Page 70 of Unwritten Rules
When she’s gone, Eugenio dribbles again, then shoots, sinking it perfectly.
“Were youfakingit?” Zach says, laughing.
Eugenio shrugs, expression both guilty and delighted at being caught. “When is Morgan getting here?”
And shit, Zach set his phone down on an outdoor chair. When he checks it, there are five texts from Morgan—that she’s getting ready to leave, that she’s leaving, that she’s here, that his mom let her in. The last one is a picture of a slice of babka, and Morgan’s feigned outrage that Zach didn’t introduce her to the dessert earlier in their friendship. There’s hot tea in a glass mug next to it, accompanied by a little bowl of sugar cubes, and his mother must really approve of her if she got the lecture on how Russian Jews drink tea with sugar between their teeth.
“She’s here already.” Zach picks up his beer, girding himself to reenter the house and whatever chores await.
“I think I’ll stay outside for a little while,” Eugenio says.
“Need a break?”
“Your mom is very particular about things.”
“I’m aware. But, you know, ifyou’resaying that.”
“I’m not particular.” Though Eugenio can’t keep a straight face as he says it, smile bright as the July sun, and Zach wants to kiss him then, in the shade of their pin oak tree. He goes inside instead.
When he gets into the kitchen, Morgan is sitting with his mother’s laptop open, an old, slow Mac that’s making a grinding noise. His mom is pointing at something in a document, explaining how they’ve set up an account for the fundraiser. “The paperwork was just a nightmare.”
“Mom, I’m sure Morgan is very interested in, uh, accounting.”
“I actually asked her,” Morgan says. “Besides, it was that or watch a middle school teacher beat you at basketball.”
And Morgan knows Eugenio is there, but it’s a relief that she wasn’t watching him and Eugenio just now, even if they weren’t doing anything more than goofing around on the back patio. “I didn’t know you were interested in fundraising,” Zach says.
“How else is she going to raise the money to go to Korea?” his mom says. And when Zach doesn’t respond, and Morgan doesn’t clarify, his mom gets up, clearing her laptop but leaving the babka.
“Korea?” Zach says, finally.
“I didn’t want to tell you like this. But I’m taking a leave of absence from the team in September. There’s a baseball tournament in Korea.”
“And they need a strength coach?”
“No, Zach. I’mplayingin it. That’s why I shot that video of me throwing. They normally have tryouts, but since I couldn’t get the time away.” She hands him her phone, an announcement pulled up in the browser, the roster for Team USA at the Women’s Baseball World Cup, with Samantha Morgan listed as a pitcher and infielder.
“Oh, wow,” he says. “Um, congrats. When were you gonna tell the team?”
“I told the front office a week ago.”
“They haven’t mentioned it. I figured Stephanie would, I don’t know, want to do a profile or something.”
“That’s ’cause I might not have a job when I get back. They’re ‘considering their options,’ whatever the fuck that means.”
“You’re still gonna go?”
“They only have the tournament every couple of years.”
“I just figured, I don’t know, that you might not get a chance to work for a team again, given—”
“Given that I had to list my name as Sam on my résumé to even get them to call me back. Just say it if you’re gonna say it.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“You did, though,” she says. “Christ. With all the shit they pull. You know, I don’t really want to be a publicity stunt for them, especially when I spend half my time convincing players to actually fucking listen to me.”
“I guess I didn’t realize you hated it that much. I mean, if you’re gonna go, they’re just gonna replace you with some guy.”
