Disclaimer: This is an original work of fiction. These characters belong to me, as well as their lives. Do not steal them from me.
Thanks. Enjoy.
~~~
The next day after school, I go to watch her first baseball practice. She's so excited, she can't stop talking about it all day. On the way to school, at lunch, and through the walk to the diamond, she's chattering on about pitching, gear, and her teammates.
She's stoked to be part of the team, and to get to know the boys. I'm trying to convice her otherwise.
"Em, you don't know these boys like I do. They're... nasty," I say.
"It doesn't matter, they're my teammates," she argues.
"I know, just-"
"August." She stops and turns toward me, taking my shoulders in her hands. "Stop it."
I sigh. She doesn't get it now, but she will soon.
"Fine," I say. "But be careful."
We've arrived at the diamond, and she walks in, greeted by only a handful of the team, as well as Coach Van. He looks around and sees me sitting in the bleachers, a book in my hand.
"Kid, our practices are closed. You can't be here," he calls up to me.
I sigh and walk down to where I'm closer to him so I don't have to yell.
"I was just going to stick around for Emily so I can walk her home," I explain to him.
A whole lot of the team is standing around listening. Though our school is a fair size, I go to class with a lot of them. And to be fair, these past two days have been the most some of them have heard me speak in a while. Lucky them.
"Look, I'm sorry," he starts.
"One of us could drive her home after," says Kyle Johnson, Emily's pitching counterpart.
"Would you?" says Emily, so excited to be bonding with them.
He smiles. "Yeah. In fact, I could."
She's beaming up at him like he's the best fucking thing since sliced bread. Compared to some of the rest of these idiots, he is. But I'm not sold on it.
"What time would she be getting home?" I ask.
"How far away does she live?"
"Five minutes, keeping to speed limits."
"6:35"
"Okay, I'll be waiting," I say to him, still not sure.
I've always been rather protective of the rare female friends I've had- this was one of the first signs I ever got from myself that suggested I may be anything but straight. It started out as me worrying about their health and physical well being. It soon escalated to thinking I could be a better boyfriend than the jerks they always seemed to be with. To say the least, it was a big red flag the first time that particular thought floated through my brain.
Jake Sellers- probably the biggest skeezball on the team- starts laughing at me.
"What, you don't trust us to keep track of your girlfriend?"
Never mind that Emily and I aren't dating, and I don't intend us ever to, the fact that he laughed at my concern makes me slowly turn on him.
"Sellers, I wouldn't trust you to keep track of your dick even though your hands never seem to leave your pants."
A few of the guys laugh and comment: "Dude! Burn." and I turn to Emily. "I've got to jet, Amazon."
She smiles reassuringly at me.
"Later, Tiny."
~~~
At 6:30, I sat down on one of the wicker chairs on my porch next to my mother, and I stayed there for ten minutes, waiting. They're late.
I stand as a camaro rolls by my house, Kyle at the wheel. It pulls up to Emily's driveway, and Emily climbs out of the passenger side, hoisting her duffel bag over her shoulder. She leans for a moment to talk to Kyle, and then steps back and walks as fast as her legs will take her to her house. She doesn't even stop as she yells toward me "Get your ass over here, Tiny."
My mother is absolutely apalled.
"Why does she feel the need to swear across both of our lawns?"
"Because, mom," I start, but don't really know what I'm about to say. So I just don't finish.
I walk over to Emily's house. The front door is wide open, and her duffel bag is open in the living room. I follow the trail of school stuff to the back door, which is also open, showing her in the back yard, mitt on her right hand and ball in the left.
"Mitt up," she says, tossing me one.
I pull it on and walk about twenty feet from her. "What's up?"
She pitches. Hard. Swoosh. "They don't like me."
I pitch back. Swoosh. "Why?"
Swoosh. "Because. I'm a girl."
Swoosh. "That's not a real reason to not like someone."
"I know."
I pitch back, wondering what to say next.
She goes ahead and tells me, anyway. Catching for her is starting to hurt my hand, but I'm not about to complain.
"I did drills as fast as I could, I ran bleachers in time with all of them," she says, catching my pitch.
I catch her returning throw. Swoosh. "So what's the deal?"
Swoosh. "You ever fall down while running bleachers, August?"
Swoosh. "Never run bleachers before. Not athletic."
She drops the ball, peels off her mitt, and pulls up her jeans. Both shins are scraped- bad- and bloody. "It doesn't take much to make the person in front of you fall. Especially if they have long hair, and your hand gets caught in it."
She sits down, crossing her legs and propping her head in her hands. I walk over and squat down in front of her, my head cocked to the side.
"Who?"
"Sellers."
She doesn't look like she's going to cry. Frankly, I'm glad, because no matter how pissed off I am right now- and I swear, I've never seen red before, and I'm close- I've never been able to handle tears.
"Why?"
She shrugs. I sigh, and hold out my hand. She takes it, and I lead her by the hand through the yard and to her bedroom.
"Change into shorts," I say, walking to her bathroom, closing her door behind me. I dig under her sink for a first aid kit, finding band aids and anti-biotic cream.
I go back to her door, tapping on it with one of my knuckles.
"Come in," she sighs.
When I said shorts, I meant something that would let me get to her raw shins, not her bloody knees as well.
"Damn," I say, and I sit down on the floor in front of where she's dangling her legs, and I smear some of the cream on them.
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry Sellers got to you."
"Me too."
"You know what you have to do, though, right?"
"I'm not going to tell Coach Van, Aug." She sounds tired.
"I wasn't suggesting that."
"Mm?"
"You've got to work so damn hard that you replace him."
She snorts. "Oh, that's happening."
I unpeel one of the band aids and hold it up to her shin- it's not big enough. I'm not sure why, but it's funny- I start chuckling.
She leans forward. "What?"
I don't stop, I just laugh harder, motioning between the band aid and her shin.
She smiles. "It's too small?" I nod vigorously. Her smile splits into a laugh, and she slides down the side of the bed, landing next to me, shaking with laughter.
"The jerk didn't even give us something we can put a band aid on." She wraps her arm around me, and I mirror her.
"Now that's just inconsiderate."
Our laughing fit dies down, and we just sit like this for a moment, arms around each other, smiling.
"Do you want some tea?" I ask.
"Absolutely."
~~~
AN:
Question for comments: What would you do if Sellers did this to your friend?
Comment, Vote, and Fan- should you so desire.
Much Love and Until Next Time,
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