by Hazel Grace
Lauren skips back over to me, a smile gracing her face as she comes and sits next to me again.
“He said thank you,” she recites, looking more relaxed.
“He’s welcome.” I take another hit of my cancer stick as I look over the rest of the cages. Most of them are empty, except for a young boy and his dad using the one at the other side. The dad encourages him through the fence, while his boy does what he asks him to do, reminding me of when I used to come with mine here.
“So, how are you doing, Colson?” Lauren asks me. “I don’t see you much around school.”
Because you hang out in the library or the loser table in the back corner of the cafeteria.
“Good,” I say instead. “Just been busy getting ready for finals and shit.”
“I’m so nervous about finals,” she frets. “My AP Chemistry class is going to be horrific. I’ve been studying for weeks.”
“You’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself. You’re obviously smart if you’re in an AP class to begin with.”
“My mom is the one who puts all the pressure on me,” she alludes. “She didn’t go to college, so I’m like her mini me while she lives vicariously through my life. It sucks, but at the same time, I don’t want to let her down.”
I can relate to not wanting to let a parent down except my dad isn’t here to say anything, and I couldn’t give a shit about what my mom has to say. I don’t know if I’m going about anything the right way anymore. I’m sure as fuck that he wouldn’t approve of half the shit I’ve pulled this year, and it makes my heart sink in my chest when I think back on all of it.
I want to hear him bitch at me.
I wish that he was here when I filled out my college applications so we could make a plan of what to do when they come in.
“You’re a good person and student,” I voice to Lauren. “I’m sure she’s super proud. Don’t let the pressure eat you up inside.”
“Does it for you?” she presses. “I know you have a lot riding on a baseball scholarship.”
I blow out a steady breath through my cheeks. “Sometimes.”
“Ben says your mom is a bitch.” My head snaps toward her for several reasons.
One, because she swore. Two, I didn’t expect that I would be a topic of conversation between the two of them. And three, yeah, she is.
I take a hit of my fag. “My mom doesn’t get me or care to get to know me. She never was Mom of the Year.”
“You don’t need her,” Lauren conveys softly. “You’re strong enough to carry on without her support. I’ve seen you play, and even though I don’t know all the rules to the game, it’s pretty simple. Hit the ball, get on base, and score a run.”
“Pretty much.” I grin. “Yeah.”
“Well, wherever you go, I hope everything works out for you. It should, I mean, Ben thinks you’re the best thing since...he mentioned a baseball player’s name, but I don’t remember what it was.”
“Ben is a good guy,” I agree, putting my cigarette between my lips.
“So are you.”
A mirthless chuckle leaves my lips. “Not that good, Lauren. Just good to Ben because he’s good to me.”
“Regardless,” Lauren assures. “I see things from a different perspective.”
I let my hit permeate throughout my lungs before I say, “Is that why you don’t hang out or go to any social gatherings? I was surprised you went to the dance last week.”
“I surprised myself. It saves me a lot of headache though. Not having to...deal with people.”
I nod, because I get it. “Yeah, I guess it does save you a lot of bullshit.”
“And I don’t have to lose any friends over things.” I stay silent, knowing who and what she’s talking about. Lauren isn’t exactly subtle, but she isn’t malicious either. “Why did you...stop being friends?”
The real words lodge in my throat. Everyone knows the reason, the fallout, the epic battles that Gavin and I have had over the course of the last two months. We’ve done a great job publicizing it because we’re two prideful idiots that want two different things when it comes to Sawyer.
Gavin wanted to use her up until he was fully done and fuck every other chick in school on the side.
And I wanted...her.
Just to be around her, really, there wasn’t much behind it besides the fact that it’d never happen after the stunts I’ve pulled and there's zero trust between us.
More on her side, rightfully, than mine.
Lauren patiently waits for me to answer her. It’d be the first time admitting aloud that I like Sawyer Boyd for more than her being beautiful and smart.
I like her because she tries to hold on to a front with everyone else but, with me, she’s real. I like that she doesn’t care about fashion and doesn’t throw herself at guys.
I respect the hell out of her for that.
I appreciate that she’s different from any other female I’ve ever met in my life and that she can out eat me and doesn’t give a shit that she can or does. I like how she plays softball and bites the inside of her cheek when she’s getting frustrated at the ump making shitty calls. I adore how her cheeks pinken when I compliment her and the fact that she always tries to do the right thing.
Fuck.
I really like Sawyer Boyd.
“Because he’s an asshole,” I pass on. “And I’m tired of it.”
“So...Sawyer has nothing to do with it?” I pin her with a fixed look. She knows, just afraid to say it out loud.
And shit, so am I.
“I don’t know, do you think she does?” I push back. Lauren averts her eyes from me and over to Ben.
She releases a light shrug. “I don’t know, maybe.”
“Sawyer isn’t interested in me,” I confide, looking down at my cancer stick that’s almost out. “She’s made that clear several times.”
Lauren begins bouncing her legs. “I think you scare her.”
“She isn’t scared of anything,” I retort then think back over all the conversations we’ve had.
