Stealing Bases (8 page)

sixteen

A few hours later, I grab Kibbles’s leash off my desk and attach it to her collar. I take off toward Wavecatcher Beach to meet Zachary, my stomach twisting worse than the hairpin turns on Mulholland Drive.

Once outside, who should I spot but the very same Zachary Murphy scaling his front steps. He sees me and smiles. Kibbles pulls the leash toward him. I pull back.

“Not yet, Kibbles.” Then I look at Zachary. “You need to go a different way.”

“Can’t we just walk together? We’re going to the same place.” He grins. He always thinks he can get whatever he wants with that smile.

“Nope,” I say, pointing in the opposite direction.

“Fine.” He hangs his head and shuffles down the street toward the beach. I turn around and take the long way.

Fifteen minutes later, I find myself staring at the infinite navy water, glistening beneath the setting sun. The sea breeze is cool tonight, but I welcome it after benchwarming all day. At least I’m up and moving. But I can’t believe I’m moving toward Zachary.

I used to love this: Zachary, me, Kibbles, our spot. But that was before . . .
What was I thinking?

“Thought you’d never get here,” Zachary shouts. Still dressed in long mesh shorts and his Beachwood Academy blue Wildcat tee, he kept his promise (or at least one of them)—he’s not treating this like a date.

Still, I’m breathing heavy and it’s not from the walk.

Zachary grins, showing off his chiseled face, square chin, and deep dimple. “How’s my girl?” he asks, stepping down from one of the two cliff seats at Wavecatcher Beach.

I cast a glance at the cliff and remember how we used to lie there, him tickling my stomach.

Kibbles does what I can’t—she lunges playfully toward Zachary. As she charges forward, her tail thumps against the sand, spraying specks everywhere.

“Hey, Kibbles.” Zachary squats down and rubs her head. Kibbles licks Zachary’s face like it’s an ice cream cone.

I tug back on her leash, but Kibbles won’t budge.

Traitor.

After a few minutes of being smothered by Kibbles’s kisses, Zachary turns his attention toward me. “I was hoping you’d come. I needed you.” He takes a short step in my direction, his face inches from mine.

“I bet. . . .” This day has been tough enough. This was a bad idea. I should have never agreed to meet him.

I place my finger on Zachary’s nose. I gently shove him back a few steps. “Remember,
friends. . .
”

“How can I forget? You still haven’t responded to my prom invitation.”

I shrug, beginning to really regret having come.

Zachary isn’t dissuaded, but he has enough sense to change topics. “What’s going on at softball?” He reaches down to pet Kibbles again, but I quickly pull back on her leash, this time successfully.

“Weren’t you there today? You saw Amber on the mound.”

“Yeah. So?”

“So? She had like a zillion strikeouts and her own personal cheering section.”

Zachary takes another step toward me and grabs my arm. “That should be you. You should be the one out there. . . . Don’t let it eat you up. Pretty soon, you’ll be the one everyone is cheering for.”

I look down at Zachary’s hand. It feels so good to have it wrapped around my forearm. Just as comforting as it felt last September when he held me as I bawled my eyes out the night I learned about my parents’ divorce.

I wiggle my arm from his grasp. I can’t think like that. Zachary’s not the person I thought he was.

“Ky, just please tell me what you’re feeling. . . .”

“I . . .” I look up into the chocolate speckles in his eyes and then, before I know what I’m doing, everything rushes out. “I just hate Coach Kate right now for picking Amber over me. Especially after everything I gave to the program.” I let out a deep breath.

“Where did Amber come from anyway?” Zachary asks, cracking his knuckles.

I plop down onto the copper cliff seat and look up at the pink sky. “She’s a transfer.”

“Really?” Zachary raises his eyebrows and falls onto the cliff seat next to me. He’s about to put his arm around me when Kibbles bounds onto my lap, ignoring Zachary.

“Good girl, Kibbles.” I laugh.

