Authors: S.E. Hall
Emerge
Emerge
S.E. Hall
Copyright 2013, S.E. Hall
Cover Artist:
Melody Simmons
Editor: Erin Roth, Wise Owl Editing
Formatting: E.E. Long, Biblio/Tech
All rights reserved.
This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part,
without written permission from the author.
This book is intended for mature audiences only.
Table of Contents
Chapter 7—Three Little Words—Evan
Chapter 8—Let’s Get Real—Laney
Chapter 14—Gotta Crawl Before You Walk—Laney
Chapter 15—A Picture’s Worth A Thousand Words—Laney
Chapter 17—Home Bittersweet Home—Laney
Chapter 19—Double-Edged Sword—Laney
Chapter 22—Out in the Cold—Laney
Chapter 25—Bring It Pong—Laney
Chapter 26—Keep Your Friends Close, And…—Evan
Chapter 28—Birthday Girl—Laney
Chapter 29—When You Wish Upon A…—Laney
Prologue
~Lil Laney~
I
simply cannot hang out with the girls at recess. No one should expect me to, right? At the ripe old age of 10, I’ve already figured out one should be interested in far more than boys and gossip; the only two things they ever seemed to talk about. Besides, they don’t want anything to do with me anymore. Michelle, the loud one, has made it clear that her mother thinks “it’s a shame I have no female influence,” so surely my dad will completely understand the call from Principal Mills…again.
Principal Mills doesn’t really ever get mad at me. He’s a lot like my dad, easygoing and a bit of a softie, so it’s easy to sit with him in his small, cramped office until Dad gets here. I’m not too concerned about getting in trouble; I never get in any real trouble. I’ve heard them talk many times after sending me out to the hall. They think I’m “angry and acting out.”
They’re wrong.
I’m not angry and I don’t need their pity. They should pity
her
. She’s the one who gave up. Well, she gave
us
up, anyway. Who knows what her greener grass was exactly.
Soon enough my dad strides in, casual as always, and all too comfortably takes a seat. He’s here at least once a month, after all. They shake hands like they’re poker buddies or something. I’m not even sure Dad calls him Principal Mills, or even Mr. Mills, anymore. I think he just calls him Paul. They talk for the first ten minutes about this year’s high school hopefuls. This town lives for high school football and baseball, depending on the season. Hopefully they forget my dilemma altogether.
No such luck.
“Wanna tell me what happened, slugger?”
I put on my best puppy dog face, “Daddy, ‘member what you said about not starting a fight, but I could damn sure finish one? “
The fine Principal tries to hide a chuckle and my dad reminds me to watch my mouth.
“Well…Andy Collins shoved me first, cause he’s a sore loser, so…I finished it. I whooped him in Horse and then I whooped him for shoving me.”
That should clear all this up, right?
“Now, Laney, one shove only warrants one shove back. If I got a call, you musta tore the boy up. Why didn’t you just go tell a teacher?”
Is he serious right now? I’m not a snitch.
“Daddy, please. I didn’t tear him up that bad…I didn’t have to.”
“And why is that?” He cocks one eyebrow curiously.
Principal Mills answers for me. “Cause Evan Allen did it for her.”
I
t didn’t take long to find Mr. Allen. Turns out the Allen family had recently moved in right down the street. Dad wanted to let the man know that he thought what his son had done was noble and sure hoped Evan wasn’t in any trouble. Confirming he wasn’t, it’d only seemed right to invite the boy fishing with us.
At least, that’s how Dad explains it to me. It doesn’t stop me from pouting the whole ride to the pond and trying to ignore the intruder in the back seat with me.
“Thanks for inviting me, Mr. Walker. I love fishing.”
Sure he does; what a butt kisser.
“My pleasure, Evan, we’re happy to have ya’ along. Aren’t we, Laney? “
“Of course, Daddy.” I smile sweetly before continuing. “Say, Evan, you know how to bait your own hook, right?”
What?
I’m genuinely concerned. I don’t want to end up doing everything for the kid.
Evan just looks at me from the corner of his eye, not answering.
“Dad, did you bring him a life jacket? We wouldn’t want him to fall in and drown if he hooks a big one.”
Dad doesn’t answer me, either. They both look uncomfortable; I’m not the least bit perturbed.
There’s more where that came from, boys!
I can do this all day and it’s well-deserved, as far as I’m concerned. How dare Dad invite this boy into our time together? My time with Dad is sacred. We don’t need company.
“Hey, Evan…” I drawl, kicking the smartass act up a notch as we climb out of the truck and grab our gear, “don’t get used to this. One rescue, one trip. Got it?”
Dad acts like he doesn’t hear me and walks ahead to the water. He thinks his new little hero can hold his own with me. We’ll see.
“Rescue, huh? That’s what you think that was?”
So… Evan can answer.
“Whatever, you know what I mean. I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. My dad and I are just fine without them. I don’t need new friends any more than I needed saving. I can take care of myself just fine.”
“Oh, I could see that, tiger. That’s not why I did it.”
Tiger?
Could he not remember my name? Typical boy. “Why did you then?”
He thinks for a minute, kicking the dirt with his toe, and then shrugs. “I’ll let you know as soon as I figure it out.”
I never heard what he came up with. Turns out, we had plenty of other things to talk about.
Chapter 1
8 Years Later
~Laney~
“
W
alker, you’re up!” Coach Logson yells at me.
Here we go again, hero or zero time. Since it’s my senior year, and I’ve played softball since I can remember, I ought to be used to the pressure, but those familiar butterflies in my stomach start to stir.
Coming off the bench cold in the last inning sucks. It can only lead to disaster or heroism, often making DH the worst position on the team. So, armed with my fifty-fifty chance, I grab my helmet and bat and approach the warm-up circle.
Taking my practice swings, timing with the pitcher, I really should be too focused to hear my father’s voice above the crowd and my own thoughts.
“Fall down swinging, slugger!” he shouts in that “ball is life” voice of his.
My dad was an all-star pitcher and hometown hero in his day, so he knows the game inside and out and has a true love and respect of it. He’s rarely missed an inning of my many years playing and I’m always pleased when my performance delivers and makes him proud.
More distracting than his voice, however, is the glance I catch of my other fan that never misses a game, Evan.
Evan Allen, my best friend and rock, is sitting on the top bleacher as always, sporting his navy #14 t-shirt that proclaims him a Walker fan. I sneak a longer peek at him out of the corner of my helmet and see that he has his fingers crossed on both hands, left leg twitching up and down. Sometimes I think he gets more nervous for me than I do.
He knows I’m looking, much like I can always sense his gaze upon me, and turns slightly to wink. “You got this,” he mouths with a firm nod.
Focused on me, he doesn’t notice the pack of she-wolves sauntering up the stands. Giggling and prancing, or whatever it is they do, they take the bleacher in front of him, almost blocking his view. I’m sure my helmet doesn’t hide the eye roll I give, but I don’t care. I turn my focus back to the game.
Kaitlyn Michaels, our right fielder and pretty much the only female friend I have, pops up and the ball is easily caught, the second out of the inning. It’s go time and I step up to the plate. My father again shouts to swing for the fence. He, too, gets annoyed when I get pulled in cold at the end, so he’s basically telling me to ignore my sign and swing for it.
My first pitch is outside, and although Coach Dad has always advised me to lay off those, I of course swing…and miss. Banging my bat across the plate, I ready myself for the next pitch. This one comes in low and I lay off; one thing I’ve always had is a good eye. I take a deep breath.
I can do this.
Swinging late, I get a piece of the pitcher’s third attempt.
“One-two.” The ump calls the count…right before I swing again and whiff.
That’s the thing about my dad’s “no guts no glory” theory: if you connect, it’s gone, you win and you’re the MVP. But if you miss…it feels like this.
I had struck out, ending the game in their favor. Being the last out of a game is the worst feeling ever. I’d almost rather not get in the game at all.
After feigning interest in the Coach’s post-game speech, not that I don’t respect him and my team, but I’m kinda over it right now, I start on my trek to the locker room…only to have Dad step in my path.
