The Perfect Play
Britney M. Mills
Crystal Canyon Press
Copyright © 2020 by Britney M Mills
Cover design by Bree Livingston
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Also by Britney M. Mills
Chapter 1
Penny
Today could determine my future, and, of course, I was running late. My junior year softball tryouts were starting in a few hours and, while I’d never worried about making the cut even as a freshman, we had a new coach this year. I knew I was ready to take over as the ace pitcher for the Rosemont Royals softball team after Sara Dempsey graduated last year, but who knew what would happen when I’d only met Coach Ambrose a couple of times at open-gym practices? I needed to earn a scholarship, and I needed it bad.
Mornings were never my favorite, but in the last week, I was dragging my body out of bed when my alarm went off. Between my hours waitressing at the diner, schoolwork, and practicing pitches out in the backyard with every spare minute left over, it seemed there was never enough time in the day for all I needed to get done.
After a quick shower and change, I made my way to the kitchen, hoping my little brother hadn’t eaten the rest of my favorite sugary cereal.
“Good morning, sunshine,” my dad said over his morning cup of coffee. His eyes darted back to the newspaper before him, and I didn’t even have to look to see what he was studying. The classifieds.
My father had been looking for new work since my mother left before my eighth-grade year, hoping to either add to the small cash flow he already had or find something better that he qualified for. He’d worked for a local landscaper for nearly eight years, and I knew he wished he could afford to send me to college after I graduated next year, but it just wasn’t realistic. At this point, I knew a full-ride scholarship was the only way I would make it through college debt-free. And with my end goal being to become a family therapist, every little bit helped.
“Morning, Dad.” I pulled a bowl from a cabinet and opened another one where the cereal was usually stored. A red box appeared in my peripheral vision, and I picked it up, feeling only the weight of the cardboard box. Derrick had already beaten me to it. I gritted my teeth, trying to curb the anger fizzing in my stomach. “Why couldn’t he just let me have it this one time?”
“What?” My dad looked up, trying to figure it out. “Oh, uh, your cereal. Yeah, Derrick said something about you being mad at him. I think he’s gone to hide in his room until you leave. It’s probably good that eighth grade starts later than the high school.” The corners of his mouth turned up, the mischief in his eyes only driving my anger up this morning.
I held the box up, wishing I could start this morning over already. Maybe if I’d gotten up the first time my alarm sounded, I would be delighting in my favorite cereal before a big day of tryouts.
I couldn’t help but feel my future depended on this season. Not that I expected to get recruited from my high school team. My summer ball competition team was the key when it came to that, but high school softball was more about pride for me. My mom had played at Rosemont High years ago, and even though she was gone and I didn’t want to care about her opinion of me, this was where I felt it the most. I wanted to break her records and have my number retired. To see my jersey hanging in the school trophy box, just so that if she ever did decide to come back and see what her kids had been up to since she’d taken off, she could feel both ashamed and proud.
Shaking off those thoughts, I pulled the box of dried cardboard flakes from the cupboard and filled my bowl, adding plenty of milk and a scoop or two of sugar. Okay, more like five scoops. I couldn’t choke those down without at least some flavor to enjoy.
I slumped into the seat across from my father, dunking my cereal several times in the milk.
“Tryouts today?” My dad wasn’t known for overusing words.
“Yeah, right after school. We have that new coach this year, Coach Ambrose. I just hope I make the cut.” At my words, my insides turned a bit.
Folding up the paper, he said, “You’ll be just fine, Penny Davis. The Royals wouldn’t have made it to fifth in state last year without you. Just go out there and show this new coach what you’ve got.” He gave me a reassuring smile, just as he did every time things seemed a little hard. Like when my mother left.
“Have you thought any more about starting your own company, Dad?” I asked, scooping the flakes into my mouth. It was a conversation we’d had several times over the last year, and I still thought it would be better for him to start his own company than labor for his boss for the next twenty years, who took more trips throughout the year than actually working. My dad had thought about it more and more as the year went on, but he hadn’t made the jump yet.
He shook his head, his sad smile conveying more than words could right now. Starting a lawn care company had a lot of upfront costs, namely the ride-on mowers and buying a trailer to haul it all. Then there was the fact that he’d have to buy a truck that would be able to handle pulling the equipment around town.
“I have to cut the lawn over at the Donovan place and then I’ll be at the Montgomerys’ the rest of the day.” He stood, taking his coffee mug with him and rinsing it in the sink. “If I’m not home when you get back, will you start dinner? You know how big their lawn is, and I might be there until late.”
