Page 3 of Pitcher

I don’t need friends.

I’m perfectly fine entertaining myself.

With nothing left to do but stare at the baseball bat against the door, I get back in the truck. Then I hear the garage door rise, and a voice I will never forget booms across the driveway.

“Thad, I would rather drown in ball sweat than go to Michelle-whoever’s birthday party with you.”

The air surrounding me seems to grow thick as I hold my breath, waiting to finally see whathelooks like. My gaze darts everywhere until I find them. There, standing as identical replicas, are two boys around my age. Both are the same height as one another, but where one has short, dark hair, the other has a baseball hat covering most of his. Even with the hat, I see the dark curls furling out from underneath. The girl was right. They are smokin’ hot, but it’s the one with the basketball and the smart mouth who gives me goosies.

“We have to go,” says the one without the hat. “It’s her birthday, Theo.”

Sohisname is Theo. It has a certain ring to it.

Theo scoffs and makes a disgusted face at his brother.

“Is this the girl that sounds like she’s hocking a loogie every time she laughs?”

I nearly laugh out loud at his description of the girl and wonder who she is. I’m not friends with any Michelles, or girls that sound like they are hacking up phlegm when they laugh.

“She’s our cousin, Theo. Mom expects us both to be there.”

His cousin? My stomach clenches with barely contained laughter. Surely he knew that. Surely he’s just getting on his brother’s nerves by acting like he’s clueless whose party they are supposed to attend.

“No thanks, bro. Tell Mom I have mono.” He looks pensive for a moment. “Or chlamydia. She definitely won’t want to explain that to her country club friends.”

The brother looks to the sky as if he’s praying before losing his temper. “Can’t you do meonefavor?” he snaps, snatching the basketball from his brother and shooting it from his spot beside him. It makes a swooshing sound before bouncing back to the guy with the hat. He scowls and gives his brother the middle finger.

“Letting you borrow my shirt is a favor,” he says, all smug before shooting the ball and barely hitting the backboard. Glaring at the board like it offended him, he continues, “Attending this nightmare of a party is a fucking charity donation. Don’t confuse the two, Brother.”

You would think after the day I’ve had, I would be done with assholes, but that’s not the case. Call me curious—and hungry, apparently. Since when does my stomach flutter when I get hungry?

“I don’t even know why I’m arguing with you. Mom will make you go. You’re fourteen, not twenty.”

Fourteen? Interesting. He is my age.

“Why do you think Mom cares if we go? She’ll be too busy with her sister gossiping about God knows what. She won’t even realize we’re not there.” He shrugs like he has the world all figured out and gave it instructions to adhere to his standards.

“Maybe I want to go,” Thad says, lowering his voice as if he’s trying to convey something to his brother. “Maybe I want to go and see Heather…”

Theo laughs, not getting sucked in by Thad’s obvious feelings for this girl. “By all means, go ‘see’ Heather. I’m sure she’ll be ecstatic to have another loser follow her around while she burps out the ABCs with her horrible laugh.”

Finally, his comments get to his brother. “Heather is not the one who hacks,” Thad argues, but stops when he sees the shit-eating grin on his brother’s face. “You’re an asshole,” he spits. “One day you’re gonna think about someone other than yourself.”

The boy makes a disbelieving scoff.

“And when you find her… I hope she breaks your heart.” With that parting remark, Thad heads back through the garage and disappears.

Theo, unaffected by his brother’s comment, takes another shot at the basket and misses. Again.

“You know,” I holler, hopping out of the cab and strutting up the driveway like I didn’t just watch the two boys fight, “the goal of basketball is to actually get itinthe net.”

If I thought I was going to get a big reaction out of him, I would have been wrong. Theo’s head doesn’t whip around to face me. He simply retrieves the ball and takes another shot, barely sparing me a glance.

“I was wondering,” he starts off low and hypnotic, a slow grin pulling across his face, “if you were here to sell Girl Scout cookies or talk to me about Jesus.” Theo raises his brows, and I don’t know if I want to hit him or smile. “What’s it gonna be, little Miss Goody-goody? You got cookies or a Bible? I’m hoping for some Thin Mints.”

This ass. This cute, ridiculous ass.

“I’m not a Girl Scout,” I say, snatching the ball out of his hand, gripping it with my fingers, and shooting effortlessly from my hip. It goes in—of course—and I flash him a smile that conveys all the smugness in the world.

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