it will have to do. Weeds have overtaken most of the infield, but at least there are four bases and it’s not flooded from the bayou that runs beyond the fence. Olivia rests her arms on her knees as she stares into oblivion from the bleachers. Her face is emotionless as a thousand scenarios float through my mind at what she could be the thinking about.
I asked her if she needed a ride, but she said she was out running errands. I’m not sure if she’s trying to keep her distance and figure things out. I beep the horn and nod to her with a smile. She takes a deep breath before jogging up the path to meet me.
“Have you been waiting long?” I ask, opening my trunk.
“No, only about ten minutes. I just got off the phone with my brother, Tyler.” A small sigh escapes her lips. Even though I still know virtually nothing about her, I’m smarter than to ask her to divulge more. “Damn, it’s like Sports Authority back here. Could you have any more gear?”
“I come prepared.” I flip my vintage Mariners hat backward and dig through the bags, looking for a pair of batting gloves. The dust on my gear has settled into the carpet, turning the charcoal-gray upholstery into a muted orange. I know I should have gotten it cleaned eons ago, but I avoided my trunk like the plague. I tug on the strap of my bat bag and it snaps, falling to the trunk bed, and my glove and a pack of Bazooka spills out.
“I haven’t had this since I was a kid!” Olivia snatches it before I can stop her. “Do you mind?” She looks at me with a big smile before taking a piece out.
“That’s been sitting back here for over two years. It’s probably fossilized by now.” I wrinkle my nose at the thought.
“Whatever. Bazooka gum is the Twinkies of the candy world. It never expires or goes bad. I might pull out a tooth, but it’ll still be good.” She takes out a piece, careful not to rip the comic strip underneath. “I used to collect these.”
“Me too.” I climb into the trunk bed and reach into the backseat, yanking the bag of fluorescent yellow softballs I picked up on the way here. Olivia takes the sack from me and throws it over her shoulder like she’s Santa Claus.
I have no idea what to expect or how I’m going to do. My whole life, I’ve always hindered my natural ability in pick-up games because I didn’t want to be that asshole showing off. School was one thing; those were the games that mattered. But this, I don’t want to blast it out of the park without giving them a chance. Nevermind them asking me a million questions about why I’m so good.
“I’m pitching because I want to see one of your supposed monster hits in person.” She adjusts the bag with a small hop.
I laugh, gripping my bat. “Who told you that?”
“I had coffee with Aubrey and Zach this morning. He told me you used to play.”
She jogs back to the field, picking up her glove on the way. She chucks the mesh bag against the metal fence and rolls a few balls out to the mound. I catch myself staring as she flips her hair over and pulls it into a high bun on the top of her head. She looks like a reject ballerina with hair sticking out every which way. Her large sunglasses fall onto the field and I can’t stop my jaw from dropping as she bends over to pick them up. I’ve seen her do some crazy shit in yoga class, but having it cross over into daily life is even hotter.
“Well, Junior?” she yells from the pitcher’s mound, breaking me from my teenage-level indecent thoughts. “You coming?”
“How’d you know I loved Griffey?” I walk out to the mound, getting a handle on the moment I’ve been waiting almost two years for.
She takes off her sunglasses and her green eyes change to hazel in the sunlight before pointing to my hat and then down to my shirt. “Really? Ken Griffey Junior was the Derek Jeter of his time. Everyone obsessed their fanatic hearts over him.”
“Okay, okay. I don’t think you’re ready for this, Miss
I asked her if she needed a ride, but she said she was out running errands. I’m not sure if she’s trying to keep her distance and figure things out. I beep the horn and nod to her with a smile. She takes a deep breath before jogging up the path to meet me.
“Have you been waiting long?” I ask, opening my trunk.
“No, only about ten minutes. I just got off the phone with my brother, Tyler.” A small sigh escapes her lips. Even though I still know virtually nothing about her, I’m smarter than to ask her to divulge more. “Damn, it’s like Sports Authority back here. Could you have any more gear?”
“I come prepared.” I flip my vintage Mariners hat backward and dig through the bags, looking for a pair of batting gloves. The dust on my gear has settled into the carpet, turning the charcoal-gray upholstery into a muted orange. I know I should have gotten it cleaned eons ago, but I avoided my trunk like the plague. I tug on the strap of my bat bag and it snaps, falling to the trunk bed, and my glove and a pack of Bazooka spills out.
“I haven’t had this since I was a kid!” Olivia snatches it before I can stop her. “Do you mind?” She looks at me with a big smile before taking a piece out.
“That’s been sitting back here for over two years. It’s probably fossilized by now.” I wrinkle my nose at the thought.
“Whatever. Bazooka gum is the Twinkies of the candy world. It never expires or goes bad. I might pull out a tooth, but it’ll still be good.” She takes out a piece, careful not to rip the comic strip underneath. “I used to collect these.”
“Me too.” I climb into the trunk bed and reach into the backseat, yanking the bag of fluorescent yellow softballs I picked up on the way here. Olivia takes the sack from me and throws it over her shoulder like she’s Santa Claus.
I have no idea what to expect or how I’m going to do. My whole life, I’ve always hindered my natural ability in pick-up games because I didn’t want to be that asshole showing off. School was one thing; those were the games that mattered. But this, I don’t want to blast it out of the park without giving them a chance. Nevermind them asking me a million questions about why I’m so good.
“I’m pitching because I want to see one of your supposed monster hits in person.” She adjusts the bag with a small hop.
I laugh, gripping my bat. “Who told you that?”
“I had coffee with Aubrey and Zach this morning. He told me you used to play.”
She jogs back to the field, picking up her glove on the way. She chucks the mesh bag against the metal fence and rolls a few balls out to the mound. I catch myself staring as she flips her hair over and pulls it into a high bun on the top of her head. She looks like a reject ballerina with hair sticking out every which way. Her large sunglasses fall onto the field and I can’t stop my jaw from dropping as she bends over to pick them up. I’ve seen her do some crazy shit in yoga class, but having it cross over into daily life is even hotter.
“Well, Junior?” she yells from the pitcher’s mound, breaking me from my teenage-level indecent thoughts. “You coming?”
“How’d you know I loved Griffey?” I walk out to the mound, getting a handle on the moment I’ve been waiting almost two years for.
She takes off her sunglasses and her green eyes change to hazel in the sunlight before pointing to my hat and then down to my shirt. “Really? Ken Griffey Junior was the Derek Jeter of his time. Everyone obsessed their fanatic hearts over him.”
“Okay, okay. I don’t think you’re ready for this, Miss
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