People laugh as I pass. They’re judging me and their judgment is spot-on. I don’t belong here. I never have. I can’t go to lunch and I can’t handle the thought of gym. I don’t want to listen to Ryan lie so he can make himself feel better, to Gwen’s laughter because I’m the trash she wants me to be, or to Lacy’s pleas to talk to her.
Ryan rounds the corner and I duck into the hallway where I saw Isaiah on my first day of school. God, I’ve fucked everything up. I lost my best friend because I fell in love with a stupid jock who doesn’t love me back. My
fingers tunnel into my hair and I pull hard to cause pain. Stupid, stupid, stupid me.
Why couldn’t I do one thing right in my
life? If I’d left with my mother weeks ago, none of this would have ever happened.
I stop breathing. I can still go. I packed my remaining money and a change of clothes in my bag last week. The backpack weighs me
down. The books I can ditch in my locker. The other items that I kept as reminders can also be HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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left, but not here. I know exactly where I can unload them on my way out of town.
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Ryan
SMACK. THE BALL COLLIDES with my glove.
Bottom of the sixth and the game is tied. I wiggle the fingers of my throwing hand to keep them from becoming stiff from the cold.
Late October and it’s the coldest day of the year. Cold-weather games bring strange sensations. The wind burns my cheeks and
fingers, but sweat forms from the heat trapped beneath the mock turtleneck of my uniform.
“Let’s go, Ryan!” Dad calls from the stands.
Playing the perfect wife and mother, Mom sits right beside him with a fleece blanket covering her legs. My eyes scan the bleachers again.
Beth’s not here and she won’t be showing.
A high-pitched whistle originates from home plate. The new batter is taking his time for the third pitch in what I assume is an attempt to freeze me out. Logan steps to the left of the HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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batter’s box and motions for me to throw.
He wants me to keep moving so my muscles
will stay warm. I’m distracted and have
pitched the shittiest game of my life. My arm winds back, releases, and I curse when the ball flies two feet to the left of Logan’s glove.
Logan pulls the catcher’s mask to the top of his head and walks toward the mound.
“We’ll find her,” Chris says as he
approaches me from the right. “Lacy’s already looking for her and after the game me, you, and Logan will do whatever we have to do to get her to listen.”
Beth skipped class. I should have gone after her then, but Coach would have kept me from playing. “I can’t focus.”
“Yeah, you can,” says Chris. “You have ice water in your veins when you pitch. Go to that place and you’ll be fine.”
How do I explain that I never had ice water in my veins when I pitch? That there is a constant burning pressure that threatens to destroy my pitch even when I’m not distracted.
“Your pitch,” Logan starts when he reaches the mound, “is everywhere. Rein it in and you’ll get to her faster.”
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He’s right. I will. Chris swears under his breath and I follow his troubled gaze to the first baseline fence. Lacy stands on the opposite side with Beth’s pack dangling from her shoulder.
Logan gets in my face. “One pitch. One
more pitch.”
“We’ve got another inning,” Chris protests.
Logan throws him a glare. “One pitch.”
They return to their spots and the batter digs his cleats into the dirt. This one’s for Beth.
Logan flashes two peace signs in a row. I nod, glance over my left shoulder, and spot a shadow of movement. Crossing my right arm over my left, I throw the ball to the first baseman, and hear the sweet word come out of the ump’s mouth: “Out!”
The crowd cheers and I run off the field, into the dugout, and out to the other side. Lacy’s eyes are wide with panic and she extends Beth’s backpack to me. “I don’t know what it means.”
I tear the pack open as Lacy continues to talk. “I drove by her house, but no one was there. Then I drove around town and came up with nothing. So I went home, hoping that HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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maybe she dropped by or called the
landline, and I found this.”
The pressure that always threatens me
explodes and I toss the pack to the ground. My hand clutches the bottle of rainwater with the ribbons tied to it. I suck in a breath before unfolding the note tucked into the ribbons: I thought I could, but I can’t.
Dammit. Her mom. She’s gone after her
mom and Beth has had enough time to find a way into Louisville by now. I race back into the dugout and grab my bat bag.
“Ryan?” Coach calls from the other end of the dugout.
“I’m sorry. I’ve got an emergency. Put Will in for me.”
I slip the bottle of water into my bag and toss it over my shoulder. Chris wraps a solid hand around my arm. “Where are you going?
We have one more inning and the game is tied.
Will can’t hold these batters like you can.”
“Beth’s running away. If I don’t stop her, I’ll lose her.”
Chris tightens his grip. “You promised me you’d never walk from another game.”
The ice water Chris prayed for finally enters HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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