Page 27 of Pitcher

Rather than answer her, I deflect. “Are you scared I might beat you, McCallister?”

At my challenge, her smile turns into something devious. “I’m never scared, Von Bremen.”

I swallow.She’snever scared, but I am.

Shrugging off that voice that is nagging me to tell her how I really feel, I make my way to home plate and raise my brows. “Are you coming?”

At my comment, she hurries to my side. Facing the first base bag, both of us ready into a crouch.

“On the count of three…”

Anniston nods her agreement, and I count down. “One…two…”

At “three” we both take off. Anniston is several steps ahead of me. I’m no loser though, so I put all my weight forward before lunging and tackling her to the ground at shortstop.

“Theo!” she hollers in between laughter. “You are such a sore loser!”

Or an opportunist. I can see it both ways.

I make sure I roll us around, reddening her blonde hair with the infield’s red dirt. She’s squealing, fighting my hold as the air grows dusty around us.

“I’m getting filthy,” she cries in my arms.

Not filthy enough, but I don’t say that.

“You’re not becoming a girl on me, are you?”

It’s a stupid thing to say because she stops laughing. “I’ve always been a girl, Theo.”

I stop rolling, hovering over her in the dirt. “I fucking know,” I growl.

Seriously, I jerked off every day I got home from school. Some would say that’s normal for a teenage boy, but when you have to do it every time after seeing her, it gets a little weird.

Sighing, Anniston shoves me off, and I lie beside her, both of us staring at the clear skies.

After a moment, when we both have settled down, she speaks. “Are you scared?”

It feels like I’ve been shot. My chest spasms and fear creeps up my spine when I answer, dreading her response. “About what?”

A pregnant pause hangs between when she finally responds. “About moving. About leaving Georgia…”

I clear my throat, buying time. The truth is, I could give two shits about leaving Georgia. I care about leaving her, which is why I do this dance with her on a daily basis.

About a year ago, I had acted shitty when some frat boy showed up at our door intending on taking Anniston out. She happened to still be at school, but Thad was there, and he witnessed me ripping up Dude’s number and flushing it down the toilet.

I hadn’t felt bad about it at all. Anniston didn’t need to go out with this dude. He was wearing tennis shorts for heaven’s sake. Tennis. Shorts. Let that sink in for a moment. Does Anniston strike you as someone who could hang at a country club? The girl drops way too many F-bombs. She would have embarrassed that little piece of man meat before they even ordered the main course.

I thought I was doing her a favor.

Thad disagreed.

“You need to shit or get off the pot,” he had said to me as I watched the ripped pieces of paper circle the bowl Anniston had just cleaned that morning.

“I don’t know what you mean. Is that some new millennial term I don’t know about?”

Thad looked at me accusingly before he said the words that would forever haunt me. “You’re leaving. You’re not ready to settle down. Don’t string her along and ask her to wait for you while you plow through half the country living it up in the minor leagues. Let her go, Theo. For once in your life, think about someone other than yourself. Let her go.”

It was hard not to throat punch him. He had a point. I was leaving, and she was staying here. Without me.

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