The Montgomerys could have fit several softball fields on their property, so cutting and maintaining it usually took hours. But from what my dad said, they were generous about tipping him. We didn’t necessarily live in a bad neighborhood, but it was about as middle class as we could get.
“I’m scheduled at the diner for tonight. Is there something easy Derrick could make?” I tipped the bowl so I could drink the last of the milk and then moved to join him at the sink.
“We probably have a few boxed meals left in the pantry. I’ll set some meat out so it’ll be ready for him. But it might be a good idea to ask Sherri to watch out for flames while we’re both gone.” He chuckled, drying his hands on a towel before passing it to me.
The Whites had been our next-door neighbors since before I could remember. Sherri was a kind woman, but there was always a sadness to her, probably due to her husband always traveling for work. She had twin daughters a year younger than Derrick, as well as a son my age, Jake. The cockiest, most stubborn kid I’d ever
met in my life.
Jake hadn’t always been that way, and there were times I longed for those days when we could tell each other about anything, usually while tossing a ball back and forth. The random flashes of earlier times just dredged up all the betrayal I felt at him ditching me three and a half years ago. Like he was too cool to hang out with a nerdy tomboy, especially now that he was Mr. Popular at Rosemont High.
I scrubbed the dish with more force than I should have, only realizing it when the bristles of the brush scraped my fingers. Setting the bowl in the dish drainer, I said goodbye to my dad and headed out to my ancient Honda Civic, closing my eyes in the hopes that it would start up just one more time for me. I’d tried jiggling the key in the ignition once a few weeks ago when it wouldn’t start, and it had become a sort of ritual.
The engine roared to life, and I breathed a sigh of relief, easing out of the driveway and onto the road. School was nearly four miles to the south, but there were several intersections with long lights on the route, meaning I was cutting it close. I noticed Jake’s forest-green Jeep still in his driveway and rolled my eyes. Of course, he hadn’t left yet.
Once I made it to school and parked, I hurried into the common area. Spotting two of my good friends, Kate and Serena, I grinned and waved as I walked over to them.
“Hey, cutting it a little close today, aren’t you, Pen?” Kate asked, looking down at her phone. A few seconds later, the first bell rang.
“I couldn’t drag myself out of bed this morning,” I said, waiting for them to stand so we could walk down the hall together. We all had the same first period, which made it fun for me. Other than that, I didn’t have any classes with any of the other girls in our friend group. They were always talking about what happened in their joint classes, and I was just trying to hide the fact that I’d had to read sixty of the most snooze-worthy pages of history the night before for my advanced class.
Kate grinned. “Well, if you didn’t have the hardest schedule this school offers, you might get a little more sleep, or at least some time to hang out with your friends.” She jabbed her elbow into my side, reminding me once again just how much taller I was. Just two inches shy of a whole foot difference, I usually felt like a giant unless Brynn was around.
We walked into class and took our seats at the back of the room, ready for choir to begin. Why they had choir so early in the morning, I’ll never understand. My voice never sounded normal until closer to lunch.
“Do you want to go grab food with us after the game tonight?” Serena asked. The girls basketball team had made it to the semi-finals, and Brynn was the starting center. Kate had to go to the game as one of the student body officers for Rosemont High, and Serena just loved any excuse to get out of the house since the volleyball season had wrapped up.
“Raincheck? I have tryouts after school, and then I have to work at the diner.”
Kate frowned. “Good luck today. We should do something this weekend when you’re free. Or are you working all weekend too?”
“That would be fun. I get next week’s schedule tonight, so I’ll let you know.” It wasn’t the first time I’d gotten the third degree from my friends. The only other one of us with a job was Hazel, but her hours were more flexible. My job was necessary to just survive. My father barely made enough to allow us to keep living in the home we had, which meant any school fees, softball fees, gas and insurance, or minor expenses that came up were my responsibility.
There were times when I wished my life could be as simple as theirs, as simple as it was when my mother was living with us, her job making her the breadwinner. But those feelings usually fled as soon as I remembered what she’d done to us.
The pit in my stomach formed, and I bit the corner of my lip harder than I should have. We were doing just fine without her, and it wasn’t possible to put a price on the peace that came with minimal fighting in the house.