Zachary shakes his head in mock disgust. “Seems like a no-brainer to me.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, stroking Kibbles’s blonde fur.

“This whole starting spot mess,” Zachary continues.

“Huh?”

“It’s an easy fix. She transferred schools without a legit reason. She’s an illegal transfer. Turn her in.”

“She’s not, though.” I sit up.

“Who cares? Turn her in and let the CHSAA sort it out. In the meantime, you’ll have playing time and she can ride the bench.” Zachary jumps to his feet.

“I can’t do that. Her parents got a divorce just last year.” I shiver, pulling my softball warm-up tighter. Kibbles nudges between Zachary and me, her face resting on her paws.
I guess her loyalty was short-lived.

“Yeah, so? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Only everything. I know how hard it is when your family is okay one day and
finito
the next. And plus, I only mess with girls who mess with you.”

He snickers. “You’re way too nice.”

“Now that’s definitely something I don’t hear every day.” I feel the sides of my mouth twitch into a grin.

“Then, I guess you have to hope that Amber chokes under all the pressure.” Zach stares out at the dark ocean, then back at me. “Are you cold? You can borrow my jacket.”

“I’m good.” This whole mess would be so much easier if Zachary were mean to me. And even easier if Amber was. Then I could squash her.

“What’s up? You know, since the move into the guesthouse and everything . . .” Zachary looks at his hands. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fantabulous.” I stare at the crashing waves. By now, the sun has set and the stars fill the sky like glitter.

“Have you heard from your mom?”

“Next question.”

“Okay. How about . . . How’s it going with your dad?”

Kibbles nudges Zachary’s knee for more affection.

“If you call walking into Mr. SoCal Guru’s makeshift yoga studio and finding a bunch of women in sweaty spandex suits bending and twisting all over my living room floor good, then it’s going amazing.” I pump my fist.

Zachary raises his eyebrows. “When are these classes?”

I shove him gently with my shoulder, keeping my arms glued to my side. “You would ask, you perv.” Kibbles takes this as a sign that we like Zachary again. She stands up and nudges her nose in his shorts.

“Ha ha ha . . .”

“See, even Kibbles can’t seem to keep her paws off you,” I observe.

“What can I say? I’m irresistible.” He shrugs his shoulders.

I shove him again.

Zachary falls over dramatically and erupts into laughter. Then, all of a sudden, he sits up, as if just remembering something.

“Yes . . . ?”

“I saw your dad the other day.”

“What? When?”

“When I stopped by to see you.”

Wait. Zachary stopped by to see me?

“You weren’t there.”

“It doesn’t matter either way. I told you, the guesthouse is off-limits.”

Zachary ignores me. “He gave me this green goopy drink. He told me it was algae or something. And that it’ll help me with my joints.”

“Urgh. The algae drink. It’s one of his latest obsessions. Please tell me you didn’t drink it.”

“Of course I did. I’ll do anything for basketball.” Zachary flexes his bicep. “Can’t you tell?”

I giggle. “Not exactly.”

Zachary grins and lowers his arm. “Your dad’s a good guy. He always means well.”

“Yeah. My dad’s great. He quit his job because he had a meaningless pain in his chest, ‘realigned his priorities,’ and chased my mom away. And now my mom has to work on the other side of the country just to ‘start over’ or to get away from him or for whatever reason she’s doing it. And of course, my dad won’t even take the money she makes.” I cross my arms in front of my chest.

“I’ve known your dad since I was born. And trust me, he’s a good guy. Better than . . .” Zachary stops himself.

“Yeah. Lucky for me that our dads were college roommates.” I pump my fist again. “I didn’t even have a chance at a normal life.”

“The difference between your dad and my dad is your dad stopped partying after college and mine didn’t,” Zachary adds.

A chill runs up my back. “Did something happen tonight?” I ask. Without thinking, I reach my hand out to touch his arm. But then, in the last second, I pull back.

