Page 18 of Strike Zone

“Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself. Don’t you think, Wren?” The glare Wren gives Charlie could slice her in half.

“Sure.” She can barely get the word out, her mouth is clamped so tight.

“Thank you. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. See, Wren, when someone compliments you, you say thank you. I’m surprised that’s not one of those etiquette rules you like to throw in my face.”

Charlie snickers, knowing I’m right. She’s been living with Wren for years. How has she survived? They couldn’t be more different—prime example of night and day, complete polar opposites.

Charlie is sunshine on a cloudy day. Wren is…well, she is the cloud.

“I do say thank you when the person is sincere. I know you aren’t serious. I don’t think you have it in you to voluntarily give me a compliment.”

Is that really what she thinks? I’ve never lied to her.

“I’m not joking around, Wren. If I say it, I mean it.” She doesn’t look at me. Her eyes stay glued to the concrete. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly she lifts her gaze to meet mine. Her full attention stuns me momentarily. She might be a cloud but her eyes are as blue as the sky on a bright summer day. The kind of sky that makes you lose track of time because you stare at it so long nothing else in life exists.

“I wasn’t lying yesterday when I told you your taste in music is terrible and I’m not lying when I say you look nice today. Okay?”

“You are the one with terrible music taste,” she snaps back at me. There’s my girl. No. Not my girl. My friend. There’s my friend.

Friend? Can I even call her that? After today, there won’t be any need to communicate with each other. She will be going her way and I’ll be going mine.

“Should we go eat? I’m starving and the line isn’t getting any shorter,” Charlie says, breaking me from my thoughts.

I nod and lead the girls inside. Wren continues to grumble about how my taste in Southern rock music is reprehensible in between ordering and waiting for our food. That unfortunately earns her another point for the day.

“You can’t trash on Lynyrd. We live in Alabama for Pete’s sake, Wren.”

“Wren is a Georgia girl. She won’t be living here forever.” Charlie’s words build a knot in my chest. Georgia is Wren’s home. Not Alabama. She’ll be leaving soon. I knew this.

I should be happy about this.

“It’s not just Lynyrd Skynyrd,” Wren grumbles.

“I swear to God, Wren, if you trash on Reba I will hurt you,” I say as I take my seat in a booth by the front windows.

They sit across from me. This is good. I can give Charlie my full attention. No distractions. Focus on winning her over and then I can get rid of the song that has been plaguing me.

“I would never,” Wren says. Thank fuck. Friendship over if she did.

Which would be fine because we’re barely even friends. More like acquaintances that text and hang out occasionally. By hangout I mean, I find her on campus when she is at the library studying or walking from her classes.

I don’t fully comprehend why I do this. My mama always said I was compulsive. Once I got an idea in my head I would act on it immediately. I can get so fixated on something, I can't let it go. This hyper focus helps me with my pitching. That is until the little songbird got in my head.

Maybe I follow her around because I’m hoping if I annoy her enough she will speed up the process of getting me closer to Charlie. And if that’s the case, my plan worked because here we are. Or maybe you enjoy her company. Nah. I mean, maybe, but nah.

Our table goes silent as we settle into eating. I take the lettuce off my club sandwich and set it on the side of my plate. Wren lifts the top layer of her sandwich and carefully examines it. Her lip curls in disgust as she gingerly picks off a giant slice of tomato and discards it on her plate.

I don’t hesitate to reach across the table and snatch it. I love tomatoes. Especially big slices like this one. Nothing beats the tomatoes we grow on our farm, though.

“Hey!” Wren exclaims as I put my sandwich back together and take a bite.

“What? Were you going to eat it?” I ask with a mouth full of food.

She purses her lips and eyes the lettuce discarded on my plate. I edge it towards her. Of course she would want more of the tasteless vegetable on her sandwich.

“You don’t snatch food off someone’s plate. Were you raised in a barn?” Wren continues to heckle me. Not a good look in front of Charlie.

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