Page 32 of Faking Summer
"Alright, alright, let's get our head in the game," Coach bellowed, his words grounding us and bringing us back to the seriousness of this game.
"We take this championship game, do you understand me?" Coach continued, his eyes sweeping over us as he adjusted his hat. "It is ours, and we protect it at all costs."
In that moment, the mood shifted palpably. Any playfulness before was replaced with tension and focus. Coach's words hung heavy; we all knew winning this one wouldn’t be easy.
When I got to the field, my eyes filtered through our home side section, searching for one face, one pair of eyes that could unravel me. There she was—Caroline. Seated between her sister and parents.
Raising my arm, I waved her over. Our eyes locked across the distance. Her expression was curious and maybe even a bit hesitant. When she got closer, I reached up and gave her what I’d been holding in my left hand.
"What's this?" she asked, looking down.
"What's it look like?"
Caroline hesitated, holding it up. "You want me to wear your jersey?"
I couldn't help but chuckle as I spit out a couple of sunflower seeds onto the dusty ground. "You're my girlfriend." I glanced past her shoulder, noticing her family. Their attention was fixated on us. "Also, kiss me because your parents are watching."
She leaned in, and I stretched up from my concrete pedestal as our lips met in a quick peck. Her lips were so soft and her gloss was fruity on my tongue. "Put me out of my misery already," she saidsoftly. With a long exhale, she tossed my jersey over her shoulders and it draped over her tank top.
The fabric settled around her, and the sight of her in it made the stadium lights burn a little brighter, made the night air feel a little heavier. There was something intimate—possessive, even—about seeing her in it.
"Alright, get out of here," I teased with a small grin. "Because you putting that jersey on just makes me wanna take it off you."
Caroline's eyes rolled skyward.
"You're already sounding like my next ex-boyfriend.”
"You can't get rid of me yet," I said, shooting her a wink.
"I might if you don't win this game," she tossed over her shoulder as she walked back to her seat. The sight of my jersey hanging off her frame hit me like a punch to the gut—I liked my name on her way more than I should. “Oh, and good luck!”
"Don’t need luck," I yelled back.
My gaze flicked to her family. They looked like they’d just seen a unicorn do a backflip—mouths open, eyes wide, completely short-circuited by the fact that she was kissing me.
I couldn't help it—I grinned slowly at their astonishment. We had just sent a message and if it wasn’t clear enough, then it was also written in the lines of my name across her back.
"Come on, Reese! Bring the heat!" Someone shouted from the stands as I took my place on the mound.
I nodded subtly, my gaze locked onto Parker behind the plate. With a fluid motion, I wound up and unleashed a bullet straight into Parker’s mitt. "Strike!" the umpire bellowed.
The innings flew by, each team's defense refusing to give in. Third inning, nothing. Fourth, zip. The fifth rolled around, and suddenly we found our rhythm. A double here, a stolen base there, and before the other team knew what hit them, we’d racked up two runs.
"Keep it up, boys!" Coach commanded. "Don't let up!"
We couldn’t hold them off, though. They evened the score in thesixth. Our advantage slipped through our fingers, and the pressure began to mount. Heading into the ninth inning, we were deadlocked.
"Last chance," Coach said as we gathered our batting gear. "This is where legends are made. Let's make sure they remember us."
Bailey was up. He hit a ground ball and just barely made it to first base.
"Reese, let’s go," someone yelled as I stepped up to the plate, taking position. Everyone was on edge as I kicked the dirt, eyeing the pitcher with a cocky tilt to my head that said I wasn’t worried for a second. My swing connected and the ball soared high and deep, right past the outstretched glove of the right fielder.
"Run, damn it, run!" The cheers erupted from our dugout as I tagged first and rounded towards second base, sliding in with a cloud of dust. Bailey rocketed to third.
Boston stepped up to the plate. His first swing sent the ball foul. On his second swing, the bat connected, sending a line drive zipping past the shortstop and deep into left field. Bailey, me, and Boston sprinted home and scored before the other team could get the ball back to the catcher.
Fireworks exploded overhead. We fucking did it. The stadium roared to life, a sea of cheers and flashing banners, my teammates flooding the field in a blur of triumph. Adrenaline surged through me, grounding me in the moment. This wasn’t just a win—it wasthewin. The dream. The kind you never want to wake up from. We shook hands, grabbed our gear, and took one last walk off that field, the summer sun setting on a season we’d never forget.
