“Ninety-three,” Coach Wallace says. “You got this, kid.”
I do another one. And another one. And another one.
Ninety-three each time.
“Fuck.” I take a breath.
“We’re out of time. I don’t want you overthrowing if you’re so dead set on pitching tonight,” he says. “You’ll get there.”
“Yeah.” I pick up the ball and toss it into the bucket beside me.
“Are your parents coming tonight?”
“I don’t know. They’ll definitely be there this weekend though.” I pick up my bag, hoist it over my shoulder, and say goodbye.
As I walk out, I take it all in. This is one of my last practices here. These are my last three regular season games before we go to Charlotte for the ACC championship next weekend. It’s scary and exciting and I realize that maybe that’s one of the reasons I’m dying for Misty to give me a chance so badly. She’s already the one who got away and a part of me feels like maybe if I get her now I can secure her forever. My brother Mav would tell me it’s a stupid way to think, let alone talk, about a woman. Jagger would tell me I’m being a simp. I wouldn’t disagree with either of them in this particular instance, but I also don’t want to hear it, so I’m not going to tell them about any of it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Misty
“You did not tell me we were going to the game.” I glare at my sister.
“I thought you were going for sure. You’re writing a damn article on them.”
“Yes, but I wasn’t planning on going to tonight’s game. I was planning on hanging out with you.”
“Well, Jag got us tickets, so we’re going, and you’re coming with.”
“I don’t even have a ticket.”
“Misty, please.” She shoots me a look. “It’s like you don’t know who our parents are. Or theirs.”
“This is going to be so awkward,” I mutter under my breath as she walks inside and I follow.
“Hi, Mom. Dad. Jag.” I kiss each of them on the cheek. They’re all wearing baby blue shirts, ready to go support their baby blue team. Normally, I truly do not care about the rivalry. Truly. But when it comes to this, it bothers me.
“I’ll be right back.” I run up the stairs to my old room and pull out a Duke T-shirt. It’s a basketball shirt, but it doesn’t matter. A sport is a sport. When I run back down, the four of them laugh hysterically.
“You’re really going to sit behind home plate wearing that?” Mom asks.
“Yes.” I roll my eyes. “It’s not like the people playing don’t know what school I go to and everyone else can kiss my ass.”
“Misty!” Mom says.
“Fine. My butt.”
“Let’s go.” Dad shakes his head. “I hate getting there late.”
“You only like getting there early so you can have a beer and a hot dog before the game and then again during the fourth inning.”
“When was the last time we went to a game together?” Dad asks, raising an eyebrow. “But alas, you’re right.”
“Is Mavy coming?” I ask when we get outside. “I haven’t heard from him.”
“Yeah, he’ll meet us there. Rocky had practice today, so he’s waiting for her.”
“So things are getting serious.”
“I’d say.” Jagger nods.
“Good for him. Rocky is such a great girl,” Mom says. “And her parents are such good people.”
I smile and nod in agreement. They really are. “And Ms. Bev makes amazing beef patties.”
“I’d kill for a pattie with coco bread,” Dad says as we get in the car.
“Me too.” My stomach growls. I put a hand over it. “I had a croissant an hour ago, but I’m starving.”
“That’s because you don’t eat,” Mom says.
“Here we go.” I roll my eyes.
“You don’t.”
“Okay, Mom.” I sigh. “I’ll get a hot dog and beer before the first inning starts.”
“Oh my God.” Mom shakes her head. “You better not get drunk at this game.”
“With one beer?” I laugh. “Please, Mom. I’m Dominican, show some respect.”
They laugh and I keep smiling.
“So, how’s following Mitchell around? Is he being a pain in the ass?” Jag asks.
“When is he not?” I look out the window in hopes to hide my blush. My sister nudges me hard. I shoot her a look.
“I know that face.”
“It’s nothing.” I smile.
“Bullshit,” she whispers.
“We’ll talk about it later.”
Thankfully, she drops it, and Dad starts talking to Jagger about shoulders, which means the rest of us stay quiet the rest of the ride over.
I was lying when I said I didn’t get drunk off one beer. I had one, fast, on an empty stomach, and I definitely feel a little lightheaded. I say this to my sister, who laughs and hooks her arm around mine.
“You’re such a clown, Mist.”
“I know.” I yawn.
“So, Mitch?”
“Mitch is Mitch.” I shrug. “He wants me to be his girlfriend. I turned him down.”
“And that’s it?”
“Yes.”
“Bullshit. He asks you out every time he sees you and you turn him down every time. Normally, you act all pissed off at the sound of his name alone. What’s changed?”
“I hate you.” I give her a side-eye. “But we had sex.”
“What? When?”
“Last night. He showed up after that party I told you about and it just sort of happened.”
“Sort of happened? Why’d you cave?” She pushes my shoulder with hers when I don’t immediately answer. “Misty.”
“I don’t know. He was at that party heavily flirting with me and then he showed up and he looked so good and said all the right things.”
“But you still don’t want to be in a relationship with him.”
“Hell no.”
“Why not? You know he’d treat you like a queen if he got another chance.”
“I don’t care.”
“Yes you do.” She lets go of my arm so we can walk down to the seats, which are in the first row, right behind home plate.
We sit—my mom, me, Josephine, Jagger, my dad, Maverick, Rocky, and a friend of hers. The game starts, I’m half paying attention, but mostly talking to my mother and sister about her wedding, which she’s planning for August.
“I really, really do not like purple,” I say. “It’s just so played out, and it’s summer. Do something different.”
“Like what? I don’t want orange or yellow.”
“Pink. Mint green! That’s different.”
“Mint green?” Mom pulls a face. “No, honey. This is not the eighties.”
“All colors are for all decades, Mom.” I shoot her a look.
“But not purple.” She shoots me a look right back.