I couldn’t have been more proud of her.
“Wow, that was a surprise,” Bird said, after the cheers died down and we took our seats again. “She’s really good.”
“Yeah,” I said. “She really is.”
We settled in to watch the game. Brandon was on first base. Jason was on the mound. Bird and I shook our rattles.
“What are you going to do when summer is over, Bird?”
“Start my senior year.”
I knocked my rattle on her knee. “I mean about Brandon.”
She shrugged. “Your cool idea wasn’t so cool after all. I don’t know what we’re going to do. He goes to Texas Tech, out in West Texas. I’ll never see him. What about you and Jason?”
“Austin isn’t too far away. We might be able to make it work.”
“I just wanted a summer boyfriend.”
“Me, too. Only now I want a forever boyfriend.”
“Yeah.”
She said it like it was the worst thing in the world to want.
“You’re going to come to the party afterward, right?” she asked.
“You bet. Wouldn’t miss it.”
It was another opportunity to be with Jason. I usually ate lunch at Ruby Tuesday. And of course, I always came to watch his practices.
We’d gone to another concert. It had been a violinist. We’d been the only non-silver-haired people there. When you’re poor, you can’t be choosy about your entertainment, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have the best time ever.
Jason struck out the first, second, and third batters.
“Do not go talk to him,” Bird said.
“No problem.”
“Don’t even look at him,” she said.
“Now, that I can’t do. He’s so cute.”
“Hey, guys,” Tiffany said, calling out to us from the steps.
“Hey, Tiff. Loved what you did with the national anthem,” I said.
“Didn’t do anything with it.”
“I know. That’s the reason I loved it.”
“Is there room for me to sit with y’all?”
Not really, but she was, after all, Miss Teen Ragland. And my sister.
“Sure,” I said. “We’ll make room.”
I scrunched up next to Bird.
“It’s a good thing I like you,” she whispered.
Tiffany made her way down the row and sat beside me.
“So who’s up to bat?” she asked.
“Alan.”
She knew the players now because she’d started coming to the practices to watch Mac. She was going to be so thrilled when I told her that I’d signed her up to work concessions with Bird and me next week. Hey, you do the talk, you do the walk.
“Oh, and Mac’s in the batter’s box,” she said, her voice laced with excitement.
This was the first time she’d actually seen him play, because the Rattlers hadn’t had any games since we went to the Rangers game.
I leaned toward her. “Any minute now he’s going to—”
Look into the stands and grin, touch his helmet. Tiffany waved at him.
“Isn’t he to die for?” she asked.
“Absolutely.” Still a nine point five. While my guy…well, I’d decided to be honest and change his hottie score to ten point five. The only one on the roster.
Alan got to first base, and Mac stepped up to the plate.
Tiffany squeezed my hand. “Oh, I hope he does good.”
“He will.”
Mac bunted. Tiffany stood, started clapping, and yelling for him to run! Run! Run!
The ball rolled toward the pitcher, who quickly picked it up and slung it to first base.
Stunned, Tiffany sat down as Mac trotted across the field toward the dugout. She leaned toward me. “I thought he’d hit the ball harder.”
“That’s called a bunt. He did it on purpose, so the guy on first could get to second. It’s called making a sacrifice.”
“But if he’d hit a home run, the guy could have gotten home.”
“Home runs are rare, Tiff.”
“Still, it seems like you should always try.”
“He has to do what the coaches tell him. They told him to bunt.”
“Well, I don’t think much of that strategy.”
I felt like I’d fallen into an alternate universe. Who would have thought I’d ever be talking baseball with Tiffany? The next thing I knew, she’d be joining Dad and me for our after-dinner pitch sessions.
Jason was the next batter. He did his whole Velcro routine. Then he stepped up to the plate.
The first ball went past.
“Strike!”
I groaned. “Come on, Jason.”
He swung at the second.
I didn’t realize I was squeezing Tiffany’s and Bird’s hands until Bird said, “You know, bones break under pressure.”
“Oh, sorry.” I tried holding my own hands, but it wasn’t as comforting.
The next ball was actually a ball. As a matter of fact, so were the two that followed, which gave Jason a full count. I hated full counts. I hated the pressure he was under. I just wanted him to have a good game.
But no matter how he batted or pitched, I’d still love everything about him. Because it wasn’t the ballplayer I’d fallen for. It was the actual guy. Jason. Even if he didn’t play ball, I’d be crazy about him.
For the briefest of seconds, it was like he looked back into the stands, like maybe he spotted me, shaking my rattle, giving him all the encouragement I could. I could have sworn I saw a corner of his mouth curl up. Then he did the whole Velcro batting glove thing and stepped up to the plate.
The pitch came.
He swung.
Crack!
He hit it! He hit it! I jumped up and started shouting.
