotting baseball?”
She lifted the hand of the toddler slightly, swinging it in the air. “Oh, not at all. I love baseball, and so does this little nugget here.”
The little girl giggled at that, snuggling closer to Mrs. Gao’s leg.
“But…what about baseball getting our program’s money?”
Mrs. Gao’s features softened a little. “That was the school board’s decision, not the team’s. They had no say in the matter. It’s not fair to blame them, is it?”
I swallowed hard when she finished speaking. Her attitude towards everything did make sense. Yeah, baseball got a lot of unfair perks, but Mrs. Gao was right. They had no vote in cutting the newspaper. That was all the school board.
All at once, my resentment toward the baseball team felt really, really ridiculous.
“How is your take on the Back to School article coming along?” she asked.
A small pinch took home behind my ribs at her words, but it wasn’t necessarily painful. More resigned. I could’ve told her about the baseball article, about how I had it finished on my desk just yesterday. That it was perfect in format, great in detail. I could’ve even told her how I spent my entire summer working on it, finding out new ways to perfect it. I could’ve told her how I teamed up with Walsh Hunter to finish it, and what came from that partnership.
But none of that was the truth. Though if I said the truth, that would be it. It would close the door to the Bayview High Report. No more newspaper, no more journalism. No more title for my résumé, no more internship.
I’d rather lose all that than lose Walsh’s respect forever. We may not end up together, but I couldn’t bear the idea of him never looking me in the eye again.
“I scrapped it.”
There was no missing the shock on her face. “You…you what?”
“I scrapped it yesterday morning. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner, in case you were waiting on it.”
Scrapping the article meant a lot of things. Officially a forfeit, I surrendered to the war I’d been fighting all summer. No more newspaper, no more internship, no more outlet to catch my breath.
But I wasn’t alone. Before, my love of writing had been a way to feel less lonely. It always felt so good to have those words to keep me busy, keep me company. Now I had both my mom and my dad, both dedicated to making this work. And though there were no guarantees, though they might slip up sometimes, never had they ever opened their eyes to me like this. Though I’d have no journalism class, no internship, I had a family for the first time in a long time.
And besides, having my internship would’ve meant nothing if I knew that I cost Walsh his dream.
“What’s going on, anyway?” I asked, glancing around at the people leaving. “The game—isn’t it supposed to just be starting?”
Mrs. Gao glanced over her shoulder at the empty baseball field, not a single player in sight. “It’s been canceled, actually. Greenville ended up winning by forfeit. Someone accused our baseball team of cheating, so the umpire investigated, and he ended up disqualifying us.”
“Cheating?” I echoed, and though I knew I took in a breath, I couldn’t feel it. “Someone said the Royals cheated?”
“They must’ve found proof, too, or else they wouldn’t have canceled the game.” Mrs. Gao looked down at the toddler. “I should get her home. It was nice talking to you, Sophia. I’ll see you when school starts.”
I shook my head a little bit, trying to clear it, but the action didn’t help. My grip tightened on my trash bag.
Since there was no admission, I slipped past the gates with ease, standing on my tip-toes to see over the heads. I didn’t see any players anywhere, green for Greenville or purple for Bayview. They hadn’t left already, had they? There was no way. If parents were only just leaving, wouldn’t the players still be here? A raindrop fell on my glasses lens, spattering against the glass, and I hastily pulled them from my face to scrub it off.
“Bad news, Sophia,” Scott said, his voice immediately recognizable before I even got my glasses back on. “Your boyfriend’s a loser.”
I slipped on my glasses, looking up to meet Scott in the eye. Jewel stood just behind him, hair frizzing from the dampness in the air. For the first time ever, she had a pinched expression to her face, one that was less than happy. “What are you talking about?”
“He found out about the cheating and quit,” Scott shrugged, folding his arms. His baseball uniform looked pristine, not a speck of dirt or dust anywhere on his jersey
or his pants. He’d managed to grow the scruff out longer than before, leaving a patchy and uneven dotting of brown. “And completely screwed his team over in the process.”
Screwed them over? Wait. “He told the umpire you guys cheated?” Why would he do that?
Scott gave me a look. One eyebrow raised, lips pursed, looking at me like I was stupid. “No, Walsh walked. Just before the game started, he just left. Quit. See, I would’ve been a better captain than him. I never would’ve walked out on my team.”
“Why did he walk?” I was alarmed now. Walsh wouldn’t have quit the baseball team, ever. That was the key to being on the county league. I looked around the sea of people, hoping his face or golden hair would stand out.
Scott let out a soft chuckle. “You know, when I told you to keep a secret, I expected you’d hold it in at least a few days before spilling the beans.”
The longer I listened to Scott talk, the more I couldn’t think straight. He threw curveball after curveball my way that kept smacking me upside the head, making my thoughts scatter. “Wait…Walsh didn’t know about the team cheating?”
“Of course not.” He gestured toward me. “Well, not until you told him.”
And just like that, it all clicked. With the way he was staring at me, an expression torn between smug and unkind, I understood. “You told me about the cheating so I’d tell him. You wanted me to tell him.”
Scott spread his hands wide. “I was hoping you’d wait until after the final game so we could win, but in the end, I got what I wanted. Winning the game is good, but beating Walsh Hunter is better. Way better. Walsh quit the team, and Coach Glassmore doesn’t offer second chances.”
Oh my gosh. Another raindrop fell on my glasses lens, but this time I didn’t try to rub it away. I could barely move; I was surprised I even still held the trash bag. Waves of guilt and shame washed over me. How could I have been so stupid to play right into Scott’s hands? No wonder he gave me that information so willingly—he wanted me to blab.