Chapter Thirty-Six
The following week is a whirl of activity as Garrett and I finish the feature, editing together the questions and answers along with commentary on recent changes to the game. We’re both impressed with how it turns out. We also call two more games—both of them Cholla wins that clinch our spot in the playoffs. The guys are all swagger and bluster and I take great joy in playing the role of snarky non-believer while secretly I’m starting to think they actually might win State.
On Tuesday, Mai officially ended things with Anthony. She did it in true Mai fashion. Bluntly.
“I told him he was becoming a distraction from what really mattered.”
“Mai!” I winced when she told me that night.
“I know. It sounded as bad then as it does now.”
“Are you okay?”
She shrugged, but I couldn’t remember seeing her look so sad. “I’ll be fine.”
We were quiet for a long moment. “What happens when you see him?” I asked. “How did you leave it?”
“I fixed it. I think.”
It turned out better than I expected. After a weird couple of days, Anthony seemed his usual chill self. They settled into being friends…friendly…though he didn’t eat lunch with us again.
I was planning to bring Garrett over and tell Mom about our broadcasting experiment, but she came back from her date with James with puffy eyes. She brushed off my offer of pralines and cream, which is the only known antidote for sadness.
“I’m fine,” she said. “It was my decision. It wasn’t going to work. Better to end it now.”
But she started the week in a funk and never came out of it. I found her pouring out the special James fragrance yesterday, with a vacant look on her face that was worse than tears. No way could I bring up the broadcast plan with all that on her mind. And I wanted her to be in a good mood the first time she met Garrett.
So instead, Mom and I focused more on the business, since that’s the only thing that seemed to help. We had a party on Thursday and did a test run of the new website, helping everyone to place orders online. The ladies loved the look of the site and there was only one minor glitch—a link to product videos that didn’t work. The folder for ASU’s broadcasting program stayed unopened in my pack while Mom sent me Pinterest ideas for a new desk to go in the office. My desk. On top of all of that, there was schoolwork and graduation announcements and my birthday plans and a boy who was trying to move slowly while I figure out where I’m headed.
How could I have been so sure of my future for so long and now, with graduation a month away, I don’t know what to do? Garrett’s been patient, but I know it bothers him that a week has passed since our talk and nothing has changed. I’m still keeping him at a distance, still putting off a decision about ASU, and I still haven’t introduced him to Mom. But he’s also still training with Kyle Masters. When I get to the booth on the following Tuesday, I wonder if maybe his patience has run out.
There’s a flower on my stool.
I take a quick glance around and see Garrett’s stuff and all the equipment.
But no Garrett.
The rose is pink, the petals still in a tight bud, the stem stripped of thorns. I close my eyes and inhale the perfume. Much better than anything that comes in an AromaTher bottle.
I open my eyes and take in the view through the window. The dirt infield that’s been smoothed out with brooms, the clean white of new chalk and the kaleidoscope of colors that dances on the edge of my vision from the bleachers. There’s a hint of tobacco mixed in with the scents of dirt and grass and something sharp that I think is pine tar.
That crackle of energy is in the air again, punctuated by the thwack of balls hitting gloves, and the chatter that filters in from the dugout below as the players warm up. Memories resurface, but the sting is gone, and it feels safe to go back in my mind. I used to love warm-ups when I was playing the game. The way my throwing arm would stretch and loosen. The joy of releasing a ball and watching it fly…feeling like you could fly yourself.
Starting a game on the mound with the chance that this might be the day when you pitch so well, you’re still standing on the mound at the very end. It occurs to me that I’m looking at a baseball field and not seeing my dad.
I’m seeing it the way I used to see it. The way Garrett sees it.
There’s a loud rattle as footsteps pound up the metal ramp to the bleachers and the booth. I know it’s him before the door opens. His presence is overwhelming in this small space. My skin warms, my heart skips—every part of me chiming in to say I’m happy to see him.
He plants a quick kiss on my cheek before walking past to his stool. He’s got a cable in his hand that he connects to the mixing board. “You’re late.”
“I am not.” I hold out the flower. “And what is this? A flower at a baseball game?”
“I thought the sport could survive one rose.” He leans out the window to adjust the mic.
“You know pink means purity and innocence?”
“What?” He yanks the flower from my fingers. “We don’t want any of that.” He tosses it over his shoulder.
I laugh and push him aside as I retrieve the flower.
He settles on his stool, looping his headset around his neck.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
He leans in to give me a quick kiss, which turns into a second, slightly longer kiss. “I thought the rose smelled like you,” he says, “but I was wrong. You smell better.”
There’s a bang on the wall of the booth. “Yo, G. Quit making out with your girlfriend.”
“I’m not his girlfriend,” I call back, but I’m blushing. The booth is completely open to the field and I can’t be sure I didn’t just moan a little. Oh God.
I busy myself with the job at hand. Garrett checks the feed and the audio levels and I’m kind of impressed now that I’m taking a second to watch him. “You had to learn all of this yourself, didn’t you?”