Catching me in the act, Zachary eyes me longingly. Then he breaks down. “The usual. I’m so sick of it. Dad was out drinking with his work buddies and then he came home all messed up. Mom and Dad were screaming at each other when I left.”

“Was Zoe there?” I think about how many times Zoe, Zachary, and sometimes even his mom used to sleep over in the guest bedroom of our old house after one of his dad’s benders.

“Nope. She was still with you guys at practice. I texted her and told her to sleep at Abby’s tonight.” Zachary’s eyes glisten. “I just can’t take all the craziness anymore.”

“I thought he was doing better.” I smooth down Kibbles’s fur.

Zachary rubs the top of his buzzed head. “Yeah. He was. Until he lost a deal at work last week. It’s been downhill ever since.” Zachary’s hand falls to his side. “He’s horrible to my mom . . . to us. I don’t know why my mom continues to put up with his . . .”

“It’ll pass. He’ll get it back together. He always does. Maybe he’ll go to rehab for real this time,” I say. And then, before I realize what I’m saying, I ask, “Do you need to stay at my, uh, place?”

Zachary shakes his head. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Ky.” He inches toward me.

“Hmm . . . Like half of Beachwood.” I pull my legs up to my chest and balance on the cliff.

He stares at me for a second. Then he has an epiphany. “Enough of this,” he exclaims. “It’s time for some fun!” He rushes to his side of the cliff, pulls out two gloves, tosses one my way, and raises his arm like he’s about to launch the ball from straightaway center field. “Go long!” he shouts.

I stand up and smack him in his rock solid gut with my glove. Then I take off down the beach, shoving my left hand into the glove. I notice that the word BEACHWOOD is written in permanent marker across the palm. “Zachary Michael Murphy, where did you get these?”

“I snatched them after school. I’ll put them back.” He mischievously grins.

I shrug as Zachary tosses me the ball. I catch it effortlessly and stretch out my arm. Once I regain my footing, Zachary squats in front of me like a catcher.

“Okay, right here, Kylie.” He punches the inside of the mitt. Then he sets up the glove.

I find a spot about forty feet away from Zachary, wind up, and fire, dragging my bare foot across the sand.

The ball smacks into Zachary’s glove. “Strike one,” Zachary shouts. “Not only is this girl beautiful, but she’s an amazing pitcher.” Zachary tosses the ball back to me.

I catch it, dig my foot into the sand, wind up, and fire again.

Smack.

“Ouch . . .” Zachary pulls out his hand and shakes it. “This girl throws some heat. Definitely UCLA bound if you ask me.”

“Don’t be such a baby.”

“There’s only one baby in my life.” He winks. “And that baby can throw.” He tosses the ball back to me. “Strike two.”

As the sun begins to set, resembling an orange orb, I catch the ball and set up once again.

“Put her in the books.”

I set up, whip my arm, and launch a fastball into Zachary’s glove.

Pop.

“Man . . .” He tosses the glove onto the sand.

I jog over toward him. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve never seen a second string leave a catcher’s hand looking like this.” He shows me his red palm.

“I still got it!” I squeak. Then I proudly hold his bruised hand in mine.

seventeen

A few days later, I’m sitting in pre-calc, tracing the caramel swirls in my Caramel Frappuccino with my straw when my phone buzzes. With a flutter of anticipation, I pull out the phone from my back pocket, thinking that my mom is finally calling me back. Before anyone has a chance to notice, I quickly shove the phone underneath my desk for a peek.

I let out a sigh, shove my phone back into my pocket, and take a sip of my Frap. The jokes about all the time I’m spending warming the bench are getting old.

“Since we still seem to be having problems with logarithmic functions, I’d like you to work together in groups of three today,” Mrs. Cunningham says. She scrawls the even problem numbers on the board.

As I’m pulling my desk next to Missy’s, taking care not to spill my drink, Nick steps next to me. “You didn’t answer me. Is it warm?”

Nick laughs and holds up his hand for a high five to Andrew.