I went through my success checklist for the future, hoping it would help ease the anxiety pulling me in different directions:
1. Pass my AP tests in four months.
2. Get seen by college coaches this summer.
3. Get a scholarship.
4. Help kids of divorced parents as a family therapist.
I felt better. Having something in my control to cling to made a world of difference. I could study enough to pass those classes. I could practice enough to impress college coaches. And I was willing to put in the time to become the best therapist there was. The only thing out of my control was the scholarship, but if I gave it my all, then something was sure to come through. At least, that’s what I continued to tell myself.
Mrs. Dublin began class with our usual warm-up routine, and I tried to focus on the sounds, hoping it would ease my anxiety about tryouts later. I’d never worried like this with the last coach we’d had, but Coach Ambrose’s reputation as the softball coach at Pecan Flatts, one of our rival high schools, was that she was strict and tough on her players. I could handle all that, but if she played favorites and Tammy Starling got to pitch over me, I could kiss broken records and my jersey hanging in the trophy case goodbye.
Everything would work out. It had to.
Chapter 2
Jake
Pulling into the parking lot of the school as the last bell rang, my brain worked to map out the shortest route to my first-period class. Hopefully, I wouldn’t get caught by an administrator. I already had enough tardies to last until the end of time, and while I knew I was going to have to work them off at some point, it didn’t motivate me to get to class on time.
Walking through the locker-room door, I checked both directions before darting out far enough to swing around the handrail and onto the stairs to my history class upstairs. Maybe luck was working in my favor today because I moved into the classroom when Ms. Lovell had her back turned. There were a few snickers, but I tried to keep my face neutral, hoping she wouldn’t notice I’d just shown up.
“Will someone please tell me the difference between the Baroque and the Victorian eras?” Ms. Lovell asked, turning around to face the class.
“If it ain’t Baroque, don’t fix it,” I mumbled.
The students around me who’d heard it chuckled along as the teacher’s eyes narrowed in on me. Her lips formed a tight line, and she looked as though I’d already started pushing buttons I shouldn’t have. “Thank you, Mr. White, for actually joining us at a more normal time. Would you like to repeat what you just said?”
I raised a hand, slouching into my seat even more. “I’m good.”
Her laser eyes seemed to bore into me for another few seconds before moving to the hand raised on the other side of the room. “Yes, Kara.”
I shook my head, wishing I could be back in my comfortable king-sized bed, dreaming about anything but being here. Only a few more hours until baseball, which I could handle. It was the only thing keeping me sane these days, and I couldn’t wait for a little batting practice. There was nothing better than feeling the ball connect with the bat just right and go sailing over the fence.
Class ended soon enough, and then lunch passed with little fanfare. A few of the guys and I grabbed some drive-thru food at one of the local restaurants and ate it on the way back to the school.
Dax Stratton had driven, and I was riding up front, with Ben, Nate, and Colt in back. “What do you think Coach Maddox will have us do today?” Dax asked, turning down the radio a few notches.
“Probably make us run ’til we puke. Isn’t that what we had to do last year for tryouts?” Ben Clark was our ace pitcher and one of the reasons we’d made it so far in the state tournament the year before.
“Don’t say that,” I said between bites of my bacon cheeseburger. “I don’t need to taste all this coming back up.” I pointed to the food in my hand, and the guys chuckled.
Nate Everton, a sophomore and the youngest of the group, patted his stomach. “This iron stomach can handle whatever Coach deals us today.”
“Iron stomach? Didn’t
you just throw up at that party a couple of weeks ago?” I teased, turning my head back to see his reaction.
“I spit out the weird fishy appetizer. I did not throw up. There’s a difference, man.” Nate’s eyebrows stitched together, and he looked like he was reliving the experience.
Colt Buttars sat next to one of the back windows. “Let’s just hope we don’t have to stay longer than the softball team again. How do they always get out so early?”
Every time softball came up, my mind automatically went to Penny Davis, my next-door neighbor. The girl was always out practicing in her backyard, the thunk, thunk, thunk of the ball hitting off the mat on the shed she pitched against in her backyard. I’d watched her a few days ago from my window, surprised at how accurate her pitches had gotten over the past few years, slipping through the small target holes her father had cut into the rubber mat. She still signaled when her change-up was coming, though. At least I could still pick up on that.
I’d played shortstop for years, but back in the day, I was the one she pitched to, and I’d given her pointers here and there. A lot had changed in a few years, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spoken to her.
“Jake? Are you in there, man?” Dax was waving his hand across my face, and I shook my head, pulling myself out of long-forgotten memories. Of a simpler time when I didn’t wake up with nightmares of the accident.
The Perfect Play: A Boy Next Door Young Adult Romance (Rosemont High Baseball Book 1) Page 1