Page 132 of Hot Shot

Because they think you’ll flip out. You know, like you just flipped out?

I don’t know what to do anymore, if I ever did. This time was easily the worst, and it’s my fault. I can’t let it go, the way Trent throws me into red alert every time I see his face. Maybe part of it is jealousy—when he reminded me of everything I missed that he didn’t, it was a kick in the stomach. I hate that he was there and I wasn’t, but that’s not his fault. It’s not mine either.

We’ve got to figure this out though. It can’t happen again, for Cricket’s sake most of all.

I just wish I knew how.

I adjust the gear bag and shift the rest, loaded up like a sherpa to move us to the last field of the day. It will also be the toughest game—we’re playing a travel team, which is where kids play who are big, good, and serious about the sport.

When we get to the field, I’m setting down the chairs when I hear Cass suck in a breath.

Frowning, I glance at her. “What’s wrong?”

Her cheeks are flushed, her hands clumsy as she struggles with a camping chair. “Cricket’s bully is on the other team.”

A flash of anger rips through me, but I keep my cool, taking the chair from Cass to set it up for her. “Which one is she?” I don’t look up, just take the next chair from Cass and open it, putting it next to the first one.

“The blonde with the hacked off hair.”

Cricket hasn’t seen her yet—she’s busy laughing in the dugout with her teammates. When I go to set up the third chair, I turn the other direction so I can catch a glimpse, spotting her easily. Mostly because she’s standing in the mouth of her team’s dugout glaring at Cricket.

I swear under my breath.

“Yeah,” Cass says.

“Who are her parents?”

“I don’t know who her dad is, but her mom’s the one with the ponytail.”

“There’s more than one with a ponytail.”

“Hers is so tight, I think it’s like capital-TThe Ponytail.”

I spot her in the front row, the blonde with the severe ponytail sitting next to a guy who looks like he stepped out of a J. Crew catalog, and though I don’t look for long, she glances at me before leaning in to say something to the man I assume is her husband.

He glares. I glare back.

“Well, this should be fun,” I deadpan.

Cass looks straight up distressed. “Maybe I should take Cricket home. Maybe we should go. I don’t want her to have to be anywhere around her.”

“Why don’t we ask her? See what she wants to do.”

She nods, and I head for the dugout.

“Cricket,” I call, hooking my finger at her when she looks up.

Smiling, she bounds around the dugout fence, then the field fence and to me, still blissfully unaware. When I sit on the bottom bleacher so I’m closer to her height, she frowns.

“Am I in trouble?”

I chuckle. “No. I wanted to ask you something.” For a second, I can’t say it. The words evaporate. Finally, “The girl you’re having trouble with at school is on the other team.”

She blanches, her head swiveling around to look. I know the second she sees the girl—her whole body goes still.

“You don’t have to play if you don’t want to,” I start. “Cass will take you home right now. We have plenty of girls, and you won three games today alreadyandgot two hits. You crushed it. So if you want to go?—”

“I don’t want to go.”

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