Page 45 of The Best Friend and the Shortstop

Surgery.

Risky.

Only improves hearing fifty percent of the time.

Minutes later, I drag my feet along the walkway from student health toward my dorm. I’m not going to accounting today. Oh, and my dream just blew up in my face.

14

alex

Must be nice being a pitcher.

I wondered how Brayden was going to handle logging the study hall hours he’s short on for the month. Tiff has really cracked down on academics thanks to the goddamn basketball team’s fake grades scandal last year, but based on the database, it looks like someone took care of it for him.

Probably one of the grad student coaches. They can get in here without leaving a record, and Coach wouldn’t want to get his hands dirty. I don’t put it past him to insinuate that someone else should, though, as long as there’s no straight line to his office.

I clock in for my time and hover over Brayden’s name for a second, entertaining for a second the fantasy of just hitting delete. I don’t, though. And I won’t say anything because that would be petty; it’s for the good of the team that we keep Brayden eligible. His grades are fine. It’s study hall.

Honestly, it’s also probably good for me that he’s not here to show his face because I’m still not sure I’m ready to handle seeing it. I hope that lip of his is fat as fuck.

I drag my backpack to my usual table and flop it in the center. I didn’t bring my laptop today and I’m caught up on my reading. I literally have nothing to do, but I have to sit in here anyway and pass two hours of study time because some basketball player couldn’t pass general math.

This idle time is bad for me. My mom left me a message this morning and I haven’t been able to call her back yet. She’s filing for divorce—officially. Well, they both are, but it’s her decision. Everything gets to be her decision as far as I’m concerned.

When I pull my phone out to shoot my mom a text I see one I’ve missed from Nikki.

NIKKI: I’m not feeling great, won’t make study hall. Sorry

I’m more let down than usual that she’s not coming, and I feel selfish for it, especially since she’s sick. I find I’m anxious to get back to her when I’m away. Not that I haven’t always enjoyed every second I spend with her, but there’s this tether between us now. I feel like she’s starting to breathe for me, and without her, my lungs never seem quite as full.

ME: It’s OK. I don’t have anything to do so I’m sure I would drive you nuts. I’ll come by as soon as my time is up.

I think about adding a heart but hit send without one instead. It would be sweet, but hearts are not really our thing. At least, I don’t think it’s our thing. One more agenda item I need to mentally add to our much overdue talk.

I’m about to open my sports app so at least I can stream a game while I’m in here when she texts me back.

NIKKI: It’s all right. I’m probably just going to sleep. I’ll call you if I wake up before dinner.

Okay. Now, I’m worried.

I flatten the phone on the table and scan the study hall space. It’s filling up, and it’s one of the track coaches sitting in the office today, monitoring poorly with his back to the door. I’m cool with those guys anyhow, and they don’t give two shits about the school’s policy since they’re track and always get the short end of the stick in sports funding. I move my bag from the table and set it on the floor next to my right leg, leaving the strap in my hand while I wait for the perfect moment.

I spot Cole after a few seconds and nod as he checks in. I get to my feet as he walks over, but wait at my seat. He stops next to me and his brow draws in when he spots my bag dangling from my hand.

“Don’t be stupid,” he says under his breath as his eyes flit back to my face.

My head tilts to the side as I sigh.

“I’m not. I logged in already and it’s the track guys. Nikki’s sick, and I?—”

Cole smirks.

“Don’t fucking start,” I warn him, but there’s a small part of me that also likes how right he has been all along.

“I’m not starting anything. Just, it’s sweet that you want to risk ineligibility so you can take your girlfriend soup. That’s all.” His lips pucker like one of those gossipy women that go get their hair done with my mom. She used to take me with her when I was little, and the stories they told probably gave me more sex education than the actual course taught at our high school.

“Just, sit in my seat, would you? So it looks like you were always here. I guarantee they aren’t watching that closely.” I slide my chair back a few more inches and nudge him to hurry.

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