Tea For Two

12

Right now, I would even be okay with watching it with Kyle, as annoying as his conversation has proved to be. But- true to every cheesy pep talk about living and breathing as a complete team- injured players get to sit in the dugout for the game, and I am alone.

Lovely.

I turn back to the field just in time to see the other team- clad in white and red- walk in. Compared to our team, they're not much different- varying heights, some are broad shouldered, some slim. Except for my lovely girl, there's nothing different at all.

"August!"

Huh?

I wait for a second to make sure that the voice I heard really was coming from the people behind me and not my imagination. Sure enough, I hear it again.

"August Shoemaker?"

It's Fidelity Reynolds, the sports writer for the school newspaper. I smile lopsidedly at her as she rushes toward me, her black, bobbed hair flitting out at the sides from the air sliding past.

I have known Fidelity since kindergarten- like so many of the teens watching the game today. She sits by me in my physics class due to an alphabetical seating chart and the fact that "Robinson, Katherine" was taken out and placed in a remedial course.

In comparison to my other classmates, Fidelity is less uncomfortable to be with, though she is eccentric. For starters, 'Fidelity' is her middle name; she was just barely starting school at the age of 5 when she decided that 'Nicole', her first name, was just too plain.

"Hi, Fidelity," I say as she comes to a halt in front of me.

Like any good journalist should, she cuts right to the chase.

"Are you here alone too?"

I smile.

"Yeah, I am."

"Oh, good. Come on, let's be alone together."

"Okay," I say, trying not to laugh because I'm sure she fully intended that situational irony to be present.

I follow her as she climbs the ladder to the small fenced in area above the home dugout where the photographers and school journalists usually view the game. Though, because she is the only one on the school newspaper staff that ever covers sports, this is her usual unshared spot. We sit down, about a foot away from each other, and she proceeds to pull a notebook and a camera out of her voluminous purse.

"I'm here for the game," she explains.

"I would expect no less," I reply. "What with you being the sports reporter, and all."

"Ah, yes. Eventful nights, sitting under bright lights and watching other people sweat for all of our shared glory- this is my bread and butter."

If anyone had any doubt about her being a writer, I assume they would have abandoned it with that sentence.

We sit quietly for a moment as she pulls her hair up into a sloppy ponytail and shoves a pencil through it.

"For safekeeping," she says.

I nod.

"So why are you here?"

I know that look- I've seen her interview students before- she knows the answer, she just doesn't want to be rude.

I lift one eyebrow at her. She smiles, knowing what I'm thinking.

"It's your story. You tell me."

"I'm here to see Emily play."

"Emily Turner?"

"Yeah, she's my best friend."