Page 17 of Another Love, Another Time
I feel a shift in the trampoline, and I know that it’s Auggie. I don’t look his way. I can’t look at him. He lies down next to me, and we lie in silence for a minute.
He latches on to my pinky and squeezes. “Riv, don’t be mad at me. Please?”
I look at him for a second, and then I resume looking at the sky. I think about what I want to say and start, “Auggie, I’m not mad at you. I’m hurt. When did she ask you? We talk every day, you kept that from me, and she shows up with matching T-shirts.”
“I didn’t know anything about the shirts. I swear. And I know that I should have told you, but I also know how much you don’t like her. My parents had just had a conversation about including more people when you are here, so when she asked, I just said ‘yes.’ For me, it didn’t really change anything because we were still going to hang out, except you have been avoiding me all day.”
I turn my head again, and he is looking at me. “Again, Auggie, I’m not mad. I’m just hurt. We are supposed to be best friends. If you can’t tell me about Melissa asking you to be her partner, arewe really that good of friends? I don’t ever want to make you feel like you should be scared to tell me anything. Okay?” He nods his head in response. “No more secrets.” He brings our pinkies up to our mouths, and we kiss them. “Pinkie promise?”
“Pinkie promise.” I smile at him. I promise right then, I will never allow Melissa's tactics to push me away again. Every time she does something like this, I play right into her hands. Not anymore.
Auggie pulls me up, and we jump for a little bit, challenging one another until the parents call that it’s time for the games. Auggie hops off and rests his back against the trampoline so he can give me a piggyback ride to the garage.
I lean up to whisper in his ear, “Just because we made up doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you and your partner.”
He grins. “I didn’t expect you to.” And just like that, all is right in the world again.
Chapter 6
Auggie, Age 14
This summer, the family vacation is in Gulf Shores, Alabama. I am so excited to get to hang out with River. We Facetimed every day, but between softball and baseball tournaments, our parents were busy. I haven’t gotten to see her in person since her birthday, and we only stayed a few hours. Our parents chose this weekend to vacation since River, Logan, and I are playing in the same tournament this weekend nearby, and we will stay through the week after the tournament is over.
Our families rented a huge house right on the beach. My mom has our itinerary already planned, emailed, and printed for us to follow. Movies have been chosen, and activities have been scheduled.
I haven’t gotten to watch River play for a while. We both play as catchers for our teams, so we like to trade tips from the camps we attend. I am hoping that between the games, I can watch her play.
My family arrives at the ballpark. I’ve been texting with River the whole way down here.
Auggie: We just got here. How far out are you?
River: 15 minutes
Auggie: Do you want us to wait for you all in the parking lot?
River: You better not. You need to start warming up.
Auggie: Yes, coach
Auggie: See you at the dugout
River: What field are you playing at?
Auggie: 7
River: Lucky #7 (winking emoji)
Auggie: I don’t need luck
River: See ya soon
I tell my parents they are almost here and that they will meet us at the field. River doesn’t have a game until tomorrow, but her family came down early to watch Logan and me play today. We start heading towards the ballfield that my team will be playing on. There is a game currently going on. A few other teammates are already here, stretching and warming up.
Logan rode with my family. His dad couldn’t get off work today, so they will be arriving tomorrow. Logan is our pitcher, and I am the catcher. They call us the “dynamic duo.”
Just then, I hear someone screaming my name. There is only one person who would do that. When we make eye contact, she drops the chair she’s carrying, leaving her dad to pick it up. Then, she takes off and jumps into my arms. She slides down my body and steps back.
She’s gotten taller since the last time we saw each other. She must have gone through a growth spurt. She’s wearing one of my team’s baseball shirts with three-quarter sleeves. She turns around and points to her back. My last name is printed there. She is also wearing a pair of cut-off jean shorts and a pair of flip-flops with her toes painted red. Her golden hair is in its usual softball style—two French braids.
