“The school has plenty of tutors, so don’t hesitate. I’d like to see you playing under the lights someday.” Coach slapped me on the shoulder and said goodbye before heading to his beat-up Chevy truck.
What was with everyone trying to get me to college lately?
I drove home, took a quick shower, and headed into the diner. Lou was at his usual spot behind the grill, and he waved to me and actually smiled. I’d worked several days since the incident with the window, and he’d mostly ignored me. At least I was making progress with someone.
“How’s your friend doing? The one who went through the window?” Lou asked.
“He’s doing better. He got a lot of stitches, but he played in our home opener yesterday. The doctor said he just had to wear a face mask to protect them and he’d be fine. I don’t think we’ll get far without him.”
Lou nodded and flipped two burgers on the grill. “I’m just glad it wasn’t lasting damage. It would be a shame for a talent like that to get ruined.”
I agreed. “Yeah, Nate is a speed demon, and we depend on him out in centerfield.”
“No punishment from your coach, then?” Lou didn’t look in my direction, but the words held more curiosity than accusation.
“I had to sit out yesterday’s game,” I said, focusing on tying the apron strings around my waist. It had been tough to take, but I understood where Coach Maddox was coming from. He couldn’t have a rule against violence if he didn’t issue some kind of punishment, even with how many of the guys tried to appeal his decision.
“Better get going on the tables. Claudia’s in a mood because she’s had to do it several times already, and we know how that goes.” He gave me a small smile, and I moved to my station, retrieving a gray bucket and wash rag.
The last time I’d worked, Claudia got so overwhelmed that she ended up throwing a dish against the kitchen wall, shattering it into a billion little pieces. It was a wonder Lou kept the woman around considering how much drama she created. Lou and Penny had worked to get the food remade so it could go out to the customers while I’d been tasked with cleaning up the pieces.
Penny. She was the only girl on my mind these days. Not that I didn’t have the opportunity to flirt with dozens of girls at school every day, but for some reason, that had lost its appeal. Penny’s comment about me always having a girl was like driving a dagger into my chest.
My father’s alcohol problem started when he’d taken his current job two months before Penny’s mother had taken off, and that wasn’t the only bad habit he acquired. I’d caught him texting women or calling them at random times, and I knew he was cheating on my mom. I hadn’t realized how much I was turning into him, with the constant flare-ups of anger and only sticking with a girl for about a week before moving on.
No wonder Penny found me despicable. Her father was like the king of morality, although he didn’t flaunt it like most. He was a stand-up guy who got his heart broken by his wife walking out on him and his two kids for her boss. In Penny’s eyes, I wouldn’t measure up to her father. She’d called me a waste of space at one time back when she was trying to piece together her life, when I’d avoided her for at least two weeks before she finally caught me sneaking out of my house and through the backyard that led to Dax’s place.
But people could change, right? I was young and had plenty of time to make things right with the people around me. I just needed to find a way to convince them, or even just her, that I was willing to change. Because turning into my father wasn’t something I wanted to do.
Driving home after my shift, I made a mental list of things I was going to change, and the first was actually getting my homework done. I wasn’t completely sure why I suddenly cared about what Penny thought after so long, but she was the most real thing in my life, the one who’d call me on my bull and put me in my place. And I needed that.
Chapter 13
Penny
The next week sped by with another two wins for us, while the baseball team won one and lost one. That had given me plenty of ammunition to fire at Jake during our one shift together, and while I could tell he was still sore about the loss, his temper didn’t flare up like I’d expected it to.
Saturday came around, and I was bored. I’d already tried contacting Kate, Serena, Brynn, and Hazel, but they couldn’t get together until the evening. I’d cleaned the house while my dad and Derrick worked on a yard nearby and then finished the readings for all my classes on Monday.
I grabbed my glove and cleats from my bat bag and walked outside, sitting down on the crumbling cement porch that led from the back door to the backyard. After tying up the cleats good and tight, I whipped my arm around a few times, trying to loosen up the muscles from the long week of workouts, practices, and games.
We stored several buckets to the side of our small deck, one of which was full of old yellow softballs. I pulled the bucket over to what had become my “mound,” basically just a small piece of wood my father had nailed into the ground, and took a ball from the bucket. The feel of the leather under my fingers was slick from overuse, not like the soft newness of the balls we used for practices or games, but it was a ball nonetheless, and I didn’t have the money to buy new ones. All my diner money had gone toward fixing my car the week before, and I was back at square one.
I lifted my eyes to the large rubber mat my father had constructed a few years before. We’d started out with a tire I had to pitch through when I’d just begun to learn the skills around eleven or twelve, but this newer model had four small holes cut out at the heights for the strike zone.
Bringing the ball into my glove, I wound up and threw the ball underhand, sighing when it went wide of the mat. I just needed to warm up. I was never as good as I was on game days, but that competitive streak ran through me, and I wanted to be as perfect as I could on each pitch, even in practice.
I went through the bucket in a few minutes and carried it with me to pick up all the balls. My mind was wrapped up in how hard it would be to create a machine that would retrieve the balls for me, when I heard footsteps behind me, causing me to jump.
