Fall ❈ Benny Rodriguez

iv. the purge

　Just then, Bertram appeared at Kenny's side. He threw an arm around the pitcher's broad shoulders, grinning boyishly, and said, "You're in luck." Still grinning, he pulled Kenny closer, like a proud father.

　While Kenny laughed and rolled his eyes, I narrowed my own eyes. "Was that a race joke?"

　Bertram's mouth fell open. "Was it...racist?"

　"Chill," Kenny laughed again, patting Bertram's chest. "It was funny. But I don't think Leah would appreciate that." He settled beside me—and my heart skipped a beat.

　There Benny stood, now reaching into the mini-fridge. Sweat plastered his dark hair to his forehead, caused his thin shirt to cling to his toned stomach. Yes, he had definitely changed more than I'd realized—

　Benny's eyes flickered to the side, lashes curling elegantly toward his brows, and he was so beautiful. The artwork of a master's hand. His beautiful gold-green eyes had come to meet mine, but I could not force myself to look away.

　His cheeks were flushed—most likely from the heat and the game. Benny pulled out a rectangular object—definitely not a drink, it was much too long, too flat—

　"Here," Benny said, his voice quieter than usual, and he offered me the rectangular object: a Hershey's bar. "Bertram told me this morning, so I...stopped by Vincent's for this. For you."

　Bewilderment rendered me speechless, and for a moment all I could do was stare at him, open-mouthed and probably looking like an idiot. All of the irrational anger fled, like demons fleeing from the faces of cold, merciless angels.

　Quickly I gathered my wits and, carefully, reluctantly, took the Hershey's bar, and mumbled a, "Thank you."

　Seeming as suddenly nervous as I felt, Benny turned his eyes and stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. Brandy still travelled toward the dugout, seemingly out of breath.

　Quietly, Benny said, "You played great today. That last hit was incredible."

　I tried to clear my voice of certain emotion when I repeated, "Thank you," but I must have overdone it. My voice was rather devoid of all emotion, sounding bored and ungrateful, and Benny awkwardly moved away.

　Kenny, who had paused to witness these moments, turned widened eyes on me. "Okay, I realized you two weren't talking much—but I didn't think it was like that between you guys."

　I refrained from dropping my head into my hands, opened the water bottle with shaking hands, and took a long drink. Kenny watched me, lips pursed lightly. I wondered what he was thinking.

　Suddenly, another shadow fell upon me, and I looked up to find Brandy. She had not gone to the mini-fridge yet. A smile painted her face brighter, sharper.

　"Hey, Makayla," Brandy chirped. "You did really great. It was awesome to actually see you in action. Before, all I got was millions of stories."

　A thin coat of anger returned to toughen my heart. "Yeah, I know," I said, voice sharper than intended. "You've told me before."

　Brandy took a fractional step backward; the movement was so small, I barely caught it, but I did notice the light in her eyes dim. Normally, it would jab at my heart, fill me with pity and regret. I favored kindness and did not wish to hurt those who did not deserve it. Now, that mindset was buried in shadow.

　"Yeah," she giggled nervously, "sorry."

　Mouth set into a line, I stared at Brandy, stared at her until she, similar to Benny, was compelled to walk away. Bertram, who had moved to sit beside Kenny, exhaled sharply.