Page 31 of Faking Summer
"Why can’t it be true, Mom?"
"Reese is always on the sports highlights, in the paper. That boy is destined for big things." She paused, finally looking up at me. "He’s going far away from this place. His father, one of the richest in Bayside... they're nothing like us, dear. I know you aren't getting mixed up with someone like him."
My father, blissfully unaware of the conversation my mother and I were having, let out an absentminded grunt at the tv—the left fielder missed a routine ground ball.
"What if I was?"
I knew Reese was wild and untamable. His presence in Bayside felt almost too vibrant, too volatile for the small town life here. I knew he wouldn’t be here after this summer. His future was larger than Bayside, and I couldn't blame him for wanting to escape. But that didn’t matter, our fake relationship would end at my sister's wedding.
"Then it would be a mistake," she said, simply.
“You’re the one who wants me to be with someone rich and successful. You always say you want me to have a better life than you and Dad.”
"I do want you to be with someone successful, like a local doctor or a business owner… but there is no way that boy is taking you seriously."
A small, bitter laugh escaped me. "Is that what you think of me? That I'm... what? Not good enough for him? Aren’t parents supposed to thinktheirchildren aren’t good enough for anyone?”
The silence that followed answered my question. I watched the steam curling up from the teacup in my mother's hands. "Caroline, you're always so sensitive," she said with a dismissive flick of her wrist, settling back into her armchair. Her gaze returned to her book.
I felt the familiar sting, but stings associated with my mother always felt fresh, no matter how often it happened.
"Well," I began, not able to resist proving her wrong. “We’re dating. And I'm bringing him to the wedding."
Her tea cup halted mid-sip, and the porcelain clinked softly as it touched down on the saucer. My mother's jaw hung slack, disbelief etched into every crease of her usually composed face. "Did you hear that?" she said to my father. "Your daughter is delusional."
fourteen
Reese
"Alright, you wanna see some abs, Chat?" I heard Bailey ask, his phone propped up against a sports drink, capturing himself on camera. "Let's see those gifts, and I'll take the shirt off."
I shook my head in disbelief that he was going live before the biggest game of our entire season. A few of the other guys were cackling as they brushed past Bailey and his online audience, the sound of velcro straps being ripped open and protective gear snapping into place filling the space as we prepped for the championship game. Each one of us was busy wrapping our wrists, changing, starting to get focused as we usually did before each game.
"Oh, the guy behind me?" Bailey taunted his phone's lens with a devilish smirk. "That is Reese, Chat. He’s our starting pitcher.”
A few heads turned, their expressions a mix of amusement and annoyance, but none more so than mine as Bailey said, “Bro. Take off your shirt. I need six more magical creature gifts and I have enough to get my mom the Bronco she wants for her birthday.”
My steps faltered for a heartbeat as I actually considered it. I shot him an icy glare. Under normal circumstances I would never, but for Bailey’s mom, there wasn’t much I wouldn’t do.
"Not taking my shirt off, but I’ll do the dance," I offered. Bailey's eyes narrowed with the fire of a man who knew he got exactly what he wanted.
"Alright, Chat," he inched closer to the camera. "I'll do you one better. How about we show you our pre-championship game dance? You gotta send us lots of good luck though."
The suggestion sent a ripple through my teammates—a mix of groans and grins—and suddenly the space around us became a stage. Lockers became drums as palms slapped against cold steel. Howls erupted from the other players as we pumped each other up.
With a flick of his wrist, Bailey cranked up the volume on his portable speaker, and a bass-heavy beat spilled out. He started off the dance, and made a motion with his hands, signaling for more of us to enter the frame. One by one, the guys lined up before the camera, their bodies beginning to sway, each of us letting loose.
We snickered, losing it at our wild, made up choreography. Bailey's mouth dropped open—not in surprise, but at a few of the virtual gifts floating across his screen. The guys kept dancing, caught up in the moment—totally unaware of how epic this show for social media was.
"I'm going to regret this," I said to Boston, who just jumped on Parker's back. The crowd of dancing bodies parted, granting me passage to the phone and center stage.
Positioned before the eager audience beyond the screen, I moved to the beat in a quick dance. I lifted up the fabric of my shirt in a slow teasing motion. Then, I showed off my abs to whoever the hell was on this live. A chorus of whoops and hollers erupted around me as my teammates all jumped on me at once.
Dragons, unicorns, and every magical creature you could think of burst across his phone screen. The chat blurred into an indecipherable stream of letters and emoji moving too fast to see.
"Reese, look!" Bailey shouted. He was pointing at a particular icon on the screen—a shooting star that left a comet trail of dollarsigns in its path. "That's two thousand dollars by itself!" he screamed.
The locker room was alive with the kind of laughter that made us all forget the nerves and the pressure of this game. This feeling of Blue Devils brotherhood was something I would miss, no matter where life led me after it.