“What are you doing?” I called out as I saw Jake walking toward me dressed in long basketball shorts and a short-sleeved t-shirt, his glove in hand. The shirt seemed to hug his chest and stomach, causing my eyes to linger there longer than they should have.
He shrugged, giving me that half-grin. Even though I thought I’d built up an immunity to it, the oddness of our encounters over the recent weeks left me without words.
“I heard the typical smacking of a ball on a mat and figured I’d come out and see what you’re up to.” He stopped a few feet away, studying his glove, and when he looked up at me, the piercing gaze of his chocolate-brown eyes made me sway a bit. I steadied myself on the bucket before picking it up and walking toward the mound again, avoiding his gaze.
“What? No video games or girls to hang out with at this time on a Saturday?” I adjusted my feet on the wooden slat, wound up, and used a newfound energy to thrust the ball toward the mat, the smack coming in even louder than before.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
With a loud chuckle, I caught him off guard. “I haven’t played video games since you beat me at Mario Kart all those years ago. And as far as my friends, they’re going to do something later tonight, probably to celebrate Brynn’s basketball victory in the semi-finals.”
Gripping the ball deep in the palm of my hand, I let my arm circle and let go of it, watching it almost float toward the target. I loved watching the ball dance in the air before it hit the catcher’s mitt, usually fooling the batter into swinging.
“Do you mind if I catch a few?” Jake asked, moving between me and the rubber mat. He crouched on his haunches, his glove poised on one of the corners of the home plate before him.
What was I going to say? No? When I had someone who would throw the balls back to me, I couldn’t really pass that up.
I threw the same pitch, a bit disappointed
that it ended up two inches away from the corner. Ball.
Jake threw it back, his arm moving and all the muscles flexing at the same time. Distracted, I almost forgot to catch it and was glad my reflexes moved fast enough for me to snag it without looking like some beginner.
“You’re still making that extra movement I was talking about at the game the other day. When you play against the bigger schools, they’re going to notice and wait for it.”
My attention snapped back to his face instead of his body, a flame of irritation igniting in my stomach.
I threw again, and Jake shook his head. “Same thing.”
Suddenly wishing he hadn’t invited himself over, I said, “I don’t get what you mean. I’m doing everything I do with all my other pitches.”
Jake strode to me, and when he stopped in front of me, it took a moment to catch my breath. What was my problem? This was Jake White, the kid who’d betrayed me, left me to fend for myself through the darkest times of my life, and my body was now the traitor.
He moved behind me, his arms covering mine and leaving a trail of goosebumps. His left wrist held mine on the glove hand, and his right hand covered my hand with the ball. When he spoke next to my ear, I felt the tingles all the way to my toes.
“Start like you normally do.” He brought my hands together, hiding the ball in the glove. “When you go to rock back, your hand moves an extra couple of seconds before you even move forward.” He moved my hand a couple of times and then pulled my arm back in the regular motion.
“Okay,” I said, unable to move a muscle after he let go of my arms. It took everything within me to focus on what he’d been trying to tell me and not the way he smelled like guys deodorant and something like the beach.
I pitched another one and glanced over at him. Big mistake as my stomach flipped itself over from the bright smile on his face.
“Yes! That was it. Now just make sure to do that one every time.”
“Sure. Easy.” I tried to make my voice sarcastic, but I was pulled in by the way his eyes stared into mine.
He resumed his spot behind the plate, and I took a deep breath. I’d done this with him so many times back in the day. Why did this time feel so different?
Probably because at the age of thirteen, Jake hadn’t filled out yet. He’d shot up several inches during seventh grade and still had that gawky, skinny-teenager look to him. I’d thought he was cute then, but this new filled-out physique seemed to be making my nervous system lose complete control of its responsibilities.
I threw a couple more pitches, feeling as if my brain was sucking away all the energy I had just to get the ball forty-three feet to him and get it to hit a decent spot.
“Riseball,” I said, flipping the ball in my hand as my fingers found the grip. It was the one pitch that threw every baseball player off as it was nearly impossible for their pitchers to throw something that broke upward when throwing overhand. I’ll admit I needed a little ego boost after his critique.
“So you mean a fastball that doesn’t break?” Jake asked, that cocky smile flashing at me again.
I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came. Better to just show him how far I’d come.
My leg came forward at the same time as my arm, landing to give me the momentum to spin the ball up. The ball started on a flat plane and then broke upward toward the last two feet before it got to Jake. He didn’t see the movement until too late, and his glove missed completely. The ball knocked against his forehead near his hairline, and he tumbled backward, leaning against the rubber mat.
“Oh my gosh! Are you okay?” I dropped my glove and ran over to him, hesitating to touch him. Four years ago, I wouldn’t have given a second thought to helping my best friend and next-door neighbor, but now, things seemed different. There were still tingles on my arms from where he’d helped demonstrate what I was doing wrong a few minutes ago, and I could only imagine what would happen if I touched him again.
Jake rubbed his forehead with his hand, his one eye closed. “Since when did you get the ball to break like that? I don’t remember your riseball moving so much.”
