Page 8 of The Best Friend and the Shortstop

“Does my mom know?” She can’t possibly. She’s terrible at keeping secrets from me, and Alex shakes his head, confirming my hunch.

“I’m impressed she’s been able to keep it from her,” Alex laughs out in a short breath. I flash a short-lived smile in agreement. This might be the first time one of them has kept a secret from the other, at least as far as I know.

“Is there a reason Marie hasn’t told my mom?” I can’t help but dig. There has to be more to it. A reason why Alex hasn’t told me until now.

Alex’s gaze flickers up, and he laughs. He pulls his hat from his head and runs his fingers through his hair before nestling it back in place. He gives a quick glance to his right then meets my stare.

“Remember Miss Arendale? The sub?” His eyes study me while I mentally jog through the few times I had her as a substitute in high school PE. She was nice. Young. Very attractive. She graduated from Odell High when we were freshmen, so it was a big deal to have a former student there to teach us. Especially since she was so young.

Oh.

“No!” I growl, my mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“Uh, very much yes. And guess who got a full-time gig at the school? And who is still dating, if that’s what you can call it?”

My mouth somehow finds a way to fall open wider.

“Yeah, it’s as bad as you imagine.” His mouth snaps shut and his faint, tight smile is the indignant kind.

“And nobody knows?” A love triangle like this is a pretty big piece of gossip for Odell High. I doubt there isn’t someone who’s picked up on things, especially if they’re still . . . dating. And when did it start? Was she . . . his student?

Oh, my God!

“I’m sure some of the students know,” Alex says. “I wasn’t exactly nice to my dad when we chatted on the field. Some of the guys heard us.” He shrugs, almost as though he doesn’t care that he broke the news to the public. Except, I know he cares about his mom’s feelings in all of this.

“I see how he’s a distraction,” I say, leaning into him again to show my support.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I’ve been processing it all. I guess I’m still processing. I’m sorry I was so shitty toward you. And that I didn’t tell you sooner. I’ve been trying to keep it separate from the good things in my life.”

I’m one of his good things.

“I get it,” I say, and honestly . . . I do. It’s half, if not most, of the reason I haven’t broached the subject of my feelings. There’s no going back when I put my truth out there.

“I mean, I guess there’s a lesson in this too, right?” Alex continues.

“What lesson is that?” I ask.

“Relationships are all bullshit. I mean, he supposedly gave up baseball for the family life, but then he gets a little attention from someone only a few years older than me, and all of a sudden his promises mean shit. Whatever. I’m too focused on baseball for all that anyhow. Who knows what kind of a cheater he would have been if he kept up with the game.”

My body feels like it’s sinking into the seat, as if I’m lowering through the metal and hard plastic onto the hardwood far below. I’m devastated for my friend, and even more so for his mom. And I worry how things might play out back home, how my parents will react, and a part of me also wonders about their relationship now. My dad’s a pilot, and he’s gone half of the time. Does he have a Miss Arendale in some hub somewhere?

Beyond all of these feelings fighting for attention in my brain, though, my phone has now buzzed in my back pocket twice, and I know without checking it that there are messages from Omar. I am aborting my side of the bargain, and I don’t care how many cheesecakes it’s going to cost me. I hope things worked out for Omar, but as much as I suck at timing, I know enough to recognize that now would be a disaster of a moment to drop a big old I’m in love with you on my best friend.

It's not as if I can simply leave, though. Not after all that. So instead, I’m going to have to sit here in stunned silence, my eyes darting around the court below as I pretend to be invested in this game. Our women’s team is running away with it, up by twelve at the start of the fourth quarter. I would give anything for the action to pick up enough to fill these final few minutes. A close game might help Alex forget that I had something to say, too.

We sink another three.

Their superstar just fouled out.

Shit.

“Anyway,” Alex says through an exhale, leaning back in a stretch. I feel his eyes on me. I’m not going to get out of this. I wonder if he saw me swallow that lump of fear just now.

“What was your thing? That’s the second time I’ve dominated our conversation with my shit. Let’s talk about you. What’s going on with my best friend, huh?”

I scrunch my face then twist my mouth as I glance at Alex.

“Huh, you know what? I don’t even remember what I was going to say,” I lie. Poorly. And I can tell by the way he’s studying me for my tells that he doesn’t fully buy it. I have very obvious tells. The biggest one is rapid blinking. But I know about that one, so to combat it. I try not to blink at all. Which has become another tell, because zombie face is apparently unnerving.

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