Dear Nate {Dear #1}

-Chapter 28-

Here's the next chapter. This story is starting to wrap up. Maybe ten or less chapter left. Depends on my mind and if I come up with new ideas.

Hope you like this!

Also, updates will not be as often as they were during the summer. i have school now and that means reading tons of books and doing papers--cheers to english majors! So yeah, that's why i haven't updated as much.

COMMENT

VOTE

FAN

SHARE

-DANA

_______________________________

NOT EDITED

______________________________

 

 

 

Alison has asked me today if I’m coming to see her, so I responded with a no. I can’t possibly see her now. She doesn’t want to even be friends and yet she asks if I’ll see her today? I took a shower and got my baseball equipment before coming downstairs. I guess my mom must have a sensor for when I’m in a bad mood because once I reach the bottom step she asks if I’m alright.

            “Fine,” I respond coolly, grabbing my car keys from the side table. “I’ll be back later.”

            I don’t wait for her response. I get into my car and drive to the batting cages. I needed to let my anger out on something. If I focus on the anger and not the hurt, I’ll be okay.

            The guy at the front greets me and assigns me a lane. I get into the cage; put the helmet on my head, before setting the ball speed on the machine. I get into my stance and wait for the ball to shoot out. As the ball comes flying at me, I time it perfectly so I can hit the ball. It feels nice batting again. It’s been over a month since baseball season ended and I miss this.

            I keep batting until the machine runs out of balls. My breathing is ragged as I collect them one by one. Once I have the machine refilled I turn it back on. I keep hitting them, getting all of my anger out or as much as I can.

            “Nice hitting,” I hear my dad behind me.

            I turn my head and see him leaning against the outside of the cage. I walk over to the machine and turn it off before going to greet my dad. He opens the door and walks in once he realizes it’s safe.

            “Want to tell me what’s wrong?” he asks, starting to collect the baseballs.

            “Nothing,” I say, brushing it off. I take a seat on the bench and take out my water bottle. Taking a couple gulps, I see my dad giving me a stern look—he’s not buying what I’m selling. I sigh and wipe away the water that dribbled down my chin. “Seriously Dad, nothing is wrong. I just wanted to hit today.”