Page 14 of The Best Friend and the Shortstop

“How do you know?” he finally asks.

My lips twist, a strange invisible force pressing me on all sides. For a beat, I consider shrugging it off and saying maybe I’m wrong. But I’m not wrong. And more than that, it hurts a little that he doesn’t know why I’m so certain. I’ve never missed one.

“Because I would have seen her there.”

His eyes flinch slightly. It’s enough to spark a shift in his overall expression, the playful look in his eyes morphing to reflect enlightenment, maybe. Doubt, perhaps.

Or—what has my stomach in knots—the realization that I have always shown up. For him. And maybe there’s a deeper reason why.

4

alex

I haven’t been right in the head since summer. Since I found out about my parents’ split and my dad’s . . . extra-curricular activities. I’ve felt so many things—embarrassed, angry, betrayed. Mostly, though, I’ve felt alone.

That’s my fault. I don’t know why I didn’t tell Nikki. No, that’s a lie. I know. Shame is the easy answer, but the truth is my parents were once best friends, too. And look how my dad fucked that all up. I can’t lose Nikki. It’s why I drew the line at friends in high school. And damn, that wasn’t easy, because when Nikki decided to start wearing crop tops and tight jeans all the time, I had to put away the sweat pants and stick to jeans. The last thing I needed was for her to catch me popping a boner when I drove her to school in the morning.

I may have been a hormone-fueled dumbass at sixteen, but I had enough smarts to know that Nikki Thomas was more to me than just some really great curves. And I mean great curves. That have only gotten so much greater. So, so much greater. But it’s the other things she is—my steady, my conscience, my roots—that has always kept me in check.

And if I start to forget that, I’m sure one call from my mom will remind me.

My mom has been calling daily. This afternoon, it was to gripe about how mushy Wela’s carne asada was, and how she’s worried her mom is starting to forget things because she spaced and let it marinate for almost eighteen hours. Last week, we talked about the to-do list of things my mom needed done around the house, stuff I’m sure my dad would gladly do, but my mom is too proud to ask. I don’t blame her. Two best friends in the coldest of wars. They can’t even call each other.

I can’t imagine not being able to call Nikki. To tell her about my day. About how fucking stressed I am that I’m going to blow it my senior year and not make the draft. Or about how much it sucks to watch my family fall apart. I kept my parents’ split from her for months, and it was torture. To lose that connection—my person—forever . . . well, it’s simply not worth the risk.

What we are now is too important.

“Dude, your heart isn’t even in this,” Cole says, tossing his controller onto the coffee table after kicking my ass in Super Smash Bros. for a fifth time.

“Sorry. I really wanna go hit, but I know I can’t hit twenty hours a day to get out of my slump. I have to?—”

“Trust the process,” we both say in unison, laughing. My laugh, though, is shorter.

I’ve been trying for weeks now to trust that my hard work will pay off. No, for months. My fall numbers were shit. And Edwin’s were good. I’m not sure how long that faith Coach seems to have in me is going to hold up over common sense. We need to win games, and if Edwin’s bat in the lineup does that more than mine, well . . .

“Hey, did you know Nikki hasn’t missed a single game?” My brain hasn’t been able to lose this detail since she said it. I keep ruminating on it.

Cole laughs hard from the kitchen. He comes out with two beers, handing me one then flopping back down into the well-worn sofa cushion before rolling his head to the side and hitting me with the duh look.

“No, like, I mean even the away ones,” I explain.

Cole blinks slowly then holds out his palm as if to say—duh. Again.

I tsk and shake my head, not wanting to go down this road with him. Yeah, Nikki and I are good together. Like friends. We’re friends.

“Are you telling me you never thought about that?”

I nod and reach for my controller, wishing I hadn’t started this. “Yeah, yeah. It was just on my mind, is all.”

Cole grabs his controller and pauses the game I just started. I press begin again and he pauses right away.

“Fuck, man. Alright! She goes to all my games. I’m oblivious. What do you want?” I toss the controller again. At this point I’d rather punch my friend for real rather than on the video game.

He chuckles.

“She borrows your car to drive to the away games. Some of those are far. And yeah, usually she can drag a friend along to split a hotel room, or she makes the drive back and forth every night because she has to be in the dorm for her job. But sometimes, she drops the money to stay on her own and sticks around by herself. You, my friend, are an idiot.”

His laugh is different this time. Frustrated. Fuck, maybe I’m frustrated with me too.

---