What Comes Next Page 13

  By the end of the next week, I found myself grateful to be grounded. It gave me a legitimate excuse for turning down the many date offers I received. Two by lunch on Monday. Another three by the end of the day on Wednesday. After that, the rest of them must have gotten the memo on my incarceration, and stopped asking. That didn’t stop them from swinging by my locker between classes to chat.

  Or invite themselves to sit with me at lunch. Jen wasn’t shy about running most of them off, and for that, I was grateful.

  “Tell me again, what happened over the weekend? And this time, y’all better tell me the truth,” Megan whispered loudly across our lunch table.

  As the only one of us that hadn’t gone to the party by the river, Megan had no knowledge of what happened. Really, neither did Jen or Heather . . . but they had heard everyone else talking about the scene between Ben, Johnny, and me in the parking lot.

  And the fact that I was seen leaving with Ben.

  “Bennett went caveman on Johnny,” Jen summarized.

  “And now every boy in school wants to date Ana,” Heather added with a teasing wink.

  “That’s what doesn’t make sense to me,” I interjected. “Why are they all of a sudden asking me out?”

  The other three girls at the table shared a look, but Jen was the one that voiced their shared theory. “Because you managed to catch Bennett’s interest. Same thing happened to Tracy. I mean, she was already popular, but after she went out with Bennett . . .”

  “She went from Snotty Princess to Queen Bitch,” Megan volunteered drily.

  “Tracy can get any guy she wants now,” Heather explained, “but it was Bennett’s interest in her that put her in that position.”

  “The boys in this school idolize Bennett.” Jen leaned across the table, and lowered her voice. “And they likely assume that you and he . . .”

  I shook my head at Jen’s uneasy frown. “What?” She glanced at Heather as if looking for assistance, and my head swiveled between all three girls. “Me and Ben what?”

  “That you . . . you know,” Megan whispered.

  My mouth dropped. “No. No way!”

  “It’s like a repeat of Tracy all over again,” Heather muttered.

  “But . . . but we . . . I’ve never . . .”

  Jen’s hand covered mine tenderly. “We know that,” she assured me. “It’s just since you were seen leaving the party with Bennett, the boys . . . well, that’s what they think.”

  “And you’re pretty, and—”

  “Okay,” I interrupted Heather. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I don’t want to think about this anymore.”

  Silence settled over the table for several moments as I shoveled a few French fries into my mouth. I still felt the eyes of half the school on the back of my head, and caught a few curious glances from Heather.

  Finally, she leaned closer to me. “Can I just ask one thing?”

  I sighed, but nodded.

  “I know what didn’t happen,” she started, “but what did happen between you and Bennett Saturday night?”

  “What makes you think anything happened?” I glanced at Megan and Jen to find them just as interested in my answer as Heather was.

  “For starters,” Jen volunteered, “Bennett looked ready to murder Daniel when he tried to sit beside you a minute ago. Then there was Anthony yesterday, and—”

  “Okay. I get it,” I held my hand up with a laugh. “We kissed. That’s all.”

  “Just that one time in Richmond?” Jen asked.

  “Yes . . . but sort of no.” At their encouragement, I gave them a brief overview of every pertinent moment Ben and I had shared over the past few weeks. I ended with a fairly detailed description of our night in the tree house, which I remembered surprisingly well considering how much I’d had to drink. By the time I was finished, they were staring at me with wide eyes.

  Heather cleared her throat as she sat back in her seat, then the three of them exchanged secretive glances.

  “What?” I asked, watching them.

  “He likes you,” Jen whispered.

  “Really likes you,” Megan added.

  Heather nodded decidedly. “And you like him.”

  I couldn’t exactly argue with her. Though I didn’t exactly understand what I felt for Ben, I knew my heart sped up every time I saw him. That had to mean something.

  Maybe it meant nothing, but I suspected it meant a lot more than I was ready to admit yet.

