Page 2 of Sometimes You Fall

“I wish I had your confidence.”

She tucks one of her soft, brown curls behind her ear, tilting her head at me. “You need to find it, Grady. That’s the only way to get where you want to go. Don’t doubt yourself. You’re a really freaking talented pitcher and you deserve this.”

“Likewise,” I tell her, and it’s the honest-to-God truth. Scottie is a beast on the mound. Other schools are scared of her because she’s ruthless. I freaking love watching her play, but part of that may just be because staring at her has become one of my new favorite pastimes besides baseball.

Pointing at her desk, she continues, “Go out there today, own that mound, and believe that this is the start of your professional baseball career.” Then she glances down at my hands stained with grease. “And if it doesn’t work out, at least you know how to turn a wrench.”

Laughing, I pick up my pencil again, not wanting to draw Mrs. Williams’ attention. “I like working on cars, Scottie. You should try it sometime. It’s far less stressful than pitching.”

She arches a brow at me. “Really?Lessstressful?” Leaning closer to me, she continues, “You do realize that if you mess something up on someone’s car, it could mean life or death, right? Have you ever had that thought about pitching, Reynolds?” She blinks at me slowly.

“Shit.Okay, you’re right.”

Swinging her hair around, she goes back to work. “Again. I know.” Smirking, she glances up at me, and just that small purse of her lips has me fighting to stay firmly planted on my side of the line that defines our friendship.

My chest grows tight with that familiar twinge that seems to grow every time I talk to Scottie. I’m pretty sure I know what my heart and head are trying to tell me, but I can’t listen. I don’t have time for a girlfriend, and hell, high school is almost over. We’re both headed in different directions, possibly to opposite sides of the country.

Scottie is my friend, and that’s just the way it has to remain, even though the thought of tasting her lips has occupied my mind more nights than I care to admit.

“I’m going to give it my best today,” I say, breaking through our silence.

“I know you will,” she says, brushing her hair over her shoulder with a confident lift of her lips. “And I can’t wait to hear from you later when all five scouts start begging you to play for them.”

***

“I hope you get drafted to the Atlanta Braves so we can drive down and see you play,” Blane, one of my friends on the team, says as he takes a sip from his red Solo cup.

“Nah. He needs to play for the Red Sox. Since I’m gonna be in Boston, I can cheer him on,” declares Derek, our shortstop, to the group of my now former teammates gathered at the house party his parents are letting us throw.

It’s only a few days after graduation, but my life at the University of California, Santa Barbara, officially starts in a week. Just as Scottiepredicted, all five scouts at my game made me offers. I gelled best with the coach from Santa Barbara, though, and their D1 baseball program is famous for sending players to the draft. Plus, their offer of a full ride made the decision a no-brainer. I fly out on Monday to start training and begin my journey to the MLB.

“Look, I gotta make it through the next three years with no injuries and hope to get drafted at twenty-one. There’s still a long road ahead of me, guys.”

Blane slaps me on the shoulder. “Yeah, but you’re living the dream, man. It’s not like any of us got an offer like you did. We’re gonna live vicariously through you, all right? You get to leave this town and hopefully never return.”

I chuckle, nod my head, then take a sip from my beer. I usually don’t drink at these parties because it makes me sluggish on the mound, but this is the last time I’m gonna see my friends for a while, so I gave into the peer pressure and filled my cup from the keg.

“I’m not the only one that’s leaving, though. Dallas is shipping out just two days after me.” I jerk my chin toward one of my close friends, Dallas Sheppard, who’s been standing there stoically, listening to the conversation.

“That’s right. You joined the Marines, huh?” Blane slurs and then salutes him.

Dallas scowls. “I did. And…” But he doesn’t get a chance to finish his thought.

“Scottie! Scottie! Scottie!” Cheers ring out from the crowd gathered around the keg, pulling all of our attention to the sight. And when the crowd parts, I see an upside-down Scottie doing a keg stand better than most guys I’ve seen.

Once she’s had enough, the boys holding her up bring her feet back to the ground where she wobbles a bit before shooting her arms up in the air in celebration.

Jesus, she’s something else.

“Scottie!” The group around her cheers again, and she high-fives several of them before our eyes lock and she heads in my direction, her eyes glazed over but her smile wide.

“Reynolds!” She throws her arms around me, pulling me down to her for a hug before shoving me back and brushing her curls from her face.

“A keg stand?” I ask, shocked to see her drunk. Scottie is normally as disciplined as I am when it comes to her health, prioritizing her performance on the ball field.

“It’s a party, Grady.” She shoves at my shoulder. “You don’t have to be such an old man all the time.”

My friends laugh at her dig. They know she’s right. I get shit from them on the regular because I don’t partake in the typical teenage activities. I’ve worked too fucking hard to risk my future, though, so they can laugh all they want.

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