I had a second to see the stunned look on his face, like maybe he’d never hit the ball before, but that couldn’t be…
And then I realized what it was. As he started running, he turned his head, his gaze following the ball…
The ball that went out of the ballpark!
Right over the Backyard Mania billboard!
Home run!
My boyfriend had hit a home run!
I jumped around, pointing at the number on my jersey, hugging Bird, hugging Tiffany, watching Jason slapping his coach’s hand as he rounded third. I watched him cross home plate, wearing the biggest grin on his face.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” Bird said.
“That we’re ahead two to nothing?”
“It means he’ll insist you sit in this exact spot for every game. He’ll think this is the good luck spot.”
“No way.”
“Either that, or he’ll ask you not to wash your underwear.”
“Ew! That’s so not happening. Maybe I can convince him it was wearing the jersey.”
Yeah, I thought. That’s the ticket.
The rest of the game was actually a letdown. No more home runs. No more runs, period. Very few hits actually. The Rattlers ended up winning two to zero.
Awesome!
The players were going onto the field. The announcer was explaining that they’d welcome host families joining the players, but others should stay in the stands while they readied the fireworks.
“Come on,” I said, grabbing Tiffany’s and Bird’s hands.
I think most people were ignoring the announcer, because a lot of them were scrambling onto the field. And by the time we got there, I was sorta wishing I’d stayed in the stands.
I lost track of Bird and Tiffany, but I figured they’d gone off to hook up with Brandon and Mac.
“Good game,” someone said, patting my shoulder.
“Thanks,” I said, laughing.
Then I felt arms come around me and pull me close.
“Hey,” Jason said, kissing my neck before parking his chin on my shoulder.
Smiling brightly, I turned around in his arms. “Great game.”
“Thanks.”
> “You hit a home run,” I said, like maybe he hadn’t realized it.
“I know it seems odd, considering how long I’ve played baseball, but I’ve never hit one before,” he said. “But I knew, I knew as soon as I felt the bat make contact with the ball, that it was going to go out of the park. I don’t know if it sounded different or felt different, but I just knew.”
“You did look stunned out there.”
“I was. Like I said, I’d never done that before. I mean, hitting has never been my strength.”
“It was tonight.” I reached up and kissed his chin.
“I need to figure out what it was I did that made me hit the home run.”
“You connected the bat to the ball.”
“No, it was more than that. Something I did before the game, maybe—”
“No, no, no,” I said, lifting myself up onto my toes so I could look directly into his eyes. “There was no thing you did other than keeping your eye on the ball and hitting at the precise moment when the impact would send the ball over the fence.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Okay, you want to know what it was? It was having me for a girlfriend—”
He put his hand behind my head and kissed me to shut me up. Obviously, he didn’t think I understood the whole ritual scene, and in truth, I didn’t.
I mean, sure, when I played softball, I always chewed cinnamon-flavored gum during the game, and I never started chewing until after the national anthem. But that was different. If I didn’t do that, I missed way more balls than I caught.
But home runs? There was nothing that guaranteed home runs.
Jason drew back. “Maybe it is having you for a girlfriend.”
“I was kidding.”
“I’m not. I like you a lot, Dani, but collegiate season ends in a few more weeks. I can’t stay.”
“I know.”
“But I could come back…to visit.”
I snuggled up against him. “That’d be great. And I’ll come visit you.”
“All right, folks, we’re going to douse the lights,” the announcer said.
The stadium went black. A colorful array of fireworks—green, yellow, white—burst into the air. A couple of seconds later, a boom sounded.
Everyone oohed and ahhed.
Even me. I’m a sucker for fireworks.
Jason pulled me closer, and everything I felt for him just seem to swell like those fireworks. It was glorious. Brighter than I’d expected it to be. Bursting forth with all sorts of emotions. Joy because he was mine. Sadness because he would be leaving. A scariness because I didn’t know exactly what the future would hold for us.
Red, white, and blue streamers exploded against the black sky. The air popped.
I’d hoped for a summer boyfriend. Pick a boy. Any boy. How dumb was that?
But somehow I’d lucked out. When it came to boyfriends, I’d somehow managed to hit a home run. I was crazy about Jason. And he was crazy about me. And somehow, we’d make it work.
Another explosion of fireworks filled the sky. The colors faded away and then…a burst of red, bang, a burst of white, bang, a burst of blue, bang.
I was sure more followed, because I could hear the distant booms, but I was no longer watching the fireworks.
Jason was kissing me, and we were creating our own.
ALSO BY RACHEL HAWTHORNE
Caribbean Cruising
Island Girls (and Boys)
Love on the Lifts
Thrill Ride
Copyright
THE BOYFRIEND LEAGUE. Copyright © 2007 by Rachel Hawthorne. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub Edition May 2007 ISBN 9780061756313
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Rachel Hawthorne, The Boyfriend League
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