  According to my friends, I needed to make Ben “work for it” now that he was officially jealous. That required me to return the attentions of the boys who sought me out—whether I really wanted to or not.

  Unsurprisingly, Johnny was not one of the regular visitors to my locker. No. My date propositions came from boys I’d only glimpsed in the hallway between classes, or in the cafeteria. All boys that I knew rather quickly that I didn’t want to get to know any better.

  By lunchtime on Thursday, I was fed up with all of it. Friday morning, I pleaded with Ma to let me stay home from school. Obviously, that didn’t go over well, and by the end of the day, I had a permanent scowl on my face. Not even that deterred the most persistent ones. Then I met Ben’s steel gaze from the other end of the hallway, and that made it all worthwhile.

  Standing at my locker, I barely listened to the boy chatting in my ear. I made sure to make eye contact with him, and politely smile every now and again. Every time I did, the scowl on Ben’s face deepened. I was sure of that even from the distance.

  I stooped to collect a few loose papers that had accumulated over the course of the semester in the bottom of my locker—any excuse to keep the charade up a little longer. I startled to my feet when I looked up to flash another smile at the boy, only to spot Ben standing in his place.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

  My gaze flicked to Ben’s face, then to the back of the retreating boy as he scurried away. “I should ask you the same.”

  Ben’s jaw clenched, and I flung the door of my locker open wider, forcing him to step back to avoid a direct hit.

  “I’m getting my books for the weekend,” I returned drily. “He was talking to me. What’s wrong with that?”

  “So half the baseball team hasn’t asked you out this week? Half of the dicks in my history class? Or—”

  “Not like it matters, Ben.” I turned to face him. “I’m grounded, remember?”

  For some reason, something I said only seemed to anger him more. “And if you weren’t grounded?” he gritted out.

  I hesitated to tell him the truth. Finally, I huffed, “Let’s just say, for the first time in my life, I’m actually glad to be grounded. It gives me an excuse to say no.”

  That did the trick. Ben’s shoulders and jaw visibly relaxed, but his eyes continued to bore into mine with an intensity that started to make me feel a little dizzy. I backed into my locker, wishing it were wide enough for me to hide in.

  Finally, Ben nodded decidedly. “I’ll make sure it stops.”

  “Why would you—”

  “Because it’s my fault.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “If I had stayed away from you like I should have . . .”

  “Let me get this straight.” I turned to him with my shoulders pulled back. “You think the only reason that anyone would be interested in me is because they think you have an interest in me? Is that correct?”

  Ben grimaced. “Ana, that’s not—”

  “Am I really that pathetic?”

  “No, I—”

  “Do you think that little of me?”

  “No!” His eyes flashed with anger. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. If they took the chance to know you, then yes, all of them would be interested, Ana. But the truth is, you weren’t on their radar until you were seen with me. I put you there, and that’s not somewhere you want to be.”

  I shifted the books in my arms, needing to move, as Ben continued, “Not one asshole in this school
deserves you. You’re too good for . . .” He trailed off with a shake of his head. His eyes settled on the spot above my head before he continued. “They’ve got the wrong idea, that’s all. I started this, and I’ll fix it. Just promise me that you won’t trust any of them.”

  “Except for you, right?” I fired back.

  His gaze lowered, and held mine. “You know me. What do you think?”

  “I’ve also told you I don’t know what I think about you anymore.”

  He glanced away, digesting my words. After a moment, he nodded decidedly. “You do know me, Ana.” His head lowered to observe my bag and books, all prepared for the walk home, and his shoulders visibly sagged. “You have to go straight home, right?”

  “I am grounded.”

  “That’s too bad,” he murmured.

  I got the impression that he had more to say, but was hesitant to say it. Pushing the lingering tension behind me, I probed him for what he was holding back. Literally. I nudged his foot with my toe, eliciting a small smile from him.

  “There’s a scout coming to the game,” he told me.

  My jaw dropped. “For you?”

