Masochist-someone who obtains pleasure from receiving punishment, aka Amanda Marie Kelly. I wasn’t even a good masochist, because no pleasure would be received from what I was about to do.
I couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the day on anything except the impending Noah and Beth date. I needed and wanted to know why Noah kept it a secret from me. I was meeting him after school today.
I signed up to work on the school paper again this year. I loved writing. I planned on majoring in journalism in college. I was undecided on what area of it I wanted to focus on; television, newspapers, or the internet. Maybe I’d even write a book someday. All I knew was I wanted to write.
Noah had been asked to play on the varsity baseball team this year. It was pretty unheard of that a sophomore would be playing for the varsity team. He was a fantastic player, always had been. The school paper wanted an article written on him and had assigned it to me, obviously because we were friends, it certainly wasn’t because of my baseball knowledge.
I thought it would be great to conduct the interview at the baseball field. Something magical happened to Noah when he was out there and I wanted to try and capture that with the article and accompanying picture.
Tony Hoffman was the school paper’s photographer. We got the pictures out of the way first. Tony had Noah pose in a few baseball stances and sitting in the bleachers under the sign that bared the school name and mascot. When the pictures were done, Tony left, leaving me and Noah alone.
I went through the standard questions even though I already knew the answers. Like, how old were you when you started playing baseball? Which player influenced you the most? Then I moved on to the deeper questions.
“Okay, I only have one more questions then I’ll set you free.” I glanced away from my notes and smiled at him. “What made you first fall in love with the game?”
“My dad, he loves the game. He introduced me to it when I was 4 years old. That’s when I watched my first game on TV, sitting next to him on the sofa with a liter of orange soda and two huge bags of chips on the coffee table.” A slight smile played across his face. “I don’t remember who was playing. It didn’t matter. What mattered was I got to spend time with my dad sharing something that he loved.
The first couple of years I played t-ball and little league I liked playing the game, but the best part was always the time he and I spent together. No matter how busy he got at work, he would make it to every practice and game.
When I was six, he took me to my first pro game at Fenway Park. The Red Sox played the Minnesota Twins, 9-1, Sox. I was in awe of everything; the players, the stadium, the field, the stands, the dugout, the food, the parking lot,” he chuckled. “My dad gave me one of the best days of my life.”
As far as the game itself, I love everything about it; the teamwork, the way the bat feels in my hand, the sound of the ball hitting the leather glove, the smell of the grass, and concession stand food. I love looking up into the stands and seeing the fans and the most important people in my life.”
Our eyes locked. The affection in his held me for several seconds. I wanted to crawl into his lap and hug him forever. Thank god I had brought a recorder to record his answers. There was so much reverence and love in his voice when he talked about his father, I had been too captivated to take notes.
Obviously caught up with emotion, he cleared his throat and said, “Sorry Tweet. I didn’t mean to ramble on.”
“You didn’t ramble. You were perfect.” I couldn’t stop staring at him.
“So, any more questions?”
“No. I’m good. Thanks for doing this.”
“No problem. I wouldn’t miss spending time alone with my girl,” he said, winking at me.
At that point, I didn’t need to know why he kept the date a secret. It felt petty asking him about it after he had just given me that beautiful answer. I started to fidget, tapping my pen rapidly on my notebook.
“What’s wrong, Tweet?”
The voice in my head kept repeating, get up and leave Amanda. NOW! Do not ask him about the dance, not now. DO NOT ASK!!!
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to the dance with Beth?”
Letting out a deep sigh, he rested his elbows on his knees. He took his baseball cap off and ran his hand through his hair as he swallowed hard a few times before starting to speak.
“You know what, forget I asked,” I interrupted and began to quickly gather my stuff. Standing I took one step in front of Noah before he grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t run away from me. Sit back down.” His voice was steady and raspy. I took a deep breath and sat beside him. We didn’t look at each other. “I felt guilty. I know I’m getting ready to sound like a p-ssy, but I was disappointed that you didn’t ask me.”
“I didn’t know you wanted to go.”
“I don’t give a shit about going to a dance. I wanted to go with you and I was hoping you would want to go with me, but you never said anything. When Beth asked I said yes for some reason. I wished I hadn’t after it came out of my mouth. She seemed so excited and happy. I couldn’t tell her I changed my mind.”
“Why’d you feel guilty?”
“I don’t know. It felt like I was cheating on you.” He paused for a moment, as if he were struggling with what to say next. Looking over at me, he said, “Tweet, I’ve been having certain thoughts and feelings about you.”
I sat in silence. My head was spinning. I wasn’t prepared for this conversation. I could feel my throat starting to close up. The muscles in my neck and shoulders were tightening. I needed to get away from here. Noah’s words were replaced by a whooshing sound in my ears as heart and pulse rates rose. Then I felt a warm hand touch mine and it brought me back. I turned my head to see a pair of light blue eyes that I could get lost in.
“I think about you all the time, Tweet,” he said, lacing his fingers through mine.
“It’s nice to be thought about.” To date, that was one of the stupidest things I had ever said.
He smirked at me. “When you’re around, I want to touch you, hold your hand, or put my arms around you. I want to kiss you again.” He continued to hold my gaze, looking for some reaction on my face and in my eyes.
I swallowed a big gulp of air. I was ten seconds away from a full on panic attack. I could feel beads of sweat starting to form on my forehead and neck. My throat closed a little more and my muscles twisted even tighter. I didn’t know what to say, so I did what I usually do. I ran.
“Um…Noah, I have to go.”
Those beautiful eyes that were filled with caring a second earlier looked shocked, hurt, and pissed off. “You’re leaving?!” He definitely sounded pissed.
“I need to go check and make sure Tony got enough pictures and…um… Look, I’m sorry. I’ll see you later. Thanks again for the interview.” I had been clutching my backpack in one hand while Noah held the other. I got up and walked quickly away, pulling my hand free from his grip.