Page 18 of Years in the Making

“This is our year, boys and girl,” Dan Lawrence says again, slapping his wife’s ass as he walks by. “Sorry, babe, habit.”

“Well, you better break it soon, or it’s going to be a verylong summer.” She smiles sweetly at him despite the threat laced through those words.

“You should probably just say ‘team,’” Jimmy Sung says as he laces his cleats. “Inclusive words are best for everyone.”

“This is our year, team,” Dan cries louder, and everyone whoops.

I sit beside Jimmy and lean in. “Not even an argument. Hell must have frozen over.”

“We’ve had a lot of workshops during PA days lately, and they seem to be finally sinking in.” Jimmy laughs and stands to begin stretches. Half the team are teachers at the local high school, and the other half, excluding me, teach at the elementary school. If someone here didn’t teach me, they taught one of my siblings, or, like Jimmy, they were a student with me.

“How was your year, kid?” Carol asks, sitting next to me. Carol was my fifth-grade teacher, and it’s taken me three summers of seeing her at games to drop “Mrs. Lawrence” when addressing her. It still feels wrong to call her Carol, however.

“Pretty good, no complaints.”

“You’re done now, right?”

I nod as I stand and begin to stretch. “Yeah, all done, officially free.”

“What’s the plan?” she asks.

“Um…” I loathe this question. I also secretly hate people who have everything planned out before school hands them a piece of paper. My eyes dart to where Nellie is sitting, and I amend my thought: I hatealmosteveryone who has everything planned. I admire Nellie for her goals. “I’m still weighing my options.”

“Understandable. Things can’t be easy with your mom.”

I nod again, trying to ignore the annoyance I feel every time someone says something that sounds like pity. It’s why I keep alot to myself with people who aren’t from here. I cannot stand to be pitied.

“I’m going to warm up my arm.” I grab my mitt and a ball out of my bag and head out to the field. When I pass Nellie I look up to wave, but she’s engrossed in a conversation with my sister. “Fucking great,” I mutter to myself as Jimmy jogs by me, in his catcher’s getup.

“Sorry, bud, Dev can’t make it tonight so you’re stuck with me,” Jimmy calls as he gets into his catcher’s stance.

“Oh, that wasn’t directed at you, dude. Sorry.”

“All good. Now give me the heat.”

After a few pitches, I head back to the dugout where I stretch again, but only so I can peek over at Nellie. She’s no longer talking to my sister; now her eyes are glued to me. I grin back and give a casual wave despite my heart feeling like it is trying to escape my chest. She tips her chin up in acknowledgment.

“Who’s the hot redhead?” Jimmy asks.

“Um, a friend of Zoe’s,” I stammer with my attention on the glove in my hand.

“Looks like she wants to be a friend of yours.” He laughs and knocks me with his elbow.

“She’s got a boyfriend,” I say, twirling my glove around.

“Huh… I’d hate to be that guy then.”

“Why?”

“If my girlfriend was looking at other guys the way she’s been looking at you, I’d be worried.” And down goes my glove into the dirt.

SEVEN

NELLIE

EG is good. At least I think he’s good—it’s not a game I understand well. But the other team doesn’t get many hits, and he looks good doing what he does. When he walked out of the dugout to warm up, I bit my lower lip so hard I was sure I’d make it bleed. Have baseball uniforms always looked that good? Or does it just look good because of the guy wearing it? Some of the players definitely have tighter pants, and some looked like they’d lose them without the belt. EG’s fit snuggly but don’t look too tight, and the socks pulled up to his knees did something to my brain that I was not prepared for. Why the hell is that such a good look?

“Who are you here with?” the woman next to me asks.

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