  His smile turned almost bashful as he nodded. “Well . . . a junior scout.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “He won’t have much pull in getting me in,” Ben explained. “But if he likes me enough, he’ll send his boss. If he likes me, then I might have a shot.”

  He looked . . . so young and vulnerable. My hand automatically lifted to touch his arm. “I know he’ll love you. I wish I could see it.”

  His gaze flicked to my hand before lifting to my eyes. “It would be nice if you were there.”

  The softness of his tone induced a strange electricity to shoot through me. Heat followed and traveled from the roots of my hair, down my neck and to my chest. I did my best to ignore it, and offered him what I hoped looked like an encouraging smile.

  “I’m nervous,” he sighed.

  I tucked my books to my chest with my free arm, and squeezed his forearm. “You’re going to do great.” I emphasized each word with confidence.

  He nodded once, as if trying to convince himself. His lips parted, in preparation to say something.

  “Sawyer, let’s go!”

  Ben’s head whipped toward the deep, demanding voice from the other end of the hallway. I peeked around him to find two of the senior players, both dressed in uniform.

  “Tuck it in your pants!” the other boy called. “You’ve got a scout to impress!”

  “I’m coming!” Ben growled in response. He turned to peer down at me with eyes as hard as his clenched jaw. He nodded at the door. “You better go. You don’t want to be late.”

  Before I could respond, he turned and walked away. And just like that, whatever had been transpiring between us was gone.

  I knew I was late by the time I ran through the kitchen door. I was prepared for a scolding. What I walked into instead took me by surprise.

  Ma buzzed around the kitchen, and didn’t even look up when I closed the door behind me. Pop stood idly by, leaning against the counter as he watched her. Jeffrey was the first to notice me.

  “Hurry up,” he told me around a mouthful of food. “We’re going to be late for the game.”

  “What?” I shot a furtive glance at Ma as she pushed a plate across the table toward me.

  “Eat something now,” she ordered. “We’ll be getting back too late for a proper dinner.”

  I silently slid into the seat next to my brother, eyeing Ma suspiciously as she returned to the counter to wash the dishes in the sink.

  “We’re going to the game?” I whispered to Jeffrey.

  “There’s a scout coming from UNC to watch Ben play,” he responded excitedly.

  “Really?” I did my best to feign ignorance on the subject, but I knew I was failing from the tight scowl on Ma’s face when she turned to study me.

  “I’m sure you’re aware that this is the best chance Ben’s got for a scholarship,” she said, somehow making it sound like I was being reprimanded. For what? I wasn’t exactly sure.

  “Yeah . . . I . . . of course,” I stuttered.

  “Game’s starting,” Pop grumbled.

  I shot a glance at the clock, and shoveled another bite into my mouth. Despite being grounded, I still had the opportunity to witness the game that may change Ben’s life. He had said he wanted me there. I’d seen the disappointment in his eyes when he realized I wouldn’t be there.

  I couldn’t wait to show up and watch history unfold.

  I smashed a double my first at bat. Two batters later, I scored to put us up by one. As I settled into a seat in the dugout, I glanced into the stands.

  I had spotted the scout when he arrived, and could now pick him out in the crowd. Surrounded by nearly an entire town of farmers, housewives, and students with blue and white painted faces, he stuck out easily in his crisp button-down shirt. He was busy jotting something down onto the spiral notebook he carried with him, and I could only hope it was something good.

  “Don’t sweat it, man.” One of my teammates nudged my side. “Your hit was solid. A lot better than mine.”

  I turned to find Caleb Ritchey slumped on the bench beside me, hat pulled down over his eyes. Junior. Outfielder. Decent bat. Better arm. Popped up to the shortstop first at bat.

  “We’ve got a whole game to play yet,” I told him—and myself.

  Another eight innings for him to find his game . . . and for me to lose mine. It didn’t happen often—for me to be off—but tonight it couldn’t happen. Not with everything I had riding on this game.