I’ve made her weary of me.
I started rumors and fucked with her every chance I got. It wasn’t until our History project when I realized that I didn’t have time to continue and that I didn’t want to anymore.
Sawyer has no real reason to confide or entrust me with her life or future. I burned that damn bridge a long time ago. So, since she’s not a normal girl, she keeps me at arms’ length.
She should.
I wouldn’t be any good for her even though it doesn’t stop the desire to be able to kiss her when I want or take her out in public on my arm.
“Well,” I muse. “Maybe she is.”
“She’s not scared of Gavin.”
“No—” I take the last hit of my cigarette. “—she’s not.”
Lauren leans forward. “Have you ever told her?”
“Told her what?” I’m dodging her question because I don’t want to answer it. I’m alarmed to admit it to myself, let alone to a girl that I barely know. I guess I’ve let this conversation go deeper than it should because, in a way, Lauren reminds me of Sawyer.
The odd girl out.
The girls that Freemont High bets against because they’re not loud and obnoxious about things or make a spectacle of themselves. Who don’t parade themselves around like wannabe trophy wives. They want to make a life of their own and just be accepted with how clothes and popularity aren’t on their list of things to do.
“You don’t have to answer that,” Lauren mutters next to me. “We’re not exactly friends, and I’m prying.”
“Well...who exactly would you tell besides Ben anyways?” Lauren chuckles, and I’m glad because I was hoping she’d catch on to my teasing her.
“Touché.” I flick my cigarette bud and watch the ember of it still light the end.
“I haven’t told her anything besides...she shouldn’t compare me to Gavin.”
“That’s good,” Lauren says. “But it’ll take more
than that. You have some time.”
“Time isn’t exactly what I have a lot of.”
“Well, have your plans changed?” I look at her. “About not leaving with anyone?”
“I don’t know,” I reply truthfully. “I just don’t want to play the what-if game with her, you know? What if she’s...Sawyer is special. I just didn’t see it before. I saw her as a pain in the ass that was going to alter what I had going with Gavin and our future. Then...things just started to change.”
“And you started going after Sawyer because you liked her,” Lauren exhorts.
“You watch people too much,” I dismiss.
“And you evade things,” Lauren retorts, playing with her fingers. “But you have a right to, it’s hard losing a parent. I lost my dad too.” I shift uncomfortably. Talking about my past with my dad is something I’m not good with. I like to keep him alive on my own, through my pitching and in my head.
“I didn’t know that, I’m sorry.”
Lauren tucks a piece of her blonde hair behind her ear. “My mom doesn’t know how to live without him so she focuses on me. I’m glad to be somewhat of a distraction, but I’m just afraid that when I’m gone to college, she won’t know what to do with herself.”
“I ran out of tokens,” Ben hollers from the cage. I reach inside my jean pocket and pull out mine. I didn’t need the practice, just wanted to get out of the house.
Lauren holds an open palm to me. “I’ll take them for you.”
I hand them over and watch her practically float on air toward him. Ben reaches through the fence and gives her a small kiss, which lights up her face in a smile.
Reaching for my cell in my back pocket, I pull it out, flipping it open to find several text messages waiting for me.
Stacey: Hey, Colson, what are you doing tonight?
Daria: Can’t wait to see you play tomorrow *smiley face*
Lily: Hi, Colson, I need help with my Calculus homework. Wanna come over this weekend?
My heart dips, but I should expect it, there isn’t any reason for Sawyer to text me or even talk to me for that matter. She’s doing what she’s always wanted and preached about doing.
Living a simple senior year with no more drama.
I click on her name further down my messages, I’ve kept my word thus far with not contacting her but doubt starts plunging into my stomach.
I owe this to the both of us to not live cowardice. I’ll take the hit if she doesn’t like me back, but I think she does.
I’m hoping she does, anyway.
I don’t know if we can get past everything or how this will play out, but I’m not one for living safely. Except when it came to my baseball scholarship.
I blow out a heavy breath, my fingertips hovering over the keyboard of my phone. I’m not sure what I’m going to do about the whole leaving for college thing. Do I take her with me? Would she want to go? Do I even want a girlfriend when there are hundreds of new girls at college?
Wait, I don’t even know where this is even going to go.
She is more than likely going to tell me to go fuck off and bother someone else. Except she’s the only one I want to bother and touch. The only chick in this whole damn town that has kept my attention this long and that my body longs to press up against.
Fuck this shit.
My fingers fly over the letters of my phone, and I don’t look back, nor do I proofread a damn thing. I just hit send.
Me: Bases, I’m serious when I say this. I really like you.
Ten years ago
It’s a normal Wednesday. Mom made me pancakes when I specifically told her I didn’t have time to eat them. (I’m not a morning person and tend to wake up ten minutes before I have to catch the bus.) Malcolm Fraiser sang on the bus today like he always does to Tara Hughes because she won’t give him the time of day. (Yes, that’s normal.) I ate my typical lunch of fries and a grilled cheese while Taylor blabbed on about her not appreciating how the cheerleaders harassed the students about thinking who their homecoming king and queen will be this year for prom. Which further turned into us buying another dress and another nagging conversation about my having to go and how she wanted Tom Venutra to ask her.
