Page 61 of Rival Summer

"Since our underwear plan didn't work out so well, what if you try Plan B?" she prodded, neatly placing a trophy on the table.

"Which is?" I found myself genuinely curious, even as I lined up another award.

"Talk to him. Tell him how you're feeling."

I sighed, the weight of her suggestion settling in my chest. "I guess I could do that."

"Chandler, just tell him." She paused before continuing. "Guys are never the best at reading your mind—trust me."

"It's just..." I hesitated, my hand hovering over a smaller trophy—probably a participation one. "I didn't plan on my summer being this way. The more I'm around him, the harder it gets to stay strong and keep my feelings about him buried."

"Feelings are tough," Willow murmured, her attention drifting across the field. I followed her line of sight to where Parker was rallying his teammates with a clap on their backs and an infectious grin. “Sometimes no matter what we do... we just can’t ignore them.”

"Hey, speaking of feelings," I nudged her gently, my curiosity getting the better of me, "you doing okay with all that?" I tilted my head toward my brother. "I mean, after last summer and everything."

Willow's gaze lingered on Parker for a fraction too long before she snapped back to the present, forcing brightness into her smile. "Oh, yeah, don't worry about me. He doesn’t seem like the type to settle down, and we're great as friends." She busied herself with another trophy.

"You sure?" I pressed, not entirely convinced but willing to let it slide until she was ready to talk about it. She was right, he wasn’t the type to settle down but maybe the right girl just hadn’t come along yet.

"Positive," she confirmed, though her voice wavered just enough to make me wonder if she did have feelings for Parker. "Anyway," Willow suddenly perked up, her eyes sparking with mischief, "you know who isn't such a great friend? Bailey!"

"Bailey?" I echoed, quirking an eyebrow in amusement. "What did he do now?"

"His snoring is so loud, Chandler. Like a freight train barreling through the room." She rolled her eyes dramatically. "So, I kept pressing the recliner button on the sofa he's sleeping on. When it would close, he would fall on the ground and it would wake him up."

"Wait, seriously?" I snickered.

"Every time," she nodded with glee. "He kept cussing at the couch, like it had a grudge against him!" She let out a loud genuine snicker, lightening the momentary shadow that had crossed her features earlier. "I laughed myself back to sleep each time. Comedy gold, I tell you."

"Remind me never to fall asleep around you," I teased, unable to hold in our laughter as we turned back to the trophies.

After we finished our work, we got to settle in and relax as we watched the games.

"Come on, Blue Devils!" I yelled. They had won the first game, and now the second was teetering on the edge of intensity.

Reese was on second base, ready to run, his eyes fixed on the pitcher. Boston was next up to bat, his bat resting casually over his shoulder as he eyed the mound.

"He’s got this," Willow whispered, as if she could predict the outcome of the play.

The pitcher wound up, releasing the ball with a flick of his wrist. It bounced off the plate, skidding away before the catcher scooped it up, prompting the umpire's loud call. "Ball!"

"Stay focused, Boston," I said to myself.

The pitcher grinned, clearly plotting, before he tossed out a changeup. But Boston wasn't fooled. At the very last moment, he swung. The crack of the bat meeting the ball sliced through the cheers, sending a line drive into the outfield, just out of the center fielder's desperate dive.

"Go, Reese!" we screamed. The stands erupted as Reese dashed from second, rounding third and charging home, while Boston took his place on second.

We were all on our feet then, our cheers rising as the scoreboard ticked up a run in our favor. Parker stepped up to the plate, his confidence palpable even from the bleachers.

"Come on, Parker!" My cheer tore from my throat, vibrant and hopeful.

The pitcher, still recovering from Boston's hit, threw another pitch. Parker connected with it solidly, and we watched, holding our collective breath as it soared toward the third baseman. Boston stays planted on second, not taking the chance. The ball bounced a few times through the dirt before the third baseman snatched it up and hurled it to first.

"Run!" I screamed, as if my voice could help Parker get to the base faster.

Parker's foot hit the bag a mere millisecond before the ball smacked into the first baseman's glove, and I released the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

"Safe!" yelled the umpire.

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