“Don’t even.” Missy glares at Andrew.

He lowers his arm.

Nick holds his hand up to Brett, who freezes. “Don’t get me involved.” He looks at me.

I hold his gaze.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Solerno?” Mrs. Cunningham asks.

“No, Mrs. Cunningham.” Nick grins.

I wink at Brett and fall next to Missy. “You’ll never guess who I met at the beach.”

Missy continues to furiously mock up a Banana Fad brochure in her sketchbook. “Please tell me it was Brett Davidson. I saw the way you guys were just looking at each other. . . . Yummy.” She lets out a long breath and changes her angle. Then she continues to shade.

“Zachary showed up at my game. . . .”

Missy stops shading, but doesn’t look at me directly. “Please tell me you did not fall off the wagon again.”

Phoenix comes over, interrupting our conversation. “Can I work with you guys?” she asks.

I glance at Missy to see if she cares, but she’s already resumed her shading. Even though I want to finish our convo about Zachary, I shrug and say, “Sure.” Then I point to the empty desk next to us.

Hannah drags a desk over to our group. She plops
Prom
magazine on top of Missy’s desk.

The edge of the magazine lands on Missy’s sketchbook. Immediately she pops her head up. “Ohmigod!” she squeals. “Is that the magazine with
the
dress? You know the one with the black lace?” she asks, breathless.

“Yeah. It’s sick,” Hannah says. Her soda tab bracelets clang against the desk.

“I’ve been dying to see this dress. . . .” Missy exhales, frantically paging through the magazine. “I think it’s just the perfect inspiration for the marketing campaign.”

“Uh—excuse me,” I butt in. I can’t let Hannah get any ideas about staying put. “Looks like we’re full. Mrs. Cunningham said three today.” I reach over and pull Phoenix’s desk closer toward mine.

“Shhh . . . Ky,” Missy whispers. “Maybe if we don’t say anything, Mrs. Cunningham will make an exception.”

Before I can open my mouth, I’m distracted by the sound of a scrunched-up paper ball being deflected by a pre-calc textbook. Judging by the look of it, the ball was on its way toward us before Amber’s BFF Danielle stopped it with her book.
Great, now I owe her one.

“Nice try, Nick,” she says. She lowers her book and continues to work with Sophia.

“Wow. Do you ride the pine with Kylie too, Danielle? With that kind of talent on the bench, I can’t imagine what’s on the field.” Nick chuckles. “Maybe you guys will win one more game than last year. That would make you like four and fourteen, right?”

Danielle pipes up. “I don’t know how you people stand each other. Your whole group is
so
immature.” She looks at Missy, Nick, Andrew, and Brett, her eyes landing on me.

“And tie-dyed socks are just the model of maturity?” I say to Danielle. I pick the paper ball up off the floor and toss it back at Nick.

Nick ducks and the paper ball nails Andrew in the head. They both crack up.

“Deserved.” Missy pops her head up from the magazine.

“What did I do?” Andrew holds up his hands.

“Wait,” Hannah says. She jumps up on top of my desk like it’s a skateboard.

“What the . . .” I’m face-to-face with Hannah’s hot pink Chucks.

“See that?” She points to the black-and-white
The Wisdom of Albert Einstein
poster hanging above the whiteboard.

Missy and I, stunned silent by Hannah’s eccentric behavior, can’t help but look up at the poster. For once, we’re both thinking the same thing:
What could Hannah possibly see in that poster of Einstein, besides wild eyes and frizzy hair?

“Yeah?” I ask, shocked that Mrs. Cunningham hasn’t looked up from grading papers to put an end to Hannah’s spectacle.

“It’s perfect!” she shouts, pointing at the poster. She jumps down off the desk. “It’s exactly what I needed to finish Eva’s dress. The whites and the black . . .” She gazes off.

“Uh . . . We’re in class . . .” I begin to say.

“Psst . . . Ky,” Brett Davidson whispers behind me.

