second of all, a month ago you were wearing dumpy jeans your mom bought you, so letâs keep things in perspective. Iâm not a miracle worker.â
Reed nods. âFair enough.â
I admire the cloudless sky for a moment.
Then all of a sudden Iâm forced to scream: âLOOK OUT!â
Reed and I duck for our lives as a baseball flies over us, narrowly missing our heads and smashing violently into the bleachers about ten rows behind us with a THWACK!
At first I think itâs a foul ball from batting practice. But then I spot Harrison marching toward the bleachers. Iâm pretty sure he threw that ball.
âUh oh,â Reed murmurs.
Harrisonâs short fuse is well documented. His adrenaline is always pumping, and he never forgets a slight. Thatâs Âprobably what makes him a star athleteâand the last guy youâd want to have it out for you since seventh grade. He glares at us menacingly as he starts to climb the bleacher steps. His practice uniform has been hastily thrown on like hejust learned of our presence and bolted from the locker room. In retrospect, the baseball field was probably a poor choice of locations for my powwow with Reed.
âIâve been looking for you two,â he says when he reaches us.
âDid you throw that at us?â I ask. âAre you crazy?â
âCalm down, Chambliss,â he huffs. âI would have hit you if I wanted to.â
âCongratulations,â I say. âWhatâs the problem?â
âYou,â Harrison says, pointing a finger in Reedâs face. I have to admit, for a split second Iâm actually kinda glad Iâm not the problem for once.
âMe? What did I do?â Reed says.
âWere you out with Rebecca Larabie last night?â
âUh . . . I mean, technically, butââ
â Iâm with her.â
Itâs a little scary how angry he is.
âI thought that was supposed to be a secret,â I venture.
âAnd you!â Harrison repeats, now pointing his grubby finger at me. âDonât think I forgot about the college fair. What the hell were you doing with Rebecca? Were you hitting on her?â
âOh, he was just running a wedge,â Reed interjects.
âShut up!â Harrison shouts.
Reed puts his hands up in surrender.
âIf I see or hear of either of you talking to Rebecca again . . .â He cracks his knuckles. His message is loud and clear.
âAll right,â I say. âWeâre sorry.â
Reed looks at me like I did something wrong. Hey, sometimes itâs okay to apologize.
Harrison thankfully turns to leave . . . but then suddenly turns back and glares at me again.
âWhat now?â I say.
âMake sure you throw that in the trash.â
âHuh?â
Then I realize heâs referring to the straw wrapper in my hand.
âItâs not cool to litter,â he says.
Before I can even respond, he turns around again and exits down the bleachers.
Reed and I donât say anything for a full minute.
âWhat the hell just happened?â I finally mutter when we catch our breath.
âI have no idea,â he says. âBut you better throw that thing out.â
14
TRISTEN HAS AN EXTREMELY BUSY social calendar, and itâs been proving more difficult than I expected to lock down a night for our next date. So when she casually mentioned that she was going to the mall this afternoon, I offered to drive and take her to lunch. This is certainly not the romantic venue I envisioned for our second date and first solo affair, but Iâll have to make the most of it.
First we check out the department stores, where Tristen has every cologne dealer douse me with a sample so that she can smell it. As per my advice to Reed, I like to spritz cologne into the air and then mosey through the cloud, but these salespeople are aggro and hitting me with direct shots. Once I get sprayed with the same cologne that
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