He tugs me in for a quick hug, patting my back affectionately. Then, he tips his head to the side, inspecting me. “I reckon you’re even taller than you were last Sunday.” His eyes dance merrily.
“Yes, sir. Dad measured me and said I grew two more inches.”
“Boy with such good manners and looks’ll have the ladies swarmin’ like bees to honey.” He grins and ruffles my hair like I’m eight years old all over again. He’s probably the only one I let get away with that these days. Grandpa Joe’s a great guy, and I wish I had a grandpa like him.
“Where’s Shortcake?” He looks past me. “Y’all are always joined at the hip. Thought for sure she’d be close by.”
“She’s with her mom.” I lift my chin in the direction of where a very bored-looking Magnolia stands beside her mother, who’s talking with some fancy-dressed woman with perfect hair.
“Ah, yes. I reckon she’s gotta keep a tight rein on her with you around.”
I toss him a confused look, and he chuckles. With a wrinkled hand on my shoulder, he steers me closer, then dips his head, lowering his voice. “I may not agree with the way my daughter handles Magnolia’s upbringin’, but she’s no dummy. She can see the writin’ on the wall.” He studies me. “She knows that y’all are close, and that worries her.
“You’re a part of Magnolia’s future”—his eyes grow squinty, as if he’s trying hard to see something in the distance—“and she doesn’t like that.”
Grandpa Joe’s words catch me off guard. I’m a part of her future? I have no idea what he means by that. That we’ll always be friends?
Before I can ask him about it, his attention moves to someone behind me. His entire face lights up, and I know who it is before he even opens his arms. Turning his head, he offers his cheek, and says, “Shortcake! Have you come to give a little sugar to your grandpa?”
Magnolia’s soft laughter greets me before she darts in front of me and plants a kiss on her grandfather’s cheek and hugs him.
“You’re just as pretty as a peach, young lady.”
She blushes, but before she can respond, someone steps up to speak to him. With a wink, Grandpa Joe turns away to greet the others.
“Hollis Barnes.” Magnolia grins up at me and it’s like the whole world brightens when she smiles like this.
I can’t help but smile back. “Ma’am.”
“So,” she starts, then glances around to make sure no one can overhear, “we’re still on for tomorrow?”
“As long as you feel okay.” She looks better than she did last week, that’s for sure.
Magnolia makes a face and lays a hand over her stomach. “Ugh. That was awful.” Her face brightens. “I feel much better.”
“I’m glad.”
“Plus”—she lowers her voice—“I’ve been practicin’ my form in the mirror.” She repeats what I’ve coached her on. “Legs apart, elbows out but not too much. Grip comfortably tight.”
I can’t suppress a chuckle and lay a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve got this. Don’t overthink it.”
Something draws my attention, and I find Mrs. Barton’s sharp eyes on where my hand touches Magnolia.
I immediately drop it.
Magnolia peers up at me before turning to see where my attention strayed. When she turns back, she looks a little sad.
“Guess I should get back over there.” She doesn’t sound the least bit excited about it. Her smile isn’t as bright, but it’s still sweet. She lifts to her toes, the corners of her eyes crinkling, and I duck my head for her to whisper in my ear. “Love you, Hollis.”
We both lean back, and I say what always comes next.
“But not like that.”
We grin at each other before she turns away, heading back to her mother’s side.
“Nope. No girls allowed.” Chase Beckford’s face scrunches up nastily as he eyes Magnolia.
She tenses beside me and murmurs, “Hollis, it’s all ri—”
I step toward him. “Bet you she’ll hit a home run.”
Chase sneers. “Reckon she couldn’t hit much of anythin’, let alone a home run.”
Magnolia moves forward, fists clenching at her sides. “Ready to put your money where your mouth is, Beckford?”
Chase rolls his eyes and glances around at the other guys gathered around us near home plate. There are always baseball games on this field in the old park down the street from our neighborhood.
Chase and the others live in a neighborhood not too far from us. They go to our school but don’t talk much to me these days. Mainly, it’s because I hang with Magnolia. But I’m not heartbroken over not hanging out with them, though. The comments they made about me being friends with her, about me being her charity case, really pissed me off.
Magnolia taps the bat to the dirt at our feet, her lips pressed in a thin line. “If I hit a home run, y’all will let me play another time.” She takes a step closer to Chase. “If not”—the edges of her lips curl up slightly—“then I’ll wait at least a month before I ask again.”
Chase glances around at the others, and some of them shrug. Finally, he rolls his eyes. “Fine. But no favors. You get the same pitches as anyone else.”
She grins. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”
The guys take their places, Chase taking the pitcher’s mound, and I turn to Magnolia and lower my voice. “Remember, keep your eye on the ball. Don’t chase it. Let it come to you.”
Her expression is fierce and determined. She nods. “Got it.”
She walks over to the mound, and I move aside to watch. My palms are sweaty and nervousness spreads through me while she looks calm as can be.
Chase winds up and sends the first pitch, which is ball one. I study Magnolia’s form and find myself holding my breath on the next pitch. It looks good—Chase is a pretty darn good pitcher—and everything happens in slow motion.
Magnolia swings, her bat connecting with the ball in the perfect spot, the loud crack echoing, and the ball whizzing through the air. She takes off, running as fast as her legs can carry her, and rounds the bases as one of the outfielders chases after the ball that’s landed on the other side of the fence that encloses the ball field. Her blond ponytail bounces with her movement. The others look stunned, like they’ve never seen a girl do anything like that before.
I grin so wide, I swear it probably stretches from ear to ear.
She rounds the bases, and as soon as she crosses home plate, she rushes at me, throwing her arms around my neck to hug me tight.
“I did it, Hollis!” Pride and excitement fill her voice. “I really did it!”
“Heck yes, you did!” I squeeze her back.
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
She came to me a few weeks ago with a list she’d come up with of the things she wanted to accomplish before her mom forced her to get braces.
Of course, my best friend had listed Learn how to play baseball and hit a home run so the boys will respect me on there.
A few of the other things, like eating all the corn on the cob she could handle—bad move on her part because she ended up making herself sick—and chewing her favorite type of gum were on her list.