“What? The equipment?”
“All of it. How to handle the feed and upload the broadcasts.”
“It was the only way I could think of to stay close to the game.” He looks out the window, and I know all he’s seeing is the distance from here to the pitching mound.
“It’s still not close enough, is it?” I ask.
He shrugs and shifts his gaze back to me. “It’s turned out to have some positives. I never kissed any of the guys before a game.” He clicks open the screen to check video and sound feeds. “Did you look through the course catalog?”
I take a sip from my water bottle. “Not yet.”
“You’re going to get a dent in your ass.”
“What?”
“From sitting on the fence so long.”
“Ha. We don’t even know if we’ll win the contest.”
“That’s why we fill out the application. We get in the old-fashioned way. Like everyone else.”
“But if we’re not good enough to win a local high school broadcast contest?” I let the rest of my question hang in the air.
“We have to get better. But look at how much we’ve improved in the past month.”
He adjusts a black knob and then a red one. Absently, I wonder if I’ll have to learn what all the knobs mean. I like calling the games with Garrett, but the rest of it, I’m not so sure. “Scottie told me we’re drawing traffic to the recordings. He thinks more locals are going online to listen even after the game is over.”
“Because we’re good.” His mouth hitches up on one side and I want to grab him and kiss him.
“You’re cute sometimes.”
“And sexy all the time?”
“Forget I said anything.”
He laughs as he turns back to the field. “It’s a perfect day, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” But I’m not thinking about the weather.
“That’s another thing I love about the game. Number eighty-six on the list of top one hundred: the field always looks so pretty this time of day
. The way the sun skims off the mowed grass.”
“And the chalk lines around the batter’s box.” A bittersweet memory fills my head. Chalking the batter’s box was one of my jobs the season I coached with my dad. “I love how clean and perfect they are right now. The calm before the storm to come.”
“Number seventy-two,” he says. “And the scoreboard. The way it’s all zeros at the start. That’s number forty-two.”
“You don’t actually have these written down, do you?”
“It’s all in here.” I think he’s going to point to his head but he doesn’t. He points to his heart.
For a second, for his sake, I wish he wasn’t sitting beside me. I wish he were down on the field where he wants to be. Then he lets out a tiny sigh, one I don’t think I’m meant to hear, and he flips on his mic. He announces the national anthem and off we go.
We call the game with our knees touching and the rose on the counter between us where I can keep glancing at it. Finally, between the fifth and sixth innings, he turns to me. “So when are you going to say yes?”
“To what?”
“To being my girlfriend.”
“Is that why you brought me a rose? Because that romantic stuff doesn’t work with me.”
“Yeah, it does.”
He grins, and oh hell, he’s right. It does work with me.
Before he turns the mic back on, he says, “Don’t panic, Walters. You can say yes later. We’ve got a game to call.”
…
It isn’t until much later…until after the game is over and I’ve eaten dinner with Mom and finished my homework.
And after we’ve watched an episode of The Great British Baking Show and are starting on the second.
And after Garrett texts and says, “Walk outside. I left you a surprise.”
And I walk outside and the surprise is Garrett, who ran over, which is why I didn’t hear a car.
And he’s in a tank top and running shorts and he’s all smooth skin and sweaty muscles and I don’t care when he tugs me around the corner, away from the porch light and the moths fluttering uselessly against the glow. I’m like a moth, helpless and blind to everything but this guy who makes me want to believe in things like dreams and happy endings and even the beauty of baseball.
And his hands slide around my waist and mine slide up his bare arms and his mouth is on mine. And I bite his bottom lip the way he does, and he groans into my mouth.
And after, when we’re both shaking and our pulses are racing and our foreheads are pressed together. I reclaim my breath and find my feet still on the ground but my heart untethered.
That’s when I find my voice and I say, “Yes.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Josie,” Mom says. “I can’t get this link to work. How do I fix it?”
“Hang on.” I’m standing beside her at the kitchen counter, adding samples of face serum to the party bags.
“Josie!”
The last one hits the bottom of the bag, joining the peppermint toothpaste, the orange essential oil, and the hibiscus lozenge. “How is it possible for you to turn my name into a dirty word?”
“Would you please help me?” She runs a hand through her hair, and passion-berry mist drifts my way. She’s been in a rotten mood since she stopped seeing James, and if this is the result of no secret sex, then I’m sorry I ever had an issue with it. “If we’re not out of here in fifteen minutes, we’re going to be late.”
“Fine,” I say. Tonight’s party is for a book club that just read about holistic healing and decided an essential oil demonstration would add to the discussion. Targeting book clubs is such a good idea, I told Mom we should advertise that on our website. Which reminded her about the link that still isn’t working.
I lean over so I can see her laptop screen. “You can’t fix it from the website. I told you. You have to go to the admin page.”
“I don’t see it in the menu.”
“You have to log in on a different site. Remember?” I gesture to the screen. “Pull up a new tab.”
Instead, she shoves the laptop toward me, moving my phone out of the way. “Can you do it for me?”
