by Kris Kendall
****
Getting up early, I spent longer than usual in the bathroom getting ready. I already got a knowing look from my mom. Fiddling with my hair in the mirror, I looked at the clothes I decided on. Tilting my head back, I wondered what the heck I was thinking. It was just a girl. I didn’t even know if she was into me for certain. Shaking my head in disgust, I headed out the door. But first, I took a second look.
Grabbing my favorite baseball cap, I headed downstairs.
“Who’s the lucky girl?” my mother asked.
“There’s no girl, mom,” I said.
“Look at you. You spent extra time this morning getting ready. There’s a girl. I should tell your father.”
Groaning I rolled my eyes. “Dad’s busy with work. Don’t bother him about something that’s nothing.”
“I hear more about your sister’s life than I do about yours and she’s off in college,” my mother complained.
“Mom, there is nothing to tell,” I protested. Then I took a bite into a huge cinnamon roll. My mom was a good cook. “You really shouldn’t cook like this. You’ll be the death of us all,” I teased her, trying in vain to change the subject.
Mom looked up. “Your sister never complains. In fact, she was telling me the other day how the cafeteria food just wasn’t like home.” She continued to talk and, unintentionally, I tuned her out. My sister and my mom could do without my mom’s cooking. But I would never tell either one of them that.
“I gotta go. I’m going to be late,” I said with the other half of my cinnamon roll in my hand.
During school, I wasn’t allowed to wear my hat. With my lucky hat on the passenger seat, I sat in my car and finger combed through my hair before I made an appearance. My only class with Mercy didn’t come until after lunch. So again, I wondered what the hell I was doing.
Getting out of my parent’s old beat up car, I knew another thing that was a must. A job. My dad said that he would match whatever I put down for a new car. After baseball season was over, that was tops on my list. What girl would want to ride around in this monster?
Finally, after the day dragged on to high heaven, lunch came. Not that I was excited about what the cafeteria was serving. Not with a mother who made everything she fixed taste good. Grabbing a burger, I made my way out of the line and outside to the quad. The sun was out and almost everyone was taking advantage. Mercy was sitting by herself and not wanting to miss another opportunity, I headed her way. She glanced up from a book she was reading with one hand and held half of a sandwich in the other.
“Mind if I join you?” I asked.
With a welcoming smile, she said, “Sure, have a seat.”
Just when I put the tray down, Maggie, Doug and his friend sat at the table with us. I could see in carrot tops eyes he wasn’t thrilled I was here. That was too bad for him. Good for me because Mercy hadn’t even glanced his way.
“Paul,” Doug said.
“Doug,” I said back.
“You know Tim,” he said, eyeing his friend.
“Sure,” I said with a half nod in the guy’s direction.
Before I could focus my attention back on Mercy, some of the guys from the team saddled up, tapping me on my shoulder. When I looked around and saw melon boy was with them, I gritted my teeth for what was going to come out of his mouth.
“Who’s the fresh ‘meat’?” melon boy asked, using a slang term for freshman.
About ready to call the melon boy out, Maggie beat me to it. “We have names, dickhead.”
“So, red has fire in her mouth just like her hair. Tell me darlin’ what’s your name?” melon boy asked, faking a southern drawl.
“Cut it out, Bellman,” Doug said, giving voice to the guy’s surname.
“Oh Dougie, is she yours? What about her then?” he asked, pointing at Mercy.
Standing, I got in Bellman’s face. “What’s your problem, Bellman?”
One of the other guys spoke her name to melon boy. “Ah, Mercy, Mercy, me,” Bellman said holding a tight fist to his heart. The other guys laughed at him, only bringing more attention to us.
“Dude, leave,” I said, eyeing the guy, ready to make good on the threat I gave with the tone of my voice.
“Whatever, Bowman. She probably isn’t putting out anyway.” Having said the last word, he strode off with his friends.
Sitting again, I said, “I’m really sorry about that.”
Mercy looked more pissed than I thought. “I’ve heard it all.” Looking up, she clarified. “My name. I’m not sure why my mother wanted to torture me from having a normal life.” Sighing, she put her sandwich down. It looked like she was going to speak until her eye lifted past my face and behind me.
“Bowman,” a voice said. I recognized the voice. This lunch idea had turned out to be a real pain in the ass.
“McCallister,” I said, turning in my seat, which was awkward on this picnic style table.
Luke was standing in the background as usual. The guy didn’t want to interfere but clearly he had Flynn’s back. A girl with shoulder length hair, bright from the sun in some places, dark in others, strode up to Flynn with purpose. She had a reputation for making her way around the starters for every sports team in our school. I guess her presence next to Flynn indicated he was her next target.
“Are you coming or what?” she asked, her gaze taking him in like he was going to be her last supper. I had to admit the girl was hot and I felt a tiny bit jealous of the guy. Women practically threw themselves at him.
Nodding, she walked off. Luke said quietly, “Let’s go.”
Flynn said, “Give me a minute.”
Luke shook his head and walked off. Flynn turned his focus back to me. Briefly he looked over at Mercy but then said, “Today it will be my turn to pitch while you catch.” Then he walked away leaving the threat for me.
“What was that about?” Mercy asked. “He’s such an asshole.”
At least something good came out of this. The look of disdain clearly said she wasn’t into the guy like the rest of the female population here at school.
“Nothing, just baseball,” I said, not really wanting to explain how this was supposed to be my year. The previous starter graduated last year leaving a vacancy for a pitcher. I was a shoe in until Flynn showed up. The guy could throw and I may end up second to a freshman. If Mercy went for him, that would be the icing on the cake.
“I just don’t get what girls see in him,” she said. And I smiled.