Instead of arguing, I ate and nodded, buying myself some time before I told her I wasn’t going to prom with her, I was going to Michigan to see Mia, and going to my old high school’s prom where I wouldn’t be glared at by half the student population.
What wasn’t normal today was Colson sitting in front of me in History class. Unfortunately, I know the back of his head too well, and he must’ve snuck in when I was speaking to Ellie.
I never responded to his text. I didn’t know what to say, what not to say. It was random, unexpected, and it made my heart flutter in my chest.
It made me think of things that were in the past—what if I would’ve kissed him instead that night at Moonlight Ridge and what if I’m not cutting him enough slack.
I tsk to myself for the thousandth time.
Give him slack for what, exactly?
For him not badgering and hounding me like a normal human being? For the lack of threats and glares at me from only feet away?
That’s what normal people do, so Colson doesn’t really deserve any special treatment for it. The only particular treatment he received was me stuffing my face with junk food at Taylor’s house this weekend after I received his text.
Bases, I’m serious when I say this. I really like you.
Um, thanks? What do I even say to that? What is the protocol for answering your ex-boyfriend’s ex-best friend’s message like that?
Oh, hey, Colson, I like you too, but I’m scared shitless you’re going to screw me over. That I think this is all a game to you, and since you don’t like losing you keep on with it. That I still look at you every day at practice and regret not being brave enough to take my original dare and just plaster my lips to yours.
Yep—nope!
Not in this lifetime.
This, us, it's NOT happening.
No dates.
No anything.
It’s bad enough that Gavin glares at me with such animosity that it makes me fidgety and eager to get out of his line of sight.
I don’t know what Colson has said to him, nor do I want to ask, but Gavin is analytical. I can feel his vision on me at practice, studying me under a microscope for over a week now.
And I’m tired of it.
The girls on the team have asked me if I’m dating Colson, if I have a crush, or if he’s asked me out yet.
The answer to all those were “no.”
I wasn’t interested, too busy with school, drowning myself at work and saving money, slipping a ten or twenty in Dad’s wallet when he wasn’t looking so he ate lunch or could pick up a coffee.
I don’t have time for Colson Hayes. He was a menace to society, mainly to females, and eventually, he’ll drift on and get bored soon.
Someday.
Even though, that “someday” didn’t feel like it was going to come soon enough.
“Pop Quiz!” Mr. B exclaims with a giant smile on his face.
My shoulders sag in disappointment. He’s the only one who still believes in pop quizzes at this school. I’m starting to think it’s because he likes to see us miserable.
“Twenty questions, multiple choice because I’m feeling gracious today,” Mr. B continues, trailed by a few scoffs from the class. “Do I need to tell all of you no cheating— ”
“No using your phones and no looking over someone’s shoulder,” the rest of the class finishes for him. He laughs—laughs—that we know his whole speel then starts passing out the quizzes. “See, all of you will ace the quiz. I’ve taught you all so well.”
Not really, it’s embedded in our brains.
Papers shuffle around, Colson passes the stack of papers behind him, not looking back, and I take the top sheet. Handing the rest off to my classmate behind me, I write my name neatly on the top left of the test, followed by the da
te—until I halt.
Date: Go on a date with me
My head jerks up to meet the back of Colson’s head. It’s down, he’s already started his test, and I’m already distracted.
My stomach and chest flutter in unison as I stare back at his handwriting.
Dang, that was creative and annoyingly cute.
I wrinkle my nose at my inner thoughts.
This is so stupid.
I flip over my pencil and hover over his words, giving them one last look before erasing it all so Mr. B doesn’t see it when I turn my test in.
Go on a date with me.
I shake my head, I can’t.
I’m scared, this is dumb, and for what?
He’s made it perfectly clear he doesn’t date, the whole school has made it public knowledge that he doesn’t go exclusive with anyone. He screws and screws some more.
But he’s right, again.
I haven’t seen him messing with anyone. I don’t see him flirting with girls. He didn’t go to the dance with anyone but Ben. Girls flock around his locker but he escapes moments later.
His main focus has been me.
A conquest, maybe? Maybe he has a bet going on with someone?
“Thirty minutes,” Mr. B announces. “When you’re done, you can leave class and get ready for your next period.”
The words on my paper blur, I can’t concentrate. Another reason why being involved in any capacity with Colson is a no-go. Even if he did want to date, I’d have to make time for him, try to get weekends off, which means I’d lose out on money for my parents and things I need.
I just...no.
Tapping my pencil on my desk, I exhale a heavy breath, determined to finish this test before Colson so I can get out of here. I skim the questions, knowing most of them since I was a History nerd at heart anyways, and quickly scan everything to make sure I didn’t miss any.
When I’m content, I swipe up my backpack, not bothering to shove my pencil into it or my phone, and make my way to the front of the class. Mr. B grins at me as I place my quiz down, and when I turn around to leave, Colson is standing behind me.