Page 6 of The Perfect Game

Dad took his usual spot at the head of the table, loosening his tie in the process. “This late in the year? You only have two weeks left, right? Don’t tell me it’s a make-up assignment.”

His last words were like a hammer to my chest. My dad cringed each time he saw my grades, even though the lowest I’d ever gotten was a B+. The relationship I had with him wasn’t like the one I had with my mom, as I felt I was always defending myself or trying to prove something to him. With her, as long as I was happy, she was excited for me.

The only reason I was going to the play was that I needed all the help I could get to boost my overall average. I planned to get into one of the colleges with a physical therapy program, and for the ones I wanted, I’d need a higher cumulative average.

“It is,” I said, finally responding to his slight jab. I let the irritation disappear within me before saying, “I should be back around ten.”

“You’re not hanging out with the guys?” my mom asked, passing me the large bowl of pasta. She’d learned to make double the portions when it came to my favorite dinner.

I shook my head. “No, I’ll see them tomorrow. It’s been a long week, and I’m not sure if I’ll stay awake at this thing.”

“Can I go?” Daniel asked. A smear of spaghetti sauce on his cheek made him look like he was preparing to go to war.

“Not this time, buddy. We’ve got a night of your favorite books, remember?” My dad exaggerated his smile.

Bouncing around in his seat, Daniel’s eyes lit up. “Oh yeah. I’ll go get the books.” He stood and walked into the family room and over to the bookshelf. My mom looked as though she wanted to stop him, but she just shook her head.

The rest of dinner passed without any interrogations from my father, and I was grateful for that. I knew he meant well, but it always seemed to be the same questions, as if he didn’t know what else to talk to me about besides hounding me to spend more time with baseball. I just wished he’d be happy for me and support me in the things I liked instead of trying to mold me into him.

After helping clear the table, I headed out to the truck. I was going to be early, but I didn’t want to worry about trying to get into the play if I was late. Just as had been ingrained in me from the time I was in Little League, if I was on time, I was late. Otherwise, I found myself having to run way more than I wanted.

I walked through the front doors of the theater, the smell of popcorn making my stomach grumble even after the two portions of penne I’d just eaten. Walking up to the ticket booth, I bought the cheapest ticket possible. The small amount of money I earned at my physical therapy internship could only go so far. Gas meant a lot more to me than being three rows from the stage.

Finding an empty spot against the wall in the waiting area, I looked around for anyone I recognized. There were a few other juniors there, but I only smiled at them before pulling out my phone. To my friends, I wasn’t shy, but when it came to people I only knew from the halls at school, it was easier to just avoid eye contact than it was to initiate a conversation. I always had Jake, Dax, and even Nate who did that for me, so when I was alone, I preferred the silence.

The doors opened to the theater, and I walked in, looking for my seat in the upper tier. I took a seat and began going through the program the host handed me on the way in, trying to figure out what I could write my paper on. It was better to have some idea of theme so I could look for it throughout the play and then write about it later. We’d studiedOur Townthe year before in English, but Mrs. Haddis had retired after last year. She hadn’t required quite so much interaction with the readings as Mr. Kendall did with our current assignments this year, and I struggled to remember all the aspects of the play.

The lights darkened, and I glanced at the empty chair next to me. The rest of the auditorium was full, and I shifted to the right so I wouldn’t be blocking the view of the woman behind me. Just as someone came out to make a speech about donating to save the theater, the door to my right opened and a sliver of bright light filtered in. A girl walked in, but with the backlight, I couldn’t make out her face.

That was, until she was close enough to ask me what seat I was sitting in. Serena Gates.

“Is this row HH?” she whispered loudly. Recognition popped into her eyes as she saw my face, and I think panic caused my heart to skip a beat.

I opened my mouth to respond, trying to force a yes out, but nothing came. I finally nodded my head, which was easier.

She looked down at the chair, and the seat number must have been the same as her ticket because she pulled the bottom seat down, sliding into it and sending an apple-cinnamon cloud my way.

It took a moment for me to realize I’d been clinging to the armrests, and I let go, folding my hands in my lap. How was I going to concentrate on the show when Serena was sitting next to me? I’d had a hard enough time focusing the past couple of days after bumping into her in the hall, but that wasn’t anything like sitting next to her for over two hours.

Four

Serena

I arrived late to the theater, and luckily I was able to beg my way into the auditorium. The next show was a matinee at ten on a Saturday morning, and I knew I didn’t have a chance of making that one with a tournament starting at seven. There was no way I was going to miss even one game for extra credit when it came to volleyball.

Seeing Ben Clark sitting there set my insides turning. I wished I could see his crystal-blue eyes, but it was dark. For only having been as close as we were now once before, my mind and body shouldn’t have been reacting to him like that. And then I remembered I wasn’t looking to date or even have a crush on anyone until I was at least twenty-one. Maybe eighteen.

I’d never given the guy a second look, especially when James had been in the picture. But there was something about him that kept my mind replaying the interaction we’d had by the art room the other day. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn’t arrogant, walking around with a swagger like he could do no wrong. Or that he was a pretty big deal when it came to the baseball team and yet he acted like everyone else had all the talent.

He seemed tense, and every time I accidentally bumped into one of his extra-long limbs, it felt as if we were playing freeze tag.

At intermission, I stood to stretch, grateful I’d been able to somewhat focus on the play.

“How are you liking it so far?” I asked Ben. I tried to hold back a laugh when I saw his expression turn to shock, his eyes going wide like he was about to be hit with something.

“Good. It’s good.” He stood and turned his eyes to the stage.

I tilted my head back in order to see his face, noting the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones. But that wasn’t something I was going to dwell on because I was done with boys, especially athletic ones. They always managed to rip my heart out. But I could always be nice to Ben.

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