I looked.
Christina was here. My eyes went directly to her, and don’t ask me how the hell I knew where she was sitting because I hadn’t even been sure she’d be here at all. Our stadium was huge, sold out for every game, but there she was, behind home plate about twenty rows up with a baseball hat covering her dark hair.
Why did I know exactly where to find her? Why is she here? Did Logan give her a ticket? My eyes locked on to hers. Even through the shading of my helmet and her hat, I could still see her eyes. She was looking right at me. And she refused to look away.
Jesus, Cole, get your head out of the stands.
“Strike three!” the umpire yelled, and I refocused.
Looking at Coach at third base, I watched him go through the signs, waiting for what he would ask me to do. Hit away. Stepping into the batter’s box, I sucked in a quick breath and readied myself to watch the pitcher’s hand and grip on the ball. My stance felt good, but my head wasn’t in it. I was out of sorts, and I felt it in every part of me. He threw the first pitch, and I watched it pass me by. A perfect fucking fast ball that I should have hit out of this park, and I hadn’t even swung.
Tossing a hand in the air toward the umpire, I waited for him to shout, “Time!” before I stepped out of the box.
Coach Jackson stared me down from the third base line, a frown marring his features. I knew he was wondering what the fuck my problem was or what the hell I was doing. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second to clear my damn head. Her blue eyes appeared. Grimacing, I slapped the side of my helmet. Talk about being a mental case.
What if, all this time, I’d thought the draft and it being my last year were blocking me at the plate, but it was losing her that had messed me up? What if, in making sure I cut her out of my life so I could focus on baseball, I’d ruined my focus instead?
“Batter?” The umpire walked up next to me. “You okay?”
“Fine. I’m fine,” I said with attitude before making my way back toward home plate. Each step gave me more clarity until I saw it all so clearly. The realization was like a thousand arrows raining down from the sky, aiming to strike me all at once. Everything suddenly made sense, and the tension that had been present moments ago eased from my body. I felt strong, assured, confident.
I moved my legs into position in the batter’s box and waited as elation filled my veins. The pitcher knew I had been in a hitting slump, and I’d just watched a perfect fast ball go by without so much as flinching. He was going to give it to me again. And I counted on it.
He did. Another fast ball right down the middle, and I swung perfectly, the bat connecting with the ball with a TING so loud and so smooth that I knew instantly that it was a no-doubter. Dropping the bat to the ground, I started running to first as I watched to make sure the ball cleared the fences in left field. Once it did, I slowed my pace and jogged around the bases toward my waiting teammates, the cheering stands filling my ears.
When my foot slapped down on home plate, I took my helmet off and pointed it in Christina’s direction, holding it in the air. I saw her jaw drop slightly, and I grinned before high-fiving and tapping helmets with my teammates, a newfound motivation growing inside me.
I’d told her that I needed her gone in order to focus, but I couldn’t focus for shit after she left.
I’d thought I’d be fine without her, but I hadn’t been fine since the day I forced her to go.
I’d believed that I was doing the right thing, but being without her was wrong.
I’d been such an idiot. How had I never put it together before now?
Christina had always been there, by my side, since day one, and I had never struggled at the plate. She wasn’t bad for me or distracting me from my goals. She was the exact opposite. And as soon as the game was over, I was going to find her and tell her.
Am I in the Twilight Zone?
Christina
“Uh,” Lauren stuttered, her shock as apparent as mine, “did he just point his hat thing at you?”
“It’s a helmet. How many times do I have to tell you, it’s a helmet?” I asked, knowing that no matter how often I tried to explain baseball to Lauren, she would never truly get it. I honestly didn’t care. I was just happy she’d agreed to come with me.
I’d had no intentions of coming to this game until Logan texted that he had left me two tickets. It felt rude to not show, but if Lauren hadn’t said she’d come with me, I would have stayed home, manners be damned.
“Okay, fine. His helmet,” she enunciated dramatically. “He pointed it at you. I mean”—she looked around us—“who else would he have pointed it at?”
I shrugged my shoulders because the last thing I wanted to do was assume that Cole had meant that little gesture for me. It could have been for anyone. Maybe his dad was here? Or some other family member? Or some girl he’d screwed last night? I had no idea. But I did know that there was no mistaking the look he had given me when he was on deck earlier.
Maybe the helmet gesture was meant for me. But if it was, then why? We weren’t even on speaking terms.
“He was definitely pointing it at you,” a girl chimed in from behind us, her tone not at all happy or pleasant.
I angled my head to look at her.
“Although none of us can figure out why.” She flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder.
“Oh, Jesus, really? Let us know when you wrap your tiny brain around the answer, okay?” Lauren said, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
Hair-Flipper leaned between us and whispered, “You don’t have to be such a bitch.”
“You’re one to talk,” I said, defending whichever one of us she was trying to offend.
“Cole can’t commit to you, but he can’t let you go either. Ever wonder why that is, Christina?” she said my name like it disgusted her.
“No,” I lied with conviction, “but you sure seem to.” I stopped paying attention to the game as I concentrated on the girls behind me. I had no idea who they were, but they all knew me. I wished that I could say I was surprised, but I wasn’t.
“We do have a theory.” Hair-Flipper leaned back in her stadium seat, and I turned my body to face her and her group of clones.
They literally all looked exactly the same with blonde hair extensions, fake eyelashes, and filled lips. I felt like I was staring at a group of social media influencers who should be posing up against the pink wall in LA for likes and mentions, not sitting in the stands of a baseball game. And even though I was passionate about social media, this was one facet of it that I didn’t enjoy or want to be a part of. I would never understand the fascination with looking as plastic as possible at such a young age. And honestly, what were all those people influencing anyway? Nothing. I hated the fakeness of it all and the way it perpetuated girls to feel like they weren’t enough if they didn’t look exactly like these three girls did.
“You have a theory about me and Cole? Two people who have nothing to do with you?” I tried to make her feel as stupid as she sounded, but it obviously wasn’t working.
“Yes.” She sounded pleased with herself, and I wondered for a second if this was all some sort of joke that I was about to be the butt of. Hair-Flipper sat there, grinning at us, her too-white teeth practically blinding me.