“You’re the one who told me not to help, that you wanted to learn it all yourself.”
“I’ve changed my mind. When you’re out of town, fixes will have to wait.”
“Why would I be out of town?” I pull up the admin page, giving her a quick glance. I don’t expect to see flushed cheeks and lips pressed tightly together. She does that when she’s said something she didn’t mean to.
“Mom, what?”
“Not now.” She points at the screen. “We’re going to be late.”
I pull my hands off the keyboard and fold them over my chest. “What?”
“Josie!” But I know she’s frustrated with herself. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”
“Tell me or we’ll be here all night.”
“I’m sending you to New York this year for the annual trade show.”
“Me?” I sit back, startled.
“More than that.” She smiles and it’s the first real happiness I’ve seen from her in a week. My unease blooms into near panic. “It’s in Manhattan and I’ve already looked into hotels near Times Square and”—she pauses for effect—“I’ve spoken to Mai about joining you there for the weekend. I’ll buy her plane ticket, too. So it’s business plus a girls’ trip.”
“Mom.” My throat fills, along with my eyes.
“Happy early birthday.” She watches me expectantly.
I know I’m supposed to scream with joy like those people on the radio who win concert tickets. But all I can think of is that next September I could be at ASU. In the broadcasting program.
“It’s too much, Mom. It’s too expensive. And you love the trade show.”
Her smile fades. “I thought you’d be excited.”
“I am. It’s just…” Oh shit. While I’ve been making plans, so has she. “I have to tell you something. I really, really don’t know how.”
Her eyes fill with panic. “Are you sick? Are you pregnant?”
“No! God, it’s nothing like that.” I take a breath. “It’s just that I’m not sure anymore.”
“Sure of what?”
I stare at the computer screen. At the dashboard for the website of Melissa and Josie Walters, AromaTher Proprietors.
The laptop closes with a snick. Mom’s fingers press into the metallic cover. “Not sure about the business?”
“I’ve been thinking I might want to try something different. You know. Before I go right into it.”
“Something different?” Each syllable is painfully enunciated. “We have a meeting with the lawyer in ten days. When were you going to tell me this?”
“It’s not for sure. It’s something we’ve been talking about.”
“We?” Her eyes widen. “Oh my God. This is about Garrett, isn’t it? The baseball player.”
“He’s not a player. He wants to go into broadcasting.”
“What does that have to do with you?”
I swallow, knowing there’s no good way to say this. “I might want to go into broadcasting, too.”
Her mouth falls open. “You’re going to follow him? After six weeks in a high school booth? Without knowing anything about the profession? Without any research? You just suddenly think you might like it? Do you hear how crazy that sounds? And you of all people.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you know the danger of following. Blindly.” Her words sting. “More than that, you make reasoned decisions. You’re practical. Grounded. You don’t take crazy risks.”
“Or any risk,” I mutter.
Lines deepen across her forehead. “Suddenly risk is good? Is that what you learned from your baseball player? After everything you went through with your father, that’s who you’re going to listen to?”
“Should I listen to you? You’re more afraid than I am. You broke up with a great guy because you
were afraid to take a chance, and now you’re miserable.”
“Because I let it get too far. In the long run, I made the right choice. Can you say the same thing?” She slaps her hand on the counter. “You’re going to change your life for a boy who will never do anything but disappoint you.”
“You don’t know that!”
“I know he’s no good for you. You’ve been dating for a month and already he’s turned you into a liar.”
“I haven’t been lying!” My voice shakes, but I won’t back down. “I knew you would react like this, so I just didn’t tell you yet. And also, I was giving it time, seeing if it’s something I might really want to do. You always said if there was something else I wanted—”
“Yes! Something you wanted. Not something you want to do to hold on to a boy.”
“Never mind,” I snap. “It doesn’t matter what I say. You were never going to like him.”
She grabs her laptop and shoves it into her shoulder bag. “How would we know? I’ve never even met him. If he’s such a good guy, why have I never met him?”
A knot the size of a baseball lodges in my throat. “Because I knew you’d be like this.”
“Concerned?” she says. “Worried? Scared out of my mind? Yeah, Josie. I am.”
“You should be happy for me. Because I have a chance to do something that maybe I’ll love. I don’t have to be trapped in this business with you.”
“Trapped?”
Even as she repeats the word, I want to take it back.
“You feel trapped?” Her eyes glimmer with hurt.
“I didn’t mean that.”
She stares at me, the word still echoing between us.
“Mom!”
With sharp, jerky motions, she pulls her pack over her shoulder and grabs the box with the neatly packed sample bags. When I move to take it from her, she shakes her head. “No. I’ll handle this one on my own. You stay here. You think about what you want.” She stops at the door and turns back. “We’ll cancel our plans until you’re sure. A partnership requires two people who are committed. You think about that, too.”
I listen to the sounds of her leaving. The door slamming. The truck door. The whirl of the garage door and the final thud when it closes behind her.
Announcing Trouble Page 17