I roll my eyes at Hannah and turn around to enjoy some eye candy.

He moves his long dark bangs away from his eyes and looks up at me sheepishly.

In that second, I feel a little bad for ignoring Brett lately—I of all people should recognize when someone is just trying to save face in front of their friends. “Brett , I’m . . .”

“No, Ky, me first.” He pauses. “I was wondering if you’ve . . .”

Two beeps silence the class.

“Hello?” A voice from the main office echoes through the wall speaker, interrupting the chaos.

“Yes!” Mrs. Cunningham jumps up from her spot at the desk.

“Could you please send Kylie Collins to Coach Kate’s office?”

“Sure!” Mrs. Cunningham scans the room. “Kylie. Kylie Collins?”

“Maybe you’ll actually play a few innings today,” Nick says to me as I stand up. “JV, that is.”

I glance at Nick. “The day I’ll play JV softball is the day you’ll actually get a girlfriend.”

Brett and Andrew chime in, “Aww, man! Good one.”

I concentrate on Brett. “Talk later?”

“Definitely.” His dark eyes hold on to mine. He nods and leans back on his chair.

As I slowly begin the walk toward Coach Kate’s office, I wonder what Brett could have had to say to me that was so important. But then, as I hit the phys ed hallway and walk past the trophy case filled with accolades from every sport except softball, my thoughts turn to Coach Kate:
Why on earth is she calling me into her office? It’s probably not to tell me that she’s sorry for completely ruining my life.

I pick up the pace and make the right toward Coach’s office. When I reach her door, I suck in my breath and attempt to calm the butterflies. Nick’s voice echoes in my head.
Could he be right? Is this about demoting me to JV?
That’d be even worse than warming the bench.

I console myself by thinking about what a jerk Nick is—he doesn’t know anything. Then I steady my nerves and tap on Coach Kate’s wooden door.

“Come in,” she yells from inside. As I walk toward her, the Frap I just devoured swishes around in my stomach. I look over at Martie’s door at the other end of the hallway. How is it that just three short months ago I was inside her office hashing out the Taylor Thomas and Zachary Murphy mess, and now here I am again? Well, not in Martie’s office per se, but in a similarly hellish situation.

I peek inside Coach’s office. She’s scanning our local newspaper, the
Beachwood Sun
, and furiously scribbling on a pad of paper. Her platinum hair is tight at the base of her neck.

“Kylie,” she says, glancing up. “Thanks for coming. Have a seat.” She motions to the gray fabric chairs in front of her desk.

“Hey, Coach,” I answer, nervously sliding into the chair closest to the door. “Anything good?” I nod at the newspaper in an attempt to stall for time.

“Just looking through the stats from the weekend. Seeing how the other teams in our conference are stacking up. Eyeing Santo Bay. You know the drill.”

I nod. I do. It’s something I also do obsessively.

Coach leans back on her leather chair. “I called you in this afternoon to tell you that Amber is home with strep throat. You’ll be starting today.”

“What?” I hold on to the sides of the chair like it might take off and fly around the office.

Coach sits up suddenly. Then she leans in close, as if she’s just now decided it’s time for us to have an overdue heart-to-heart. “Look, I know this season has been extremely difficult for you, Kylie. It’s not easy to watch someone take your position away. A position that you worked really hard to win.”

For a second, I feel bad for all the horrible things I’ve said about Coach Kate. She’s not really a spineless freak. She’s just doing what’s best for the team. And pretty soon, she’ll realize that what’s best for the team is . . . ME.

“Thanks, Coach,” I say, standing up.

“It’ll be nice to see you take the mound again.” She stands up with me. “I’ll see you in a few.”

Yup, you will
, I think.
And when you do, you’ll have no choice but to give me my spot back.
I calmly walk out of her office. Then I release the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
Normal. Everything is going back to normal
. I reach up and grab my heart charm, rubbing the white gold between my index finger and thumb.