“It might have been my favorite pitch to practice after you stopped hanging out with me. Now it’s my best pitch.” I gave him a small smile, my gaze alternating between his forehead and his deep brown eyes. “I’ve got a few ice packs in the house. Do you want to come in and get one? Or do you want me to bring it out here?”
Jake paused a few seconds, and part of me wondered if I’d interpreted this weird relationship wrong from the start of the day.
“I’ll just wait out here.”
I turned and ran inside to grab an ice pack from the freezer. Grabbing a towel from the kitchen, I wrapped it around the cold pack for insulation. Then again, with how he’d made fun of me just before I pitched it, a little frozen skin might do Jake some good.
“Here, let me see it,” I said, kneeling in front of him.
He pulled his hand away, and I had to school my expression. The large bump poking out from his head was already turning colors. “Just put this on it for a few minutes. You’ll have a battle scar. I should’ve just told you to move.”
A weak smile and a deep chuckle caused me to laugh back. “I thought I could handle anything Penny Davis threw at me. I guess we just proved you have more secrets than you led on.”
I sat next to him, surprised by the small amount of excitement I felt at his compliment. I pulled at the grass around me, staring at the blades of green in my hand before tossing them in the air. “Not really secrets. Just a girl trying to get a scholarship.”
“A scholarship is really that important to you, huh?” The way his one eye stared into mine made me grateful I was sitting.
“My life isn’t all cake and ice cream like yours. I work to pay for most of my activities, and when I’m not working, I’m either practicing or studying so I can actually get out of this town when we graduate.”
His smile faltered, and he looked away. “I can understand that. But you still have a happy family, right? I mean, it’s got to be easier now than it was when your mom was here.”
I stiffened. I’d never really talked about my mother to anyone but Jake. The months before she finally walked out seemed like they’d never end, with the constant screaming and fighting about the littlest things. I’d spent a lot of time over at Jake’s house during those days, creeping back into the house when she’d driven off or I knew for sure she was asleep.
“Yeah, that’s true. I just feel bad for my dad. He’s such a good guy and deserves to be happy too. Instead, he’s stuck trying to provide for two kids and barely sleeps because he’s always taking on extra jobs to keep up with the mortgage or the bills.” As much as I didn’t want it to happen, sometimes I wished my dad would just sell the house so he wasn’t working himself to an early grave. But he’d already taken a hit to his pride when Mom walked out. Losing the house would be something he wouldn’t make it back from.
“Well, your family looks a heck of a lot happier than mine.” He pursed his lips, not meeting my gaze.
I reached over, touching his arm with my fingers. Electricity shot through me. “What happened? Your family was always happy too. Remember all the cookouts we’d have between our yards and the fun nights out our moms would plan?”
He nodded, looking more sad than happy at the memories. “Those were some good times. But then things changed. My dad got that promotion, and it was like our world just turned out to be a fake, you know?”
I opened my mouth to say something, when I heard the back door screech open. My head snapped in that direction, and I saw Derrick coming through with my father close behind.
“Penelope Davis, what is going on?” It was the sternest expression I’d seen from my father in years, and panic sank into my limbs. His earlier words to stay away from Jake popped into my thoughts, and I knew that Jake holding an ice pack to his head while we sat next to each other was definitely not something he thought he’d see.
/> Jake and I stood up together, and I brushed my hands off on my shorts, trying to find the words to explain the situation and make it look less, well, worse than it was.
“I was practicing out here—”
“It’s my fault, sir,” Jake said, cutting me off. “I came over and thought I could catch one of Penny’s riseballs and ended up with a big lump on the head instead.”
The anger melted from my father’s expression, and within seconds, he was laughing harder than I’d seen in forever. “That pitch is wicked. You’re a brave man for even standing in the line of fire without equipment on.”
I turned to Jake, seeing him chuckle a bit as the mound on his forehead stuck out, reminding me it was my fault. So much for Dad going postal on the kid.
“I’m going to grill some burgers for dinner,” my dad said, turning to walk back to the house. “Make sure you check for signs of a concussion, Jake. I know how much you mean to your team, and it would be a shame if you lost the game against Croydon next week.”
“I hope that turns black,” Derrick said, laughing and pointing as he moved to get something out of the shed.
I waited several seconds before turning to Jake, not quite sure what to say next. “I’m sorry about your head. I just hope it doesn’t ruin any of your Saturday night plans. If anything, you might get more girls ready to make out with you in sympathy with this.” I reached up and lightly tapped the exposed bump, trying to hide a smile when he jumped back.
“Really? Who pokes a forming bruise?” He slapped the ice pack back over the spot and frowned. “And contrary to popular belief, I don’t kiss every girl I meet.”
Folding my arms across my chest, I bit my tongue, willing the words not to spill out. But I didn’t have that kind of willpower for long. “Could have fooled me.”
Jake held up his hands, giving me the ice pack. “This was a bad idea. I was hoping we could be friends again, you know, like we used to be. At least I know your father doesn’t completely hate me.”
The Perfect Play: A Boy Next Door Young Adult Romance (Rosemont High Baseball Book 1) Page 6