Announcing Trouble

by Amy Fellner Dominy

  Mai doesn’t pause. She pulls it open and heads into an empty living room. The noise is coming from the family room just beyond. As predicted, there’s a couch filled with guys, including Anthony. A huge L-shaped sectional of chocolate leather. There are a few girls here, too—I recognize them from school but don’t really know any of them. A coffee table is covered in soda cans and bowls of popcorn and chips. Garrett is lounging on one of the floor pillow chairs at the far side of the room. He’s talking to a brunette who’s laughing at whatever he’s saying. She’s pretty in a way that makes me feel oversize and awkward.

  “Hey,” someone says, and I shift my gaze to a redheaded guy on the couch who doesn’t look sure if he’s welcoming us or not. He’s one of the players, but he spends his time on the bench, so I don’t know his name.

  “Jason, right?” Mai says. “Garrett invited us.”

  “Killer!” Suddenly, Anthony is sitting forward, a surprised smile flashing white against his tanned skin.

  We’ve just walked into an alternate universe.

  Garrett looks up at that moment, and I feel his attention like a heat lamp. I ignore him, though, and study the TV as if I actually care. D-Backs are down by four. Sixth inning. I’m proud of my ability to absorb the score while following Garrett’s every move as he unfolds himself gracefully from the floor. Which should not be humanly possible. He picks his path toward us while the dark-haired girl follows his progress. She’s not the only one wondering who we are.

  “Glad you guys made it.” He turns to Anthony. “You know Mai?”

  “Show some respect,” Anthony says. “That’s Killer, the world’s best pool chicken player.”

  Mai raises one eyebrow in acknowledgment, but I can feel her vibrating next to me.

  “This is Jason,” Garrett adds. “It’s his house.”

  “We had ceramics together,” Mai says. She points to an ugly gray bowl on one of the shelves surrounding the widescreen TV. “I have the exact same bowl.”

  Jason laughs. “Freshman year. I remember you. You organized the Empty Bowls project. Dude,” he says to Garrett. “She got the whole class to make soup bowls and we sold them and donated the money to a homeless shelter.”

  “You should have donated that one, too,” Garrett says, pointing to the bowl on the shelf.

  “That’s art, man.”

  Garrett slugs him playfully on the shoulder, then says to me, “You missed most of the game.”

  “Diamondbacks are getting killed.”

  “Come on, ye of little faith. Plenty of time for a comeback.” He points us to the kitchen. “Sodas and water are in the cooler. You guys want something?”

  Mai leads the way and pulls two waters from the cooler and hands me one. She pauses at the orange bag on the counter. “They have Cheetos.”

  “She doesn’t get out much,” I tell Garrett as Mai grabs the bag and heads back toward the TV. I watch her, suddenly anxious. Mai’s always been oblivious to guys. This crush is so out of character that I’m not sure what she expects will happen. I don’t want her to end up hurt—don’t want her to fall for a guy just because he’s hot and calls her Killer. I’ve seen Anthony in full-flirt mode all year. For him, Mai is one more girl. But for Mai, it’s her first crush. That can be intense.

  Anthony nudges Evan to make room and Mai sits down, getting swallowed up between big bodies and deep leather.

  “This was a bad idea,” I mumble.

  “Mai can hold her own.”

  “She can’t. She talks big, but she’s not used to this kind of thing.”

  Garrett frowns as he rests one hip against the counter. “What kind of thing? TV? Hanging out with friends?”

  There’s a sudden burst of laughter from the general vicinity of the couch where Mai is sitting. I take in the room—really take it in—and I don’t know what I’m expecting. Mom told me stories about baseball parties. About beer and pot and sex. I saw signs of those things at stadiums growing up, too. Comparatively, this gathering does seem pretty tame. There are seven guys and six other girls—four of them, including the dark-haired girl Garrett was talking to, who have taken over the floor cushions by the back patio door.

  “I’m not saying we don’t have assholes on the team,” Garrett says. “With a roster of twenty, there are going to be a few. But these are my buddies—most of them I’ve known since elementary school. They’re good guys. Even if they aren’t the brainy-elitist gigglers you usually hang with.”

  I burst out in a surprised laugh.

  Garrett grins, the warmth in his eyes kindling an answering heat in the pit of my stomach. He pushes off the counter. “Come on. Let’s talk to Scottie.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Garrett leads me to a bedroom at the end of the hall. There’s another TV and beanbags. Three guys holding controllers are battling it out, fingers clacking over the intermittent cries and curses. Cyborg-looking creatures race across the screen.

  There’s an explosion on the TV and then a fist pump by a guy with curly brown hair.

  “Scottie,” Garrett says.

  The victor tilts his head back. Along with the hair, I see freckles and glasses with black frames.

  “Andy!” I say.

  “Josie!” He sounds as surprised as I am.

  “You guys know each other?” Garrett asks.

  “He’s in my calculus class. Why’d you say his name is Scottie?”

  “It’s what we call him.”

  “I made the mistake of saying I was born in Scotland,” Andy says. He gets up, dropping his controller on the beanbag. “I heard you took over from Nathan in the booth. I’ve been meaning to ask you about it. I didn’t know you were a baseball fan.”

  “I’m not.”

  “She is,” Garrett says. “She’s just forgotten temporarily.”

  “I grew up with the game,” I tell Andy, who still looks confused. “What about you? How did the smartest guy in my hardest class end up as the baseball lackey?”

  Andy’s brows shoot past the edge of his frames. “Is that how you described me?” he asks Garrett.

  “I said baseball god.”

  Andy laughs. “Blame it on my mom. She’s got a rule. I’ve got to participate in one club and one sport every year.” He holds out skinny arms. “The sport thing is a challenge. I stumbled on the idea of baseball lackey and Mom said yes, so here I am, four years later.”

  Garrett and I exchange a look. Not the drama we were hoping for.

  “You sure baseball isn’t your dying sister’s wish?” Garrett asks.

  “What?” Andy scratches at his jaw. “I don’t have a sister.”

  “How about an immigrant grandfather who fought in two wars to come to America to play baseball and breed a love of sport in his grandson?” I ask.

  His eyes flicker from me to Garrett. “Yeah, uh. I’m going back to my game.” He gives me a nod. “See you tomorrow in class.”

  “See ya.”

  Garrett and I turn back to the hall. “That was disappointing,” I say.

  “Extremely.”

  “Maybe one of the other guys?”

  There’s a cheer from the living room. Garrett perks up. “A comeback!”

  “No way.”

  I follow him to the family room, and sure enough the D-Backs have scored two and are threatening to score two more.

  “What did I tell you?” he says.

  “They’re going to choke.”

  He laughs, and I know I shouldn’t like it so much when he laughs. When I’m the one who makes him laugh.

  I search for Mai—she’s not on the couch and neither is Anthony. I spot them outside, sitting around a table on the back patio.

  “Come on, we’ll take the floor chairs,” Garrett says.

  “They’re occupied.”

  The brunette is still there, talking with a friend. Probably waiting for Garrett.

  “I’ll introduce you. That’s Annette and Kim.”

  “Your ex?”

  He nods
. “She’ll move. She doesn’t care about the game.”

  “No, I’m not—”

  But he grabs my hand, shocking me into silence. His fingers are warm, the palms calloused as he draws my hand in tighter. He does it so matter-of-factly, I let him. As if I need help climbing over a few legs. As if we hold hands all the time. As if he’s mine. And I’m his.

  Oh, jeez.

  I reel in my thoughts and drop his hand. He’s already making introductions.

  “I don’t think you guys have met yet. Annette and Kim, this is Josie. Josie, this is Annette and Kim.”

  “Hi.” I wipe my tingling palm against my leg.

  “Hey,” they say in unison.

  I give Kim a quick smile, but Annette is the one I want to study. She’s pretty but not all done up, which is what I pictured when Garrett said he’d had a girlfriend. Her brown hair is lighter than mine and tied back in a messy knot. She’s dressed almost exactly like I am, except her jeans are darker and her shirt is white. Now that we’re face-to-face, she does look a little familiar. “I think you had a locker near mine last year.”

  “I’ve definitely seen you around.” Her smile is wide and friendly.

  How did she and Garrett date for a year and stay friends? That almost never happens—not at our school. Another way Garrett doesn’t fit the mold of the ballplayers I grew up around. A lot of them were good-looking and charming but also self-centered assholes. Or maybe that’s just the guys Dad hung around. Guys like him.

  “You don’t mind giving up your spots, do you?” he asks Annette. “D-Backs are about to go on a run, and I’ve got a bet with Josie. She’s my new color commentator for the contest.”

  “What happened to Nathan?” Kim asks.

  “Josie happened to Nathan.”

  Annette rolls her eyes, but they both hold up a hand and Garrett pulls them to their feet. Annette’s legs seem to go on forever. It probably takes her an hour to shave them. I decide to feel sorry for her. All that time lost.

  “What’s the bet?” one of the guys asks.

  “She has to wash my car if we win.”

  “I do not,” I say. “He’s lying.”

  The guy laughs and shifts to make room for Annette and Kim on the couch. “I’m Cooper, by the way.”

  “I know who you are. You’re the catcher.” His brown hair is wavy without a baseball hat on, but I recognize the scraggly fuzz on his chin. “That was a nice throw down you made Thursday.”

  “Thanks. I heard you gave me some love on-air.” He grins. “My grandpa lives in Chicago and listens to the broadcasts. Says you guys are really in sync. You going to stick with it?”

  “Yes, she’s sticking with it,” Garrett answers.

  I’m introduced to Eddie and Tucker and Evan, along with two girls I think are part of the cheer squad, Steph and Cassie. My head is spinning with all the introductions and compliments. I wasn’t expecting everyone to be so nice.

  Then the game is back on, and in a crazy string of plays, the D-Backs tie it up. There are cheers and claps and beefy boy bodies rising so everyone can high five everyone else. Optimism pulses through the room. The D-Backs weren’t expected to be good this year, and so far they’re playing like they are. But I’ve been around baseball long enough that I’ve seen this, too.

  “Settle down, boys,” I say to the room in general. “They haven’t won yet.”

  “Who is this girl?” Cooper says to Garrett. “What’s she doing with her mouth all over my team?”

  “Watch it,” I say, “or I’ll broadcast the fact that you wink when you’re up to bat.”

  “I do not!”

  “Yeah, you do,” Tucker says. He could be Cooper’s twin except he doesn’t have the chin fuzz.

  “It’s cute.” Garrett makes a smoochy sound and everyone busts up.

  I’m laughing, too, when my gaze meets Garrett’s. It’s a shared moment of fun—nothing more. Except…there’s a warm, tight feeling in my chest that says, you like these guys, Josie. You like this guy.

  “You know who we could interview?” he says suddenly. I swear I can see the idea traveling from his brain to a grin as slow and sweet as the Manuka honey Mom adds to her tea.

  My heart reacts without even knowing why. “Who?”

  “Mai.”

  “My Mai?”

  He laughs. “Bet that was a fun name in middle school.”

  “She didn’t get that evil glare without practice. But that’s a terrible idea. Mai knows nothing about baseball.”

  “That’s the point.” He shifts his chair closer. The edge of his armrest bumps mine, and his shirt brushes against my shoulder. My shoulder wants more. I edge back. “I was thinking about what she said in the car the other day. About how it isn’t fair that pitchers stand on a mound. It got me thinking.”

  “About dumb questions?”

  “About dumb rules. Is there another sport with as many rules as baseball? And ones that seem random. Like the pitching mound. It’s ten inches higher than home plate, but it also has to be sixty feet and six inches from home plate. Who came up with that?”

  I nod as his idea sparks my own. “We use Mai’s questions as a way to explain some of the arcane rules of baseball.”

  “And do a little social commentary on recent rule changes.”

  “Like the no-pitch intentional walk!” I swivel, crossing my legs as I face him. “It doesn’t have to be just Mai. We can find plenty of clueless kids—have them ask their question on video, then cut back to us for the answer and an explanation.”

  Our eyes lock, and the tremors are back, sparking through nerve endings I didn’t even know I had.

  “It would mean spending more time together,” he says. “Asking questions. Doing research. That’s probably against your rules.”

  I smother a smile. “Are you making fun of my rules?”

  “Would I do that?” His face is the picture of innocence. Up close like this, I decide he’s less overwhelming. Easier to handle one feature at a time. Eyes. Nose. Mouth. A tiny scar at the edge of his eyebrow. Nothing all that special. “I’m making a new rule. No making fun of the rules.”

  “Why do you get to make all the rules?”

  “Because I’m the brains of this operation.”

  His smile sends tingles down to my clunky sandals. “Does that mean you like the idea?”

  “It means we might win this thing.”

  There’s a sudden loud cheer and we both turn to see what happened.

  “Walk off double,” Tucker cries. “D-Backs win.”

  “How about that?” Garrett says. He pushes to his feet for the replay.

  I scramble up, too, and Garrett turns to me with the grin I’m expecting. “And that’s another thing I love about baseball. Number seventeen on my list. Comebacks.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I say. “Study the stats, Blondie. Comebacks only happen about thirty percent of the time.” But I can’t hold on to my scowl—not when he’s smiling at me like that. Like he’s having the best time. Like we’re having the best time together.

  A flush burns through my cheeks. He’s a baseball player. Even if he is a nice guy, he’s as wrapped up in the game as my dad ever was. Nothing and no one will ever be as important. And I know better than to be feeling like this. “I gotta go.”

  “Already?”

  “School tomorrow.” Weak, but also true.

  “You want to ask Mai if she’ll do it for us?”

  “I’ll ask her later.” I turn to the patio door and tug open the sliding glass.

  She’s sitting on a cushy chair facing Anthony. She’s got the bag of Cheetos in one hand and her feet on Anthony’s lap. His hand is resting on her ankle. It’s a strange sight—her petite foot and his rough fingers, the thick metal chain hanging from his wrist. I’m struck with the thought that neither of us is safe.

  “We need to get going,” I tell her.

  She pulls her feet down and slides them into her flip-flops. Her fingers are bright orange as she leav
es the Cheetos in Anthony’s lap. “See you at school.”

  “I’ll look for you,” he says, smiling.

  Talk about alternate universe.

  Garrett walks us to the door. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Yep, see you tomorrow.”

  When we reach the truck, he’s still standing there, silhouetted by the screen. My heart pounds like it wants out. Like it wants him.

  I look at my best friend and sigh. “I’m in deep shit, Mai.”

  She nods. “So am I.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next morning, I make my usual late entrance to the kitchen and find Mom standing at the counter, sipping coffee and looking through her calendar.

  “Sleep well?” she asks. She watches as I head for the fridge and the orange juice. If she was worried that a night with the baseball team would change me, she has to be relieved. I generally pull on whatever tee is on top of the stack, but today I purposely chose my vintage Orange Crush that ought to be burned. It’s so faded, and does anyone really look good in orange? But I’m convincing her—and maybe myself—that I’m not dressing to impress anyone else.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  I pause to sigh. Loudly. “Are we playing Twenty Questions again?”

  “I didn’t ask you twenty questions last night, and for the record, you gave me no answers.”

  She’d been waiting when I got home and stopped an episode of The Great British Baking Show to ask, “So?” Even curled on the couch in pajamas, she still managed to look tense. Mom went through her own personal hell with my dad; I’m sure she was reliving all of it while I was at Jason’s house. She doesn’t want me to be a part of that world—neither do I. Yet there I was, and the worst part of it was I had a good time.

  I had a good time. With baseball players.

  A baseball player.

  I pull a glass from the cabinet. Shocking, yes. Unthinkable two weeks ago, yes. But it was one effing baseball game on TV. I know who Garrett is and what he wants. I know what I want. This is a convenient arrangement for us both with an expiration date. Like a library book. You have fun while you’re reading but when you reach the end, the book goes back to the library.