  The ping of a ball coming off a bat pulled my gaze to the field. We all leaned forward to follow the ball to the outfield, where the center fielder caught it. As he threw the ball in, my attention drifted toward movement in the parking lot on the other side of the fence. Even from the distance, I recognized the wisps of hair flying in the breeze.

  Ana was here. She had come after all.

  My glove bounced off my chest from a halfhearted toss from one of my teammates, wiping the slowly growing grin from my face. Moments later, the bench cleared as we took the field again.

  Time to wow the scout with my glove skills. It didn’t hurt that I now had some extra motivation in the form of a cute little blonde sitting in the bleachers.

  Before the game, Coach had told me that I needed to play the game of my life. Afterwards, he told me that I had.

  With a pat on the back, Coach guided me into his office where the junior scout sat, waiting. He rose to meet me, and I stepped forward to give his hand a firm shake.

  “Dan Adams,” he introduced himself. “Impressive game you have, son.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I wanted to personally let you know that I’ll be passing on my recommendation to Mr. Benton at UNC,” he told me. Glancing to Coach, he added, “We’ll be in touch to work out a date for him to come see for himself, but I’m confident you’ll be playing ball for UNC next spring.”

  Mr. Adams hung around for a few more minutes to discuss my stats with Coach. I spoke up and contributed when I needed to, and somehow managed to keep the tremble out of my voice. On the surface, I had it together. Under the façade, I had turned into a jittery, excited mess at the words you’ll be playing ball for UNC next spring.

  Once the meeting ended, I burst from the locker room like a racehorse. The rest of the team had already left, scattered to their homes, The Pit, or the river for the usual after-game party. The river was where I usually ended up. Tonight, though, I was headed to The Pit.

  Mama hadn’t been able to get the night off work, and I knew she would be waiting anxiously to hear how the game went. How I played. What the scout said.

  I couldn’t wait to tell her.

  Coincidentally, the rest of the town happened to have stopped by The Pit for a celebratory ice cream cone. The moment I opened my truck door, I was bombarded. A swarm of friends, neighbors, and people I’d never met gathere
d around me as I moved through the parking lot. Question after question was fired at me, but I didn’t answer any of them.

  I wanted my mama to be the first to know.

  Her eyes lit up from behind the bar the moment I squeezed through the door. Most of the mob stopped there, leaving only a handful to still trail after me—a few kids from school, two guys from the team, and Tracy and her loyal followers.

  “Well?” Mama set down her pad and pencil, cutting a couple off mid-order, and moved around the corner of the bar to meet me. “How’d it go?”

  “He played great!” someone volunteered from behind me.

  Mama glanced behind me, at the spectacle that surrounded me. When her eyes lifted to mine with a question, I nodded.

  “I did it,” I whispered for her ears only. “He’s sending the head scout to see me play.”

  Mama’s hand flew to her mouth, not fast enough to catch the squeal of joy that erupted from her. At her reaction, everyone else in the restaurant let out their pent-up breaths. Some clapped. Some cheered.

  I glanced around the full diner and arcade in disbelief of the support coming from people I barely knew. That was until my gaze landed on the table in the corner, where Joe, Marly, and Jeffrey sat with their ice cream sundaes while Ana slid out of the booth. Her eyes met mine briefly before she turned to make her way to the bathrooms in the back of the building.

  As far as I was concerned, she was the only other person I wanted to share my good news with right now. Though I was sure she’d figured it out, I wanted to tell her in person. That was what I told myself when I followed her. On some deep level, I knew the truth. It was so much more than just telling her the news.

  Nothing—or nobody—could stop me as I dodged tables, chairs, and well-wishers on my way to the bathroom. Hidden away in the narrow hallway in the rear of the building, I finally found solace as I waited for Ana.

  I straightened when the red door creaked open and she stepped out. She glanced in my direction as she